is gone, I can’t sleep. My body is tired but my mind won’t stop spinning. Where is he? Is he okay? What is his dad doing to him? Will the nightmares be worse when he gets back? How much worse can they get? I spend the night agitated and pacing most of the time, running my hand through my hair, and obsessively checking my phone.
Assistant Coach Scott once again drives me to get my CT scan before the game. I don’t tell him that my head is pounding or that I haven’t slept. I hide behind my dedication to the team and a smile like all athletes are taught.
By the time I’m dressed and heading to the rink for pregame, my head is screaming, I’ve gotten maybe an hour of sleep, and I’m nauseated.
In the locker room, we get changed for off-the-ice warm ups. Normally, I would be chatting with Paul and Brendon and making jokes to keep the tone light before the game.
Not today.
“Albrooke!” Coach calls me and I turn to look at him, doing my best not to squint in the bright lights.
“Yeah, Coach?”
“We’re still waiting on those CT results, take it slow and easy until we have them. You feeling okay?”
“I’m good, Coach.”
He watches me for a minute then walks off. When I turn back around, I sigh and stretch my neck in an attempt to loosen up the tension in my head.
“You good?” Paul finally asks after multiple attempts to get me to talk.
“Nothing.” I snap, sitting to pull on my gym shoes.
“That doesn’t answer the question I asked.” He folds his arms over his chest and blocks the doorway when I try to leave. “We have a game soon and your head isn’t in it.”
The pounding behind my eyes is so intense I can barely think.
“I need to warm up, move.”
Paul looks at me with pursed lips, like he’s trying to read my mind.
“Johnson! Albrooke! Stop standing around, let’s go!” One of the assistant coaches hollers at us. I lift an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to move.
“You have a headache? Where’s Carmichael? You guys have a fight or something?”
“Fuck off, dude.” I shove past him and head into the gym area. I climb onto a bike and start with an easy ride to get my muscles loose and warm.
As my heart rate increases, so does the pressure in my head. Jesus fucking Christ. I sit up and press the heels of my palms against my eyes.
“Albrooke.” Coach puts his hand on my shoulder. “What’s going on? Your head hurts?”
“Fuck,” I groan, covering my face. I swear my head is going to explode. I rock back and forth on the bike seat.
“I need an EMT in here!” Coach yells at someone. Doesn’t really matter who, it just makes the throbbing worse. It’s all I can do not to cry, it hurts so fucking bad. There’s nothing but the pain, the pressure, in my head. Just make it fucking stop.
“Come on, off the bike,” Coach instructs, lifting an arm to help me stand. I swing my leg over and stumble my way out of the gym and into the hallway where I slide down the wall to sit on the cold floor. The cold feels good so I lay down on my back, wrapping my arm over my face.
“Did you sleep last night? When did the pain start?” Coach is trying to get information but I can barely concentrate on what he’s saying.
More footsteps echo through the hallway, hurrying toward me.
“Hey, what’s going on?” a new voice asks, kneeling next to me.
The pressure in my head is making my stomach turn.
“I might puke,” is the only warning they get before my stomach revolts against what I’ve eaten today, which wasn’t much.
Stomach acid burns my throat and nose, my abdomen clenching painfully, increasing the pressure in my head until I want to scream
“I want him checked again for a concussion. He hit his head last night.” That’s Coach, I think. “He just had a CT scan, we’re waiting on the results.”
I manage to roll over onto my hands and knees, hanging my head from my shoulders as I dry heave.
“He was cleared last night?” the new voice asks.
“ER cleared him to play as long as he had another clear CT today.” That’s Assistant Coach Scott, he went with me last night. “Said he didn’t appear to have a concussion, just the cut on his forehead and a goose egg on the back of his head.”
A hand rubs my back a few times. “When did the headache start?”
“I don’t know.” I croak, dropping back on my knees and burying my head in my arm again. The hallway now smells like vomit, my mouth tastes like it, and I just want the lights to fuck off.
“He said he was fine an hour ago,” Scott tells them.
A stretcher is pulled up next to me and I’m helped onto it. As I pass the gym a couple of guys pat my leg, but I’m not sure who it is. I don’t want to open my eyes to check. Probably Paul, Brendon, and Carpenter.
I’m loaded into the ambulance and taken to the ER. They give me Tylenol to help with the pain and Zofran to put under my tongue so I don’t throw it up. The EMT in the back with me calls the ER to let them know we’re coming and keep the lights off to help with my pain. The guy sitting in the back with me gets an IV line set and hangs saline. The cold liquid going into my arm makes me shiver.
I think the guy asks me if I want a blanket but I don’t answer. I can’t think past the throbbing in my head.
