Page 33 of Doc Defence

“No. I think this situation totally warrants it.”

“I feel like total shit.” Frost stared up at the ceiling, which, unfortunately, had stopped spinning. At least when it was spinning, he had been so high the pain was a distant feeling.

Frost’s eyebrows knitted together as a niggle tugged at him. He thought something had happened at the arena, something he should remember. He recalled Hel straightening his leg—which was the worst pain he had ever experienced in his life. Then she took him into the physiotherapy room. The room started to spin, and everything became very fuzzy.

He knew Hel tried to take the green whistle off him, but that was it. There was something teasing at the corner of his memory. Had he said something? Or maybe done something to embarrass himself?

“Did I do anything…” Frost hesitated, not sure what he wanted to ask the Coach. “Ummmm, I didn’t do anything I shouldn’t have when I was at the rink?” Again there was a niggle that told him he had done something.

“Not that I saw. You were enjoying the drugs a lot. But you weren’t doing anything awful.” Coach Morgan told him.

“Great. That’s great.” Frost nodded.

Glancing down at his button, he saw it light up again and pressed it. Maybe the pain receded a little, but there was still no way he would sleep with the throbbing going on in his leg.

“I’m going to head home. Steve dropped off your phone and bag. I found a charger as well and plugged it in. I phoned Star, but she didn’t answer.” Coach Morgan pushed Frost’s phone towards him from where he had placed it on his bedside table.

Frost rolled his eyes about Star not answering despite Hel leaving a message earlier. “Yeah, she doesn’t answer numbers she doesn’t know. In case it’s one of her Star-Lifers.”

She always made a big fuss about wanting to maintain her private life while posting every tiny aspect of it online, which made no sense whatsoever to Frost.

He grabbed his phone. There were messages from his mum and brother—they must have been watching the game. He replied quickly, giving them the bare minimum information and promising to phone them in the morning.

There was nothing from Star, but that didn’t surprise him. She used to attend most of his NHL games or watch them on TV, as she loved being a hockey girlfriend. Since they had been in Australia, she had lost interest. The AIHL didn’t have the prestige she was looking for.

She wouldn’t have bothered listening to the message from an unknown number and probably didn’t even know he had a broken leg.

He hesitated for a moment, then typed a quick message to her as he should tell her what happened.

“I’m going to head home now. I’ll come and see you tomorrow, son.” Coach Morgan stood to leave, exhaustion etched in his features, and Frost felt bad the man had stayed so long.

“Thanks, Coach. I appreciate you being here.” He held his hand out for the older man to shake.

Coach Morgan clasped it tightly. “That’s no problem.”

When the Coach left, Frost lay staring up at the ceiling, pressing the pain button every five minutes to get the ache under control.

In the cold, sterile environment of a hospital room, a chilling realisation washed over him. This was it, he was done with ice hockey. He would never play professionally again. In the lonely night, he let himself grieve, letting tears he would never usually shed trickle down onto the pillow.

Ice hockey had always been so much more than a job to him. He had loved it since he was five years old and first put on a pair of skates. He didn’t play because he had to. He played because he wanted to. He loved the hype of game day, the crowds calling his name and cheering him on. The teammates he had met and bonded with over the years. It was his first and only love.

And now he had nothing left. A broken leg. A battered body that could tell him the change in the weather by how much it ached. What the hell was he going to do?

He knew he was lucky. He had enough money in the bank to last him a lifetime. But he couldn’t sit around and do nothing. That wasn’t who he was, he needed to be doing something. He had never had a day in his whole life pass by without him being active. Exercising, studying gameplay, practising skills. Anything that could improve him as a hockey player.

And now Jax had ended his dream of one last season with one dirty hit.

Frost didn’t know how long it took him to fall asleep, but he did know that whatever time he was woken up was far, far too early.

“Good morning, Mr Forster.” A chirpy voice exclaimed from the foot of his bed.

Frost pulled a heavy eyelid open and observed the—much too cheerful—young woman. All he could manage was a grunt in return.

“I’ve got some tablets for you, and I need to give you an injection.”

And with brisk efficiency, she proceeded to do precisely as she threatened. Tipping tablets into his hands and watching while he swallowed them, then yanking back the covers, pulling up the rather attractive nightdress he was wearing, and jabbing him in the stomach.

Frost grumbled quietly, “Women usually let me buy them a drink before they get to take my clothes off.”

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