Page 124 of On Ice

The pneumonia has left her frail, her breathing labored even weeks after the antibiotics finished their work. The nurses speak in hushed tones now, exchanging glances they think I don’t notice.

I went to visit Mom after practice today even though my muscles ached and I was exhausted. But the physical exhaustion is nothing compared to the hollow feeling that’s taken up residence in my chest since visiting Mom.

She didn’t recognize me again today.

She was asleep for most of my visit, and when she did wake up, she didn’t know who I was. For twenty minutes, I was just a nice young man who reminded her of someone. Whenrecognition finally flickered in her eyes, it lasted only moments before sliding away again.

When I finally get to Luca’s home, I’m emotionally spent. Luca’s bedroom door is ajar, warm light spilling into the hallway. I find him sitting against the headboard, reading glasses perched on his nose, scanning something on his tablet. He looks up when I enter, his expression softening.

“How was she today?” he asks, setting the tablet aside.

I shrug out of my jacket, letting it fall onto a chair. “Not great.” My voice sounds distant, even to my own ears. “She thought I was my father for a while. Then she didn’t know me at all.”

Luca nods, not offering empty reassurances. It’s one of the things I’ve come to appreciate about him. He doesn’t try to bandage wounds with platitudes.

“The nursing director called me,” he says after a moment.

I pause in the middle of unbuttoning my shirt. “What? Why would she call you instead of me?”

“She called you first, left a message. You didn’t call her back, so she called me.”

I pull out my phone, seeing the missed call and voicemail. A spike of guilt hits me. I should be the one fielding calls about my mother, not Luca. No matter who’s paying the bills.

“What did she say?” I ask, resuming undressing. All I want is to climb into bed with Luca. I need his arms around me to help anchor me to something good. Life feels so bleak at the moment. Between the playoffs and Mom’s health, there’s almost more stress than I can handle.

“Dr. Linney believes your mother’s condition is complicated by the pneumonia. Her recovery has stalled.” Luca’s voice is matter-of-fact, but his eyes are watchful, gauging my reaction. “They’re concerned about her heart now too.”

I sit heavily on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath my weight. “Shit.”

“I’ve made some calls,” Luca continues, his tone careful. “There’s a specialist at Johns Hopkins, Dr. Eleanor Rhodes. She’s pioneered treatment protocols for Alzheimer’s patients with post-pneumonia complications.”

I look up at him, understanding dawning. “You want to bring her in?”

“If you agree.” He sits forward, removing his reading glasses. “She can be here by Friday.”

“Luca...” I rub my hand over my face, feeling the day’s stubble rasp against my palm. “Those kinds of specialists cost—”

“Money isn’t relevant,” he cuts me off, a hint of impatience coloring his voice. “The question is whether you want her to see your mother.”

The room feels suddenly too warm, too close. I stand, moving to the window, staring out at the manicured grounds of Luca’s estate. “I don’t know if I’m comfortable with you paying for any more than you already pay for.”

“Why?”

I shrug. “It’s just too much. She’s my mother, not yours. You’ve never even met her.”

“What does that matter? She’s your mother and I love you. I want to help you.”

I relish hearing him say how he feels about me, but the guilt remains. “Still,” I mutter. “It’s too much.”

The silence stretches between us. I hear the soft sound of Luca rising from the bed, his bare feet nearly silent on the carpeted floor. He slips his arms around me and I lean back against him. He kisses the side of my neck, and I shiver at his breath warm against my skin.

“Baby, I want to do this for you. For her,” he says.

I rest my arms on top of his. “I feel guilty.”

“Why?” He rests his chin on my shoulder. “I need to help somehow and this is the only way I know. She’s your family and you know how important family is to me. I can feel how worried and depressed you are lately. I… I want to fix this for you.”

I smile, although my heart aches. Mom’s illness can’t be fixed, not really. Even if they get her body healthy again, her mind is gone. The best specialist in the world can only manage her mental decline, perhaps make it less painful, less frightening. The outcome remains the same.

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