Competing in the Olympics during Covid restrictions sucked. Competing with a stress fracture in his foot sucked worse. Cracking that foot and having to end his World Cup season?
Hat trick, as they said in hockey, which, yeah, he still watched. Sue him. Hawk was stunning, and he loved watching him play and texting what he was seeing for Hawk to read after the game.
“Yay.”
“Sorry, kiddo. But if you want to try for another medal in four years, you have to be careful. You hobble yourself now, it’s all over, and your bones are crumbling from the ground up.”
“I know.” He blinked hard, so fucking pissed at his body for betraying him like it had over the last few years. Rheumatoid arthritis was the diagnosis, and the inflammation was affecting his bone density and joint strength. He was on a strict regimen of collagen supplements, an anti-inflammatory diet, and a biologic, but he only had so many more years he might be able to compete.
But a bronze medal wasn’t where his heart was.
“Are you going to cast me up?” He hated casts, because they were a crapshoot as to how much help they could be.
“No. Iamgrounding you for a week here in Beijing while the swelling goes down. Then I’ll put you in a boot to get home, and we’ll go to the specialist from there.”
He nodded, glad not to see a cast going on. That old-school shit really upped the chance of his joint twisting or of an infection happening while they couldn’t see what was going on.
“Anyway, I want you to stay off it. Crutches, wheelchair, or a knee scooter. That’s it. Got it? No weight bearing.”
He heaved a sigh, trying for funny. “Ugh. That blows. But okay. Send me a hot nurse.”
Or maybe send a hockey player who was two Stanley Cups into his career…
Caleb thought about Hawk a lot. Like a lot for a guy who got hit on at every event and hooked up a couple times a yearwith hot guys who were up-and-coming and not weird about sexuality.
But Caleb had to admit, when he was sitting in his apartment in Vail, his feet elevated with ice packs on them, he thought about just going to a ThunderSnow game over in Denver and seeing if Hawk wanted to see him.
The man was happy to text with him, but would he want to get together? Caleb had no idea.
Doc snorted. “No. You need to rest. Period.”
Caleb pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. “How will I ever survive?”
“I don’t care. Read a lot. Watch Chinese TV. Jack off a million times. Just don’t put weight on your foot.” Doc waved his assistant over, who brought a little sock sleeve thing and a boot to fit to Caleb’s foot.
“Do I at least get a hotel room? Please?”
“Yeah, I think that would be wise. Moving you out of the village will mean you actually get rest, and we’ll get you an accessible room somewhere on the other side of the city. Some of them are emptying out a bit now.”
“Okay, cool. Thanks, Doc.” There was no sense in being ugly. It wasn’t Doc’s fault he was falling apart. At the ripe old age of twenty-five.
“I’ll get with your coach, and we can get you moved.”
“Yeah.” He winced as the boot was fitted and he waited for whatever they could get him in the way of crutches or something to get moving again. He just wanted to be settled and not have to deal for several days. He’d catch up on sleep, texts and, hopefully, TV.
How U hanging, bro?
Caleb glanced at his phone,the text from his buddy Travis making him grimace.
I am losing my mind
Three days into his hotel stay at the Hilton Garden Inn by the airport in Beijing, and he’d read a million eBooks, watched a ton of videos of his halfpipe runs on his computer, hacked the streaming services he could get with a VPN, and obsessively watched the Olympics as well as any sports he could get from home.
His foot hurt, his ass was starting to itch, and he wanted to go home.
U want me to bring you McDonald’s?
Nah it would just get cold and gross