Page 88 of Kitty Season
“You’re allowed to be excited, you know,” he says to Troye as he wheels him down the same corridor I spent an eternity in yesterday. “I’m not that precious.”
Troye stops, and leans around the side of the chair, pinching Brady’s cheek. “Could have fooled me.” It’s still hard to fathom the change in Troye over the last few weeks. From cold and distant, to sweet and affectionate. Something I knew he was all along.
Damn I love being right.
They chirp at each other and talk about tonight’s game, till we make it outside and Troye leaves us to bring the car around. “This is so unnecessary,” Brady complains as Troye jogs away. “My legs didn’t fall off.”
“Them’s the rules, Basse. I say enjoy the rest while you can. Dad and I are going to have you back on the ice training for next year before you know it.”
“It’s important to you, isn’t it?” he asks softly. “That I make it back.”
“Of course it is. You’re my number one goalie, remember? My dreamy hockey boy.” I keep my voice as light and hopeful as I can, hoping it inspires Brady to believe it, too. “Lotte knows this doctor, Doctor Carmichael, from her internship. My dad knows him too. He’s a sports neurologist and he’s coming to see you the day after tomorrow. That way your mom will be with you.”
“Sure. Sounds great.”
I wish he did. Justifiably despondent, he’s been so quiet since we arrived, his voice so small for someone so large and full of life. He would still be in pain, of course, and he would be fearful, but I’m determined to keep positive, even when he can’t be.
Troye pulls up in my car, hops out and jogs around to the passenger side, opening both doors then grabbing the plastic hospital bags holding Brady’s stinky pads and uniform. “Goalie shit is disgusting. I don’t know whether you need to wash it or burn it,” he jokes after depositing it in the trunk.
“I don’t think burning is an option,” Brady huffs. “Imagine the fumes.”
“Burial it is then. Hop in the front, Skip.” Troye’s by the door now, ducking down to tap the front passenger seat. “I want to be able to keep an eye on you.”
“But Quinn.”
“Quinn will be fine in the back. I prefer it, actually. I like the smell of your gear. Turns me on a bit.”
Troye’s chuckling as we pull out from the curb, but Brady’s silent, glumly looking out the window as the world speeds by.
There’s going to be a team of coaches and officials from both Boston and New York at tonight’s game and they are coming to see me.
Me.
I know this because my agent told me so.
My agent.
Not only is Danni White an absolute gun, she’s the sister of Coach White, Noah’s agent, and now mine. She spoke to me in the dressing room last night. Practically forced her way in because I refused to come out and speak to her.
“I have to get to the hospital. If you want to talk, talk while I shower.”
And she did, with her eyes squeezed shut, she gave me her spiel, ran me through my options, and signed me up with nothing more than a towel around my waist and a disbelieving smirk on my lips.
Even now, I still can’t believe it. I also haven’t told anyone. Anyone being Brady or Quinn. How can I when Brady is missing tonight’s game and may never play again. Quinn, I haven’t told because I don’t want her complicit in my deceit.
Not telling them is killing me, but so would witnessing the disappointment on Brady’s face.
The hurt in those blue eyes is all I can picture as we drive back home from the hospital, a trip I’m surprised we’re making. I mean obviously the doctors that let him leave know what they’re doing … don’t they?
We are almost home and I can’t help but notice how much he’s squinting and rubbing his temples. Fuck. I’m really not sure about this. Come to think of it, those doctors did look pretty young.
“Dude!”
“Uh, what?” I shake my head and turn my head to Brady.
“I asked how are you feeling about tonight? Are you nervous?”
“Me. Nervous? Nah. I’m chill. So chill I’m … um…” My brain goes blank. I’ve got nothing. Brady has closed his eyes altogether now and is gripping the dash as we turn a corner.
