My phone was buzzing when we went back into the locker room after the warm-up skate. Coach didn’t want us to check our phones, especially not when we were about to head back out for the game, so I opened my bag to silence it. It was my mom, and she never called this close to a game.
I answered, “Mom?”
“Styles!” Coach barked.
I looked his way, and seeing my face, he quieted.
I asked, “What’s wrong?”
Everyone else quieted, hearing me.
She started crying.
“Mom?”
I turned away, taking the call to the back of the locker room. The guys could hear, but I didn’t want to risk going to the hallway. There’d be too much sound out there.
“Titi had a bad reaction today.”
Oh, God. “What happened?” My voice dropped. “Is she okay now?”
“She’s–we’re in the hospital. I had to bring her in. She had three seizures in the ambulance.”
Jesus.
Some of her crying lessened, but it was still there. Her voice was still broken, and I couldn’t do anything to help her. Maybe I should’ve skipped college? Gone straight to the NHL? This was high school for me. Hockey and helping my mom. Titi needed to be carried so much of the time. It was easier if I did it, but when my mom insisted I go to college, they’d made adjustments. They got onto a better insurance plan, one that helped with more machines in the house, and more staff around the clock. It let my mom get a little bit of a break, but this, this was breaking my heart.
“Did they find out what caused the seizures?”
“A new medication.” I could hear the background beeping that only a medical facility had. The nonstop beep of call lights. She must’ve been near a nurse’s desk. “She’ll be in the hospital until they get it out of her system, and then we have to introduce a new med. It’ll take time, but she’s stopped seizing. Cruz,” her voice dropped again. “It was so scary.”
I folded my head down. “I’m so sorry, Mom. But she’s getting better. She’ll be better.”
“I know. I–I shouldn’t have called you. Oh my God! You’re supposed to be playing right now. I’m interrupting–why did you answer? I could’ve left a message.”
“Mom.”
“Cruz, honey. You have to go. I’m horrified. Your coach–”
And the guy himself stepped around the lockers, giving me space, but making it clear he was there. I gave him a small nod. “I gotta go, Mom. I’ll call later tonight unless you’re sleeping.”
“Okay. Yes. Okay. Love you. Oh, I have other news to tell you, but I’ll tell you later.”
She hung up, and I didn’t address my coach right away. These calls, they happened sometimes. They happened more a year ago, but her progress had plateaued over the summer. God. A medication. They were always adjusting her meds, seeing what helped her better, but the problem was that there were always side effects. Real fucking serious side effects. It was a roulette game about which side effect was easier to live with than the other, and after I got these calls, the pit in my stomach came next.
It was there. Tunneling down.
‘Everything okay on the family front?” My coach interrupted the usual hole I went down into, filled with anger and hate.
I nodded, feeling scraped raw inside. “My sister’s in the hospital. She was calling to let me know.”
He was quiet for a beat. I didn’t talk about my family, hardly ever. It was easier not to because for one, it was no one’s business, but also because I couldn’t hide the loathing that always came up when I told people what happened to my little sister.
I loved her. I worshiped her, and she shouldn’t be in that wheelchair.
“You good to play?”
“Yeah,” I ground out.
“Get in here then. And, Cruz?”
I looked up, waiting.
He was studying me intensely. “I see your anger. If you’re playing tonight, use it.”
My gut flared, because fuck yes, I would. It’s the only place I channeled that pit inside of me. “I plan to.”
“Good.”
We went back to the other side. The guys listened to the pre-game talk, though I could feel their gazes on me. I knew some would ask me later what was going on, but tonight, I just wanted to rip someone’s head off. Or win the game.
I’d settle for the latter.
