Mister Hockey (Hellions Angels #1)(37)

It was a hell of a thing, experiencing a long-dreaded moment in all its gut-twisting anxiety. He exhaled a long ragged breath, a little detached from his body, as if viewing himself from a distance, his heartbeat steady but heavy, the reverberations shuddering against his chest.

The air-conditioning hummed even as the room felt oppressively overwarm. Darkness loomed but he shoved it back, squaring his shoulders. Now that the worst had happened, he didn’t have to fear it. Not anymore.

“Don’t get me wrong,” the doctor said with a sheepish chuckle. “I’m one hell of a Hellions fan, and would hate to see you leave the game.” The smile faded from his face. “But I see a lot of athletes sitting where you sit now who have to make a choice. Continue with the game, spin the roulette wheel, play the odds and risk long-term, permanent, irreversible brain damage. Or walk away.”

Jed cleared his throat, coughed once in his fist and swallowed, swallowing again. But nothing was going to budge the knot choking his throat. “Guess I should be glad to get the option, Doc.” Because many times—too fucking many—an athlete didn’t get the luxury of making this kind of shitty decision. An athlete like his brother, Travis, a guy just entering manhood who had big dreams, who went hard, had a champion’s heart pumping in his chest.

Jed raked a hand through his hair, fist tugging the strands at the root.

Travis was a player who didn’t know how to give up. Didn’t quit. Didn’t know that his brain was a ticking time bomb.

“You ever give thought to life beyond hockey?” the doctor asked.

Jed shrugged. Hard to admit the truth, but not really. When Breezy had told him of her uncertainties about opening a children’s bookshop, he’d been a hypocrite of the highest order, spouting off all that motivational “Rah! Rah! Go team!” crap.

The truth was that he didn’t know what to do after leaving hockey. He didn’t have the first fucking clue.

He punched a number into his phone as he left the hospital, the one he never called enough.

“Hello?” His sister-in-law, Tamara’s, voice was threadbare. In high school, she’d been the vivacious captain of the color guard and reigned alongside Travis as king and queen of the high school. She’d gotten pregnant during Travis’s second year at UCLA, but his brother had done the right thing and put a ring on his girl’s finger.

That had been the kind of guy he was.

Everyone had been happy. Even their conservative, uptight parents knew it was a good match, hasty, but inevitable. Nothing shotgun about it. The two of them had been so damn happy.

Until the accident.

“Hey, TamTam,” Jed said in a low voice. “It’s me.”

Silence. “Been a while, Jed.”

He knew enough about women to know when they said your name like that, they were pissed as hell. He didn’t blame his sister-in-law. He had kept a distance, at first bewildered and not sure what to do. As his brother recovered from the brain injury, gaining limited capacity, it became sadly evident that Travis was never going to be Travis again. In his place rose up a sad man, angry, depressed and the last person he wanted to see was his younger brother who still had a bright career waiting for him. Different sport, but an athlete is an athlete is an athlete.

“I’m sorry. He’s having one of his bad days,” Tamara said slowly.

She tended to downplay his brother’s outbursts so this frank admission didn’t bode well.

“How can I help?”

Tamara’s sigh sounded as if it came from the bottom of her feet. “There’s nothing anybody can do.”

Uncomfortable silence filled the airwaves.

“Did you get the stack of books that I sent Josh?” Talking about his nephew might cheer her up. Her only son was a bright light in a too-often dark life.

“He loved them.” Her voice softened. “Especially the Percy Jackson one. Sorry I didn’t have him call to say thank you . . . there’s just been a lot going on.” Her voice dropped into a whisper. “Josh is staying at my parents’ house right now. Just while . . .” She trailed off. “Jed? Hang on a second, Travis just walked into the kitchen. I’ll—uh—I’ll see if he wants to say hello.”

Tam must have covered the phone. The words muffled, then, “Hey, brother. Long time no talk.”

“Travis.” Jed stiffened, recalibrating. His brother hated to talk to him. He hadn’t wanted to speak to him for a couple of years. “Hey, man.”

“Those were some hard-fought playoffs, huh?” His brother’s deep voice was familiar, even though he sounded like a stranger. “I watched, you know. Game seven. Dad came over.”

“Yeah, Detroit was a strong opponent.”

“Hell of a hit you took.”

“Yeah. About that.” Jed cleared his throat, debating a moment. He didn’t do personal conversations with his brother anymore. Travis never wanted to go there. But the guilt was there, as it always was when they spoke, pressing on all sides. The silent question pulsing through his brain.

Why you?

Why not me?

“I’ve been having some issues since the playoffs.” Jed coughed once into his fist. “Double vision. Headaches. Saw a doctor and they’re saying I should give it up.”

There was a beat of silence before his brother laughed. “You’re shitting me.”