Page 28 of Off Limits PUCK

I’m about to call out for Allie, but every movement of my head sends the room spinning. Then she’s there, by my side. She straddles the bench next to me, looking at me with earnest eyes. Her bedside manner is soft and gentle. Her hand on my arm is kind.

“I wanna get out there,” I manage to croak out.

I expect her to snort at me, to ridicule me for being stupid. To tell me that it’s impossible. But she doesn’t. She nods. She rubs my arm. She scoots closer to me. But she doesn’t tell me no… or yes.

I’m being pulled to my feet. I lose it right there, puking into a small bucket that one of the PTs has magically produced by the bench.

“Concussion,” Jones says in a tone far too severe. I prefer Allie’s gentle ways over his gruff, matter-of-fact tone.

I’m shivering under the lights of the locker room. I hate that anyone is seeing me this way, so weak. I reach out my good arm and put it on Allie’s shoulder. No one will be watching me shower but her. I don’t even care if that reveals to everyone here that we have been naked together before. I need comfort. I need Allie.

The male PTs loiter and hang back, each one saying what treatment I should receive after my shower. I’m shivering like a naked man stranded in Alaska by the time I’m in the shower room. Jones turns on the water and steam instantly wafts around the stream of water.

“Five minutes,” he says to Allie. “Then bring him out. He needs electrolytes. He needs to be better soon if we are going to avoid a hospital trip.”

Allie says something in reply, then we’re left alone. I feel her hands unapologetically pulling my underwear down, then I’m standing under the stream of the hot water. I don’t know how long I’m there, but I know I’m not alone. She’s standing nearby, her eyes locked onto my face and onto my eyes each time I can focus them on her.

She’s acting cool and professional, but I know her. She’s scared for me. There’s a certain pointed look behind her calm demeanor that gives her away. Hockey injuries like mine are funny little things—they aren’t like a scrape or scratch or a bloody nose. They aren’t visible. So it’s hard to take them seriously until they either don’t go away or they start impacting your daily life.

Now, with a concussion on top of my mysteriously slowly healing shoulder, well, I have reason to be scared. And if she has any feelings at all for me, I guess her fear makes sense, too.

“Okay, let’s get you out and dressed now,” her voice fills my mind, shaking me out of my thoughts, my feelings.

“I felt like I might pass out,” I say in a hoarse voice, my throat dry.

She nods as she hands me a towel. I start to dry off, but it throws me off balance. I panic, then. She is by my side.

“I’ll do it. I’ve got you, Jake.”

Her blue eyes land on mine, and I relax. I know it’s her job to help me, but I think I see more in the depths of those babyblues than professional obligation. She takes the towel and rubs it against my skin, slowly and carefully, from the waist up. Then she hesitates.

We’re alone in the locker room showers, the doorway open, but the PTs and Jones are nowhere in our line of sight.

“Um, you can do the rest,” she says softly.

I catch her hand as she holds the towel out to me. “You weren’t home last night.”

I look at her then have to close my eyes. Focusing on anything hurts my brain.

“Jake, I—” she starts to say.

“All finished in there?” Dr. Jones says. He rounds the corner, sees that I’m putting a towel on and that Allie is an acceptable distance away, then nods. “Hurry it up. Coach and half the nation are breathing down my neck, wanting to know how our star hockey player is doing. I have to give them an update.”

“All finished,” Allie chirps out. She looks at me. “Which locker is yours? I’ll get you something to put on.”

I give in to my fate. The physical connection I long to feel with Allie will have to wait. “Third from the left.”

I let Allie help me get dressed and then let Jones all but shove an electrolyte drink down my throat. Admittedly, I feel like a new man after that. Allie hands me a soft granola bar, but when I start to eat it, I feel an overwhelming urge to throw up. She and Jones exchange worried looks.

“What is it?” I ask desperately as I walk with my entourage of PTs and Jones to the PT room. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

I’ve had a concussion before. Two, actually. I’ve always been able to shake them off. I’ve always taken ten minutes on the bench, got my head together, and then taken myself right back on the ice. That’s what a real warrior does. That’s the man I used to be.

This toddling guy who can’t even keep food down is not a man I recognize. It’s not the man that I want to be.

I look at Jones. “Give me a shot. That’s what Juan would do. That’s what I want. It’s my body, so just shoot me up with something. I have to get back out there.”

No one meets my gaze. Except for Allie.

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