Page 65 of Delay of Game

My shoulders drop and I close my eyes. Fuck, why didn’t he say anything?

“What happened?” I ask, not completely sure that I want to know.

“He was pretty brutally checked. There’s a video out there but I don’t recommend watching it. He violently crashed into the boards and was taken off the ice on a stretcher and then ended up with a hip fracture and a concussion.”

I can’t help but vividly picture everything Ash is telling me, and it makes me feel sick to my stomach. As someone who’s grown up with hockey, I know a thing or two about injuries, especially after Robbie had to get through two torn ACLs. But this, this sounds so much worse somehow.

“Is that why he retired?” I ask, and immediately feel dumb. Of course that’s why.

“Al, it took him five months to recover and he’s still in pain most days. That was a career-ending injury.”

“What do you mean he’s still in pain?” I ask, and my voice wobbles, more tears gathering on my lashes.

“Fuck, I really shouldn’t be the one telling you all this. He—he’s got something called post-traumatic osteoarthritis, it’s like chronic pain essentially. Unless he gets a total hip replacement, he’s gonna have to deal with that pain for a long while.”

“Why doesn’t he get one?” I squeak out.

Ash snorts. “Have you met Jordan? He’s the most stubborn guy I know and up until recently, he hadn’t even told his family how bad the injury was, let alone accept anyone’s help or advice.”

“But if he’s in pain—” I try to argue, but Ash cuts me off.

“He thinks doing his physical therapy is enough, but that’s just the bare minimum. I know what he’s like, and most of the time he feels like he’s a burden to others, so no matter what you say he’s not going to listen.”

“Fuck, Ash. I was so rude to him. I told him he’s not someone I can count on,” I say, chewing on the corner of my lip. God, I’m such an idiot.

“Damn, ruthless.”

“Ash!” I cry out.

“Sorry, sorry. Look, I’m sure he’ll look past you being rude. But maybe you should check on him. If he truly bailed on you, he must be having a bad flare.”

“You think he’d want to see me?”

“Probably not, but you have a spare key.” Ash goes quiet for a moment. “Sometimes he just needs some tough love and someone to stick by him even when he wants to push everyone away.”

I nod even though he can’t see me. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Just … take it easy on him, Al.”

“I’ll try,” I say with an eye roll, and Ash laughs, almost like he could see me.

“Love you, blondie.”

“Miss you, goldfish.”

The radio is playingChristmas music and normally I would be all for it, but my mind keeps straying to Jordan. Is he okay?Please let him be okay.

I go to my apartment first and change into leggings and an old comfortable navy blue sweater before grabbing the key to Jordan’s apartment from my junk drawer. I fiddle with it for a moment, contemplating if he even wants me there, but decide to follow Ash’s advice and give Jordan a dose of tough love.

Walking into his apartment, the lights are all off, blackout curtains pulled tight. It’s so dark and quiet that for a moment I wonder if he’s even home. But his car was in front of the building, so he must be here. I quietly pad over to his bedroom and push the door open.

“Jordan?”

The lump on the bed moves the tiniest bit and I bite my lip in worry.

“Jordan, are you okay?” I ask again.

“Alice?”

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