Kiss and Don't Tell(105)

Hornsby: That is, in fact, true.

Posey: Holds hands up I didn’t want to be the one who pointed it out.

Holmes: I speak up when it matters.

Lawes: Another reason why he’d make a good best man. Also . . . thanks for the distraction, you assholes. I appreciate it.

Posey: Does that mean we’re all best men?

Hornsby: Valid question.

Lawes: We can talk about it when the time comes.

Taters: Which means, boys, there’s still time to impact the decision on the best man role.

Hornsby: You weren’t even a fan of a soon-to-be marriage.

Taters: Now that I know it’s a competition for best man status . . . it’s on. Also, keep us updated on what Doc says.

Posey: We’re here for you.

Hornsby: Whatever happens, we got you.

Holmes: Good luck, man.





“Do you think I’m going to have to hang up my skates?” I ask as I sit down in Doc’s office.

He moves his hand over his mouth and leans back in his chair.

The last few hours have been hell. I’ve been through a gauntlet of exams, and I’m not only physically exhausted, but I’m mentally drained. So many goddamn questions, so many times that I worried something serious could be wrong. Now that it’s all over and I’m sitting across from Doc, I want to know—what the fuck is going on?

“If I had a straight answer, I’d give it to you, Pacey.” He pulls his leg up and crosses it over the opposite knee. “Do I wish we had done this earlier in the season? Yeah, I do. I think if we’d got to the root of the problem, we’d have been able to attack it sooner. Now given your migraines, I’m worried we might have exacerbated the injury.”

“Yes, but I told you the last one wasn’t as bad.”

“Which is a good sign, but that doesn’t mean this is getting better.”

“So what now?” I ask, fear creeping up the back of my neck.

“Dr. Flannery, a neurologist, will examine the MRI and CT-scan results, looking for any abnormalities and soft tissue injuries.” He looks off to the side and says, “We really won’t know any more until those results come in.”

“And?”

He rests his hand on his desk. “When or if we get there, I will let you know.” His inability to look me in the eyes worries me.

“You’re not telling me something.”

He glances up.

“Just fucking say it or else I’m going to lose my shit.”

He folds his hands on his desk and levels with me. “If there’s a brain bleed or nerve fiber damage, Pacey, this past season was most likely your last.”

My hands turn into angry fists as I tightly grip the armrests.

“I know that’s not what you want to hear, but I figured I need to at least prepare you.”

I shake my head, completely in denial. “This was not my last season.”

“Pacey.”

“It wasn’t,” I yell, slamming my fist down. “It fucking wasn’t.”

Slowly he leans back and nods. “Let’s just take this one day at a time. Until then, try to relax.”

Yeah, easy to say coming from someone who isn’t about to lose everything they ever fucking worked for.

But instead of putting up a fight, I have the urge to get the hell out of here, so I nod solemnly. “And you’re not going to tell Coach?”

I met Doc in his personal office today, rather than at the arena. I did that on purpose, because I didn’t want to raise any red flags. It might be the off-season but word still travels.

“It’s my duty as the team doctor to report anything I find out about a player. For now, though, I won’t submit my report until I know the facts.”

“Doc—”

“I can’t lie, Pacey. This is my job too.”

I lean back in my chair. “Fuck.”

“I know this isn’t what you want to hear, Pacey, but nothing good will come from worrying. What you can do is start a headache diary. I want you to note what you eat, what exercise you do and for how long, what other factors affected your behavior prior to each migraine. Also, what they’re like. Write a description of each incident of visual disturbances or unusual sensations, including when they occurred, how long they lasted and what triggered them.

“If we can see a pattern of what precedes your migraines, we can see if they’re exercise related, diet, or even stress-related. The neurologist will need that too, so if you could try and note anything you can recall from the last few migraines you’ve suffered, we’ll have more to give him. I’ll provide him a list of vitamins or supplements you’re taking, but if that changes, let me know to add that too. Stress doesn’t help, so try to relax. Any of the boys come back with you? Maybe you can hang out with them tonight.”

I shake my head. “They all stayed in Banff. I actually, uh”—I scratch the side of my cheek—“I came back with a girl.”

“A girl?” Doc asks, surprised. “I don’t think in all the years I’ve known you that you’ve ever shown interest in someone.”

“Yeah, well, Winnie is different.” My voice is terse, angry, as I speak about my girl, and it’s all because of what’s hanging above my head—possible forced retirement. “She’s staying with me. Actually, she was heading to the market today to grab some food to make me dinner.”