Since I got off the bike and my heart rate has come down, the pressure isn’t as bad, but it still takes most of my concentration not to scream.
The hospital isn’t too busy when I get there so I’m seen pretty fast, tested for a concussion, taken for another CT scan, and discharged with Tylenol and Zofran. I’m told not to play for a minimum of two weeks, at which point I will be reassessed. Lots of rest, no gym or practice until Monday, then start slow.
By the time Coach Scott drops me off at the dorms, I’m exhausted. Opening my door, I look at Preston’s bed and hate that he’s not there. Even if he wasn’t with his dad, he would be at the game right now.
Needing comfort, I crawl into his bed, hold his pillow against my chest, and pull his blanket over me.
His warm, clean, masculine scent lulls me right to sleep.
I wake with a start, not understanding what woke me. My instincts are telling me to be on alert but there’s nothing. I look around the room and it takes me a second to realize why I’m in Preston’s bed without him. Sitting up, I check my phone, flinching at the brightness, and see it’s twelve fourteen. About the time Preston normally wakes me up screaming.
With a sigh, I lay back down and adjust the pillow under my head. I hate that he’s not here, that I don’t know what’s going on. Why does he keep going with his dad when he obviously doesn’t want to? Why did he kiss me before he left after avoiding me for the last month?
Why do I want to hold him anyway?
I get comfortable and close my eyes. Sleep takes me quickly again but fills my head with Preston.
When I wake again, it’s morning and the sun is bright in my room. It makes my head hurt. I check the time on my phone and since it’s after eight, I get up. My head isn’t happy, but I need to eat something before I can take the meds. I take care of business in the bathroom, change into sweats and a hoodie, then pull on socks and my shoes. I don’t want to wear sunglasses like a dumbass, so I grab a ballcap to protect my eyes. Since it’s almost Thanksgiving, it’s cold. Luckily, I grew up in Michigan and am used to it.
As I open the door to leave, Brendon and Paul are standing there, Brendon with his fist lifted to knock.
“Oh, hey. You guys eat yet?” I ask them.
“We were just getting ready to head down. How are you feeling?” Brendon steps back, giving me room to enter the hallway and close my door.
“Tired. I’ve got a headache but I have to eat before I can take anything.” I shrug. “How was the game?”
“We won last night in overtime,” Paul informs me and the two of them break into telling me the highlights of the game. Who scored, who had amazing plays, who was a dumb ass.
Standing in front of the breakfast options, I decide on a mostly healthy option: eggs, toast, bacon, an apple, and some oatmeal.
“Why wasn’t Carmichael at the game?” Paul asks me when he sits down with his own massive bowl of oatmeal covered in brown sugar.
I shrug, shoving more eggs in my mouth. “I’m not sure, he told me it was cleared with Coach. That’s all I know.”
“Has to be something serious for that to fly,” Brendon says as he sits next to me.
“Coach never mentioned anything?” I verify, pulling out the pain pills and opening my bottle of water.
“Nope. He said you have a concussion and Carmichael wasn’t coming so we better get our shit together.” Paul shrugs. I snicker at him. Definitely sounds like something Coach would say.
A few of the other guys trickle in and stop at our table to check in with me, patting me on the back and commiserating with me.
“Game of Thrones marathon?” Brendon asks as we put our dishes away.
“The doctor told me not to watch TV or it’ll make my head worse, but you guys can. I’ll probably just sleep most of the day anyway.” I shrug as we walk back to the dorms, the wind biting through my sweats. It’s fucking cold out here. I should have grabbed a jacket to throw on over this.
The pounding in my head quiets to a dull ache, so I head to Paul and Brendon’s room to hang out.
“Wanna play cards?” Paul pulls a red deck of cards from his desk.
“I think the only thing I remember how to play is Go Fish.” I give him a smug look and Brendon laughs.
“Mother fucking Go Fish it is, I guess.” He snorts and we sit on his bed facing each other. It’s a childs game but being athletes means we’re competitive. It doesn’t matter what it is, if there’s a winner, we each want to be it. There’s no friends or allies in competition.
“Okay, but let’s make this interesting.” Paul shuffles the cards while Brendon and I both look at him, waiting for him to explain.
“First, are we putting down pairs or four of a kind?” He looks back and forth between us.
“Four of a kind,” Brendon and I say at the same time.
Paul deals the cards and I start by asking Brendon for tens—go fish. We go around and around until Brendon finally gets a set of four to put down.
“So, I obviously like girls, but I’m pretty sure I’ll end up marrying a guy.” Brendon shrugs and Paul studies him for a minute.
“I can see that.” I nod. “I’ve never dated a girl, but if having a girlfriend is anything like dealing with my sister, I’ll pass.”
