She started again at his tone. “I—I don’t know. I think they put your stuff in the closet.”
“I need to check my messages.”
“I’m sure anyone who texted you will understand if you haven’t responded yet.”
“My parents—”
“I can call and update them.”
“I need to do it. My mom will get her hopes up.”
“She should. You’re going to be fine.”
He dragged a frustrated hand down his jaw. “About us, Elena. If she knows you’re here, she’ll get her hopes up about us. So just . . . just let me handle my own family.”
She reacted as if he’d reached across the arm of the bed and smacked her. Her eyes pinched at the corners as her lips tightened. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Let me find your phone, and I will step out so you can call them.”
She immediately turned away from him, giving him a chance to mentally punch his own face. That had been cruel. His parents were the only family she had left, and just because he and Elena were getting a divorce didn’t mean she was being exiled from them.
“I didn’t mean that,” he said, trying to make his voice convey sincerity.
She pulled open the door to the closet next to the bathroom. “They put all your things in here, I think.” Elena crouched and pulled his overstuffed duffel bag from the floor of the closet. “Do you mind if I go through this?”
“Elena, please, I’m trying to apologize.”
“For what?” She opened the zipper and started digging through the clothes he’d worn to the arena before the game and all the other things they’d pulled from his locker.
“They’re your family too.”
“Not for long, though, right?” She retrieved his phone and tugged the white charging cord out from the bottom of the bag. It was wrapped around a sock. “Found it.”
She shoved everything back in the bag, shut the closet door, and then returned to his side. She wouldn’t look at him as she plugged the phone into an outlet attached to the arm of the bed. “It will probably take a second to charge up.”
Her arms came around her torso in a pose he once found defensive, standoffish. Now it made her look small and insecure.
“Elena, look at me.”
She plastered a fake smile on her face as she raised her gaze to his.
“They will always be your family. Always.”
Her chin lifted and lowered in a single, noncommittal nod.
The phone screen blared white as it came back to life. Vlad punched in his passcode and then sighed heavily when he saw the number of notifications he’d missed. More than three hundred texts had come in overnight. Probably half were from the Bros alone. Another surge of guilt soured his mood even more.
The door swung open. A tall woman walked in wearing scrubs and a white doctor’s coat. Behind her was a familiar face from the team—head trainer Madison Keff. Both women paused to pump hand sanitizer into their palms from the dispenser on the wall before advancing farther into the room.
The doctor approached his bed with a wide smile. “Good to see you awake, Vlad.” She extended her hand to Elena. “I’m Dr. Celia Lorenzo. You must be Mrs. Konnikov.”
“Konnikova,” Elena corrected.
At the doctor’s look of confusion, Elena clarified. “Women in Russia often feminize the last name when they marry.”
It was an old tradition, and some people didn’t even do it anymore. But his mother had done it, and so had Elena’s when she’d married Elena’s father. So Elena had decided to do it too. At the time, it had meant something to Vlad. It meant she thought their marriage was special. Now he knew better. And the last thing he needed besides her pity was a reminder of how naive he’d once been.
Madison strode forward next, hand outstretched to Elena. “We haven’t met before. I’m Madison Keff, the head trainer.”
Elena shook hands with both women. “Where is the coach?”
“Coach . . . ?” Madison asked.
“Yes. The coach of the team. Why is he not here?”
“Because he’s on the road,” Vlad said, failing to keep the annoyance from his voice. “They left this morning for the next game in the series.”
Because they’d lost last night. If they’d won, his team would already be on their way to the Stanley Cup. They had to win tonight, or it was over. But no matter what, Vlad would not be there.
Dr. Lorenzo, either because she was efficient or because she sensed a growing tension, interjected. “Let’s go over the surgery.”
Madison turned on the wall-mounted TV, did something on her iPad, and then the TV screen came alive with a still image from the game. It was the moment just before the fall. Vlad didn’t need to see it to relive it. He would never forget the moment his career flashed before his eyes. There was a pop followed by a searing pain, and then his vision blurred as he fell to the ice. He might have cried out, but all he could hear was the sound of his own frantic heartbeat. The game went on, but time stopped for him as he tried and failed to get back up.
A hush fell over the crowd, and officials finally paused the game. Trainers raced out. Crouched beside him. Asked him questions as they tried to locate the source of the injury.
He’d seen it play out a hundred times to a hundred different players over the course of his career, but now it was him. It was his turn to wonder if this was it. Had his entire career just ended in a split-second mistake?
They splinted him on the ice and carted him off on a stretcher. It was a blur after that. At some point, they’d peeled off his pads and cut off his pants. Thankfully, they gave him a shot of a powerful painkiller almost immediately, numbing him all the way to his toes. Then they moved him to the X-ray room, followed up with an MRI, and walked back in with a look that told him it was as bad as he’d feared. His brain could only grasp key words and phrases over the rush of blood in his ears and the pounding of his heart.
Broken tibia.
A clean break, but he would need surgery.
And then they loaded him into an ambulance and brought him here, Nashville Orthopedic Hospital. He was rushed into surgery before he could even fully process what was happening.
And then he’d had the dream about Elena. She’d lulled him into a peaceful state with her gentle touch, her voice, her reassurances. Only now he knew it wasn’t a dream. She was really here. But instead of making him feel better, it made him feel worse.
The doctor approached the screen and pointed with a pen. “We think the initial break from the fall itself was probably small,” she explained. “But when you stood, you likely displaced the bone further.”