“Mrs. McAllister, it is what we have.”
“Then what you have is a problem.”
The nurse looks at me for help.
I, wisely, study the monitor.
Dad walks in with coffee and takes in the untouched Jell-O, Susan’s expression, and the nurse’s defeated professionalism.
“Green,” he says.
“Green,” Susan confirms.
“I’ll find red.”
The nurse leaves looking grateful for farm husbands with survival instincts.
Susan’s echo looks good. The cardiologist says valve function, monitoring, Austin transfer, rehab schedule. I ask every question I did not ask last time. Medication. Warning signs.Activity. Follow-up. I write answers in my phone while my mother watches me with a softness that makes me want to climb out of my skin.
“You can breathe, sweetheart,” she says when the cardiologist leaves.
“I am breathing.”
“No, you’re organizing.”
Dad coughs into his coffee.
I ignore both of them.
In the hall, Dad shuts the door halfway and stands beside me.
“You don’t have to explain leaving the game,” Dad says.
I look down the corridor. Peyton is at the far end with the twins, buying them something from a vending machine and apparently negotiating hostage terms over Skittles.
“I know.”
“I was scared when you signed your first contract,” Dad says.
That pulls my attention back.
My father keeps his eyes on the tile. “Not of the hockey.” He stops. Starts again. “You were always good at putting things in a box and carrying them quiet. Then you went and got paid for it.”
I keep still.
He doesn’t have the rest of the sentence, or he won’t reach for it. He just stands there with his hands in his pockets like a man who said more than he meant to.
“Last night you left a game for your mother,” he says finally. “First time in a long while I didn’t worry about you.”
The hallway goes blurry at the edges.
Dad squeezes my shoulder once. He doesn’t say anything about the girl down the hall. He doesn’t have to.
Then he goes back into Susan’s room before I can be forced to answer.
My phone has been buzzing since dawn.
Coach Sully first.