They both laugh and Paul goes next, asking me for the damn tens I’ve been collecting.
“You’re an asshole!” I give him the cards, grumbling about payback being a bitch. He give me a shit eating grin as he sets down his set of tens. That jackass.
“What about you? You got any specific girl in mind?” I ask him.
Paul’s eyes meet mine but it’s more like a deer in the headlights than anything else. What the hell is this? He’s talked to us about girls before.
After a moment of awkward silence, Paul gets up and digs through his desk until he finds a bottle rum which he opens and takes a swallow of. He looks at us then takes another drink.
I cock my head at him. “Either there’s something you want to tell us or there’s something you want to ask one of us. What is it?”
Paul takes his seat again and picks up his cards.
“I think I’m bisexual, maybe pansexual.” He looks down at his cards.
Brendon smiles at him, cupping his shoulder. “Alright, welcome to the We Like Dicks Club!”
I snort at him and shove Brendon. “You’re an idiot.”
“What? You can’t be pan and hate dicks.” Brendon has the audacity to look at me like I’m the dumb one.
“It doesn’t mean he wants to go out and start sucking dick, you moron.” I shake my head at Brendon and turn to Paul. “I’m glad you felt comfortable telling us. Please don’t kill him after I leave.” I nod toward Brendon.
We play on and Brendon sighs heavily when he sets down another set of four. “I don’t know what I want to do after college.”
“What’s your degree in again?” I ask.
“Boring ass business. I didn’t know what to put and I panicked.” He shrugs.
“Why don’t you do something with sports? Coach, journalist, physical therapy? There’s a lot of jobs that you can do that keep you around hockey or just sports in general,” I offer. “Talk to Coach, he might have some ideas for you.”
They are kicking my ass at this child’s card game and I should be a lot more upset about it, but I’m just so damn tired. But even going to bed won’t help. I sleep better with Preston wrapped around me and he’s not he’s not here.
“I uh…I sleep in Preston’s bed most nights.” The words fall from my mouth before my brain has a chance to filter them.
He’s going to kill me for that.
“Yeah, we already assumed you guys were fucking and pretending to hate each other to keep it under wraps.” Paul shrugs. “The way he watches you gives it away.”
“What? He doesn’t watch me.” Now I’m confused. “And we’ve had sex once.”
Brendon busts out with laughter. “Dude. He watches you like a hawk. Did you not realize he fucked up the guy who tripped you during the game? He’s crazy protective of you. Every game, he retaliates against anyone who touches you.”
I narrow my eyes at Brendon. That can’t be true.
“You’re crazy. He does not do that.” I shake my head at him.
“I’ve left practices with bruises from that big bastard because I shoved you into the boards,” Paul scoffs.
“What? Are you serious?” I look back and forth between the two of them. “How have I not seen that? Why haven’t you guys said anything before now?”
They both look at me like I’ve grown a second head.
“Probably because you were avoiding him like he was a leper?” Brendon reaches for his water bottle and takes a drink.
Have I been trying so hard to ignore him that I’ve missed shit? Has he been trying to show me that he cares and I’ve not seen it?
This is making my head hurt more.
Hesitant excitement flutters in my stomach when it shouldn’t. The guy is difficult, has anger issues, and is about as cuddly as a cactus, but I want him anyway. I want to be his safe space, to see a part of him that no one else sees.
“Duuuuude,” Brendon whines, “Stop smiling like that. I think I’m gonna be sick.”
I shove him so he falls into Paul who flushes slightly. Oh, that’s what’s happening here. I cover my smile with my hand and drop my gaze to my lap so he doesn’t see me staring.
Clearing my throat, I look at my cards. “Okay, whose turn is it?”
“It’s cool you think you still stand a chance of winning.” Brendon sits up and looks at his cards. “Fives, P man?”
Paul shakes his head, still pink in the cheeks, but Brendon doesn’t seem to notice.
The game continues and by the end of it, I’m exhausted. Brendon kicked our asses and somehow, I’m pretty sure he cheated. How would one even cheat at Go Fish? Doesn’t matter, I’m sticking to my story.
“Alright, guys, I’m going to crash for a while. I’m tired.” I stand and stretch, pat Paul on the shoulder, and head to my dorm room.
It’s about two o’clock and if last time is anything to go by, Preston won’t be home for another few hours.
Being back in my room has the darkness of the situation weighing heavy on my shoulders again. It’s like being pulled down under the surface of the water. Every once in a while, you manage to break through and get a breath just to be pulled back under.
I lay down on his bed again, wanting to feel close to him, smell him on my skin. What is his dad doing to him? Why does he keep going with him? He’s twenty-one, an adult.
Settling on my side with his pillow under my head, I inhale a deep breath of him and fall asleep.
