“And instead…”
He picks up where I trailed off, “They all said the same thing—my brain wasn’t bouncing back the way it should. It wasn’t until the final doctor explained that every concussion stacked on top of each other that I understood.”
“Understood, what?”
“That I’d never play hockey again.” His voice is matter of fact, but I know it had to kill something inside of him to hear that.Still his next words cause my emotions to spike. “Another hit, one bad fall could…change me permanently.”
This Brennan almost wasn’t sitting here.Blinking away tears, I ask, “What did they do? Did they?—”
“They pulled my clearance. Immediately.”
“You didn’t get a choice?” I’m aghast...
“Not a real one.”
“How do you feel about it?”
“Now? After getting hit in the head with a box of oatmeal, I know they were right. If I was able to play again, I might not know my own name in a few years.”
“What are your limitations?”
“You mean now?”
“Yes,” I say. “Not theoretical. Not worst-case. What can’t you do? What do you have to watch for?”
He answers immediately without hesitation. “No contact sports. No ‘just for fun’ games. No skating pickup where some idiot could clip me. No roller coasters. Things like that.”
“And day to day?”
“Sometimes, sleep is iffy. Headaches are much more rare.” Then he offers a self-depreciating smile. “Unless I drop a box of oatmeal on my head.”
“Is there anything else?”
“If I push too hard—mentally or physically—I may have residual issues but it’s been a while.”
I frown. “Mentally?”
“Stress, tension. And until my next neuro appointment, I have time limitations for screen time. Indoor loud or overly bright places can also be a trigger.”
Compassion must be oozing from my pores because Brennan asks, “What are you thinking?”
“You spent your whole life catering to certain beliefs—putting hockey above everything else. I don’t know what I’d do if I were you.”
His eyes are raw. “At first, I was terrified.”
The simple admission hits harder than any medical term. “I’m sorry.”
His mouth twitches. “I’m not.”
My jaw falls open. “What?”
“Because of this, I realized there’s so much more to life than blades and ice. You’re here. We’re…talking. I have a whole new team finally embracing me.” His smile is crooked. “They just call themselves a town.”
I try to orient my thoughts. I came here to see if forward is possible with this man. Somehow, I found out so much more. I study the reality of who Brennan is now and compare our journeys. I lost faith and trust, but I regained them—even with him.
But what happened to Brennan? He’s lost his life’s anchor—hockey. He’s cycling through the stages of betrayal I endured as his “friend” tries to convince him what he did wasn’t that bad. My eyes roam his face. “I think we both have battle scars.”
A short bark of laughter escapes him. “Of course. We survived.”
