Lunch? I really need to talk to you.
Got some information to share.
Maybe it’s because I’m sitting amid the ruin of my relationship with Amy, but his words trigger alarms. It’s exactly what he said to me when he told me about the photo.
I stare at the message, and feel a dark knot settle deep in my gut. I’m reminded of what the doctors told me months ago.Some injuries don’t resolve with time.
I type back before I can overthink it.
Me:
Name the time.
Mark:
How about the day after tomorrow?
Me:
Just let me know where.
Mark:
My penthouse? We won’t be disturbed.
The phone goes quiet again, but my mind doesn’t. I pick up the photo closest to my hand—Amy laughing, eyes bright, completely unguarded.
The certainty I’ve held onto for years begins to fracture.
What if I was wrong?
11
OPEN-ICE HIT: LEGAL BODY CHECK IN OPEN ICE
Islept piss poor as memories of Amy filtered through my subconscious eventually leading my mind straight back to the hospital right after my injury.
I struggle back to consciousness. It’s like surfacing from deep water—slow, labored. My head feels like it’s splitting open from the inside even as my eyes refuse to cooperate. I can’tforce them to open—the world swims sideways then tilts hard left when I try. I’m nauseous, dizzy, furious at my own body.
“I can’t say,” someone says. A voice I recognize. Calm. Clinical.
I‘m cognizant enough to recognize I’m in a hospital. I’m laying down. I remember the boards.
The hit.
Then, nothing.
Shadows hover at the foot of my bed. They solidify into people when I blink enough times. A white coat. A suit jacket. Another in a team jacket with a logo.
The team doctor. Mark. Coach.
With the intensity of my pain and what I’m hearing, I don’t speak up.
Can’t.
“He lost consciousness on impact,” our team doctor says. “It can’t be ignored.”
Coach exhales roughly. “He’s going to ask when he’s cleared.”
