Page 116 of The Last Guy On Earth
I’ve seen guys cry on the bench. I’ve watched a fight between two coaches that ended up on HockeyBrawls.
I’ve seen a puck get lodged in a player’s playoff beard before the dude accidentally shook it loose and scored on himself. And a guy get a compound fracture so bad that his bone stuck several inches out of his leg.
This is all I know. It’s a big life. And I don’t know how I’m going to let it go when the time comes.
After our win, there’s the usual blur of media outlets waiting to pounce. But Tate chases everyone out of the dressing room except for team members and staff.
Clay walks in, holding his phone. “Guys, I have some fresh news about Pierre.”
The room falls quiet.
“First of all, he’s stable, a bit more responsive, and has not required resuscitation.”
Faces all around me start to relax.
“But they’re monitoring him for heart, kidney, or neurological issues caused by an overdose of cocaine.”
Everyone flinches.
“This is a serious health risk for him, and a sad day for the team. We’ll be monitoring his care. And we’ll be doing a lot ofwork around the organization—and I’ll personally take the lead on this—to find out how we could have done a better job of supporting him before things got this bad. My only hope is that we can all learn something from this. And I commend you all for the work you did here tonight. I know he’ll be proud of you, too.”
The applause is brief but loud. In a mood that’s pretty somber for a team that just won game two of the finals, we peel off our sweaty gear and head for the showers.
In my hotel room, I realize how sore my bad ankle is as I change gingerly into my pajama pants. My phone rings, and Toby’s face appears on the screen.
“Hey, kid. It’slate.”
“I knew you’d say that,” he chirps. “But I stayed up to tell you congratulations.”
“You watched the game?” Toby is not exactly a hockey fan.
“We totally watched. Grandpop says we have to watch ’em all because you probably don’t have so many left.”
I snort. “Does he know something I don’t?”
“He said if you guys win it all, you’ll probably retire.”
My ankles might like that idea, but it’s not my father’s call.
“Guess what?” Toby asks brightly. “I saw Mom today.”
“You did?” I sit heavily on the end of the bed.
“She’s doingso great. Grandpop said we can go back in three days. Also? Mom needs more money in her account to make phone calls. She wants to call you.”
“Mm-hmm,” I say, promising nothing. I’ve kept her commissary account low on purpose, so she can’t trade for drugs. “I’m pretty hard to reach these days.”
“She knows. She said to tell you she’s proud of you.”
“Well, shit,” I whisper, the sentiment hitting me unexpectedly hard. I can’t think of another time when Shelby’s said something like that.
“She said it’s hard starting over, and she bets your ankle is killing you. But you’re doing really well. She also said she watched the last Detroit game on TV the other night and the commentator mentioned you. They said it’s a damn shame they got rid of you.”
I laugh. “Did they? I missed that.” There was so much chatter at Newgate’s house that I didn’t hear a word of the commentary.
“Grandpop signed me up for day camp at the Y, because Trevor is doing it. I get to see him every day for twoweeks.”
I flop back onto the bed, phone pressed to my ear. “That makes me happy, bud. I wish I could have done that for you.”
