Page 66 of Delay of Game

I let out a breath and move to the bed, not knowing what to do, but wanting to make sure he’s okay all the same.

“I’m here,” I say, flipping the nightstand light on and getting on top of the comforter, grabbing the edge of it and pulling it down to reveal Jordan. My eyes are still adjusting, but I can clearly see his pained face. My hands move of their own volition and cup his face, my thumb stroking his short beard.

“How are you here?” he asks with a resigned look on his face, eyes tired and heavy.

“I used the spare key. I know it’s only supposed to be used in emergencies, but this kind of seemed like one.” I ramble on until Jordan pulls his arms out of the comforter and caresses my wrists.

“I—“ he says, but swallows hard, eyes closed tight. He’s going to tell me he doesn’t want me here, seeing him like this.Too bad.

“Don’t even try to tell me to leave. I’m so mad at you right now, I could actually punch you, if you weren’t already in pain. Jordan, why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

His brown eyes roam my face as his thumb continues to stroke my wrist. “Tell you what?”

I huff in frustration and pull my hands away, lying down beside him. Maybe if he’s not looking at me straight-on he might actually tell me everything himself. “Why didn’t you tell me the real extent of your injury?”

“You talked to Ash?” he hedges.

“Yes, but I want you to tell me.”

“I don’t?—“

“None of that bullshit. You said you came to Grand Marquee to get back in our good graces. If you want us”—I say, stopping myself before continuing—“if you wantmeto let you in again, you have to be honest.”

Jordan’s fingers find mine on top of the comforter and he squeezes my hand in his. He’s quiet for so long that I think this might be the end of it all. He won’t open up, and I can’t chase him again knowing he won’t?—

“You’re right,” he says quietly. “I’ll tell you everything.”

Jordan

The pain has been excruciating.I usually keep my medication nearby, but I got hopeful, not having a flare in a few weeks. When it got too painful to even stand, I had no choice but to lay here motionless until the pain subsided.

The shittiest part was having to call Alice and tell her I couldn’t help her go furniture shopping today. I’ve let her down so many times in the past but the fact that I couldn’t even get out of bed today felt like a slap in the face.I can’t even be there for those I love.

What do I have to offer anymore? I’m a washed-up, depressed hockey player with a bum hip and no real prospects in life besides coaching.I feel so useless. I wouldn’t be surprised if all my friends gave up on me. I feel like giving up on myself most of the time.

I wince at the negative thoughts and remember what my new therapist said—I need to spend more time with supportive people, pulling the curtain to give them a glimpse into the darkness lurking beneath.

And Alice—she’s here and she’s not taking no for an answer. Maybe it’s time to let her see everything rather than hiding the ugly parts of myself.

“Things were bad once I moved to Texas. I was miserable there, Al,” I say, shaking my head but keeping her hand tight in mine, like that small act can give me the strength to push through this. “I didn’t know anyone, and you know me, I’m always so fucking anxious in new places.” I laugh bitterly and shake my head again, thinking back on how much I actually hated it there and how much I missed home.

“Hockey helped, it kept me active and social enough out on the road, but at the apartment, the depression was getting worse. At some point I stopped responding to group chats. It was too hard to think about everyone here when I felt like I was aimlessly drifting.” I take a deep breath and turn my head slightly to look at Alice. She’s listening intently, looking at the ceiling fan above us, giving me the space I need to get this all out.

“Ultimately, I stopped answering calls too. My sister was the only one I’d check in with, mostly because I knew she’d freak out and hop on a plane to see me if I went too long without contact.”

Alice’s lips tilt at the corners and I want to keep her smiling all the time. She’s a ray of sunshine and I’m a fucking tornado, ready to wreck everything in my path.

“It went on like that for the two years I was there, until the injury.”

I’m quiet for so long that Alice turns towards me and pins me with her cornflower blue gaze, giving me an understanding look. She wants me to keep going, but I don’t know if I can.

“Ash said the injury was really bad,” she says softly, and I openly gaze at her face. She’s got a small amount of makeup on, and her shoulder-length hair is loose and wavy. A few strands fall in her face. I reach out and tuck them behind her ear, the way I know she would. That small smile returns to her face and I face the ceiling again, closing my eyes.

“It was awful. I blacked out for a bit so I don’t remember much between when I was hit and when the stretcher was brought out, but everything hurt. I was taken to the hospital and by the time I fully realized what was happening, I was starting to panic. They told me surgery was required, and …” I trail off, chuckling.

“What?” Alice asks, confused as to why I’m laughing.

“I’m basically a robot now, metal plates, screws, and all.”

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