I think that’s where my neck guard tears free. We tie them on with skate laces—which is ridiculous but works. It’s pretty rare that the guards break or get torn away. Then the puck pops free and skitters half a foot to the left of the group of players. I see it at the exact same time two other players do. We all lunge for it. It’s impossible to see whose skate gets me in the video. I found out afterward it was one of the defensemen on my own team. He got pushed down in the pile of people, and his skate came up as he fell and connected with my neck, slicing right through it.
The video doesn’t show the impact clearly, but the result is plain as day. The player goes down and I pop up to my feet, bright red blood suddenly spraying the ice in front of me. I drop my gloves and grab my neck and skate. I skate as fast as I’ve ever skated in my life, both hands wrapped around my throat, blood still gushing from between my fingers and staining the ice as I rush to the bench.
The announcers’ voices have changed. They’re talking over each other now in frantic, horrified tones. “He’s cut.” “It’s his neck.” “Oh my God.” “Never seen anything like this.”
The trainer and medical team rush the ice and meet me just before I make it to the bench. I won’t move my hands, so one of them just covers them in a towel, pressing his own hand on top of it, and the other is pulling me toward the tunnel. The video ends, but my memories right now don’t.
I remember making it off the ice and into the tunnel, and that was the point when I started to have to fight for consciousness. I remember stumbling against the wall and someone yelling, “Get a stretcher!” and then the team doctor was in front of me and wrenching my hands away. I remember he had brown eyes—wider than I’ve ever seen anyone’s eyes. He knew it got my artery. He knew I was bleeding out. His fingers went right into my neck. Into it. I remember the feel of that. He pushed past the torn skin and pinched the artery closed.
“Get the ambulance now!” he screamed. I’ve never heard a doctor scream like that. “Catch him!”
That’s the last thing I remember.
I blink. The video is over and the next one in the queue is halfway through. It’s another one of the accident, filmed from the stands, and you can hear the fans screaming and freaking out. Even with the grainy quality of the cell phone footage and the distance, you can still see the spray of red with every pump of my heart.
My phone rings, and it’s like an alarm waking me from a nightmare. I jump and realize my right hand was rubbing the scar on my neck. I pull it away, slam the laptop shut and dig my phone out of my suit jacket pocket on the floor. I should have read the display. “Hello?”
“Elijah?” My mother’s voice fills my ear, and I bite back a groan. “Is that you? You sound funny.”
I clear my throat and try not to let my sigh be audible. “Yeah, Mom. It’s me.”
“Oh. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes. I’m just tired. I had a long day,” I explain tersely. I don’t know why she’s calling me, but I know it’s probably going to end in a fight.
“Your father and I wanted to officially confirm your dad is running for Senate again,” my mother announces.
“Okay. Thanks for letting me know,” I reply and try not to sound as disinterested as I am. My dad is a California senator and I assumed he would run for a second term, just like the media assumed he would. “Tell him good luck and everything.”
“We thought you should know because the press might ask you questions,” she goes on in her typical clipped, brisk tone. “He’s making the official announcement tomorrow, and we didn’t want it to seem like we hadn’t told you boys first. So can you let your brother know, please?”
“Levi or Todd?” I ask just to be a brat, because I know the answer. It’s Levi.
“Todd knows. He talks to us almost weekly, and he comes home for visits,” my mother responds pointedly.
“Yeah, well, you’re not giving Todd the cold shoulder for following his dreams and doing what he’s good at,” I counter, even though I know it’s just going to make this conversation a nightmare. But I’m in the mood for a fight, and she’s volunteering as tribute.
“Because Todd is a realist,” she shoots back. “Not all dreams are meant to be pursued. You boys had the world at your feet and could have done anything, but you both chose something reckless and pointless.”
“Great talk, Mom. I have to go now.”
“I know you’re not doing well, Elijah,” she blurts before I can hang up. “Your father is keeping track. He said you should have been playing with Levi by now.”
My jaw is locked shut, and I grind my teeth. I’m so furious and humiliated that I can’t speak. She pauses and I hear her exhale, and then her tone is soft, which is rare. “Elijah, sweetheart, it’s okay to walk away from something that isn’t working out. There is no shame in it. I know you don’t believe it, but we just want what’s best for you, and it feels like you’re doing this now to spite us, not because you’re good at it. If that’s the case, please just stop and move on from this and go back to school.”
“No,” I manage to reply through my clenched jaw.
“But you only have a semester left to finish your degree,” she reminds me. “We can get you back into Harvard. And you can always join a recreational league if you insist on still playing hockey.”
“I’ll let Levi know about Dad. Good night, Mom.” I hang up before she can say another word.
I haven’t heard from her in four months, and now I hope it’s another four before she calls again. I down the rest of my beer. I used to have a little sympathy for my mother’s stance about professional sports because her brother was permanently injured playing football. But at some point she needs to let that go and let my brother and me follow our dreams. Even her brother supported us.
I crush the beer can as my phone rings again. Goddamn it, if she’s calling back, I swear I will block her number. But it’s not my mom. Just a number with a San Francisco area code. I hesitate before answering because I really don’t want to talk to anyone, but I’m worried it might be someone from the Thunder.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Eli?” I don’t recognize the female voice. “This is Dixie Wynn.”
