That would be safer, but…this is a conversation best had in person.
Dammit. I don’t understand how this could happen. We’ve been so careful.
The only people who even know about us are D-Vo and McGinnis. D-Vo would never rat me out. He’s the definition of loyal. He’d take my secrets to the grave.
My gaze slides to Ginny.
The kid who’s always in motion sits as still as a statue, his face blank as he stares at the TV.
No way. He gave Ava his word, and I don’t believe for a second that he’d do that to us, to me.
The tips of my ears begin to burn, and I know without looking who’s staring.
I turn to find Coach glaring at me from the other side of the waiting room, his eyes narrowed to tiny slits. If looks could kill, I’d be a pile of ash on the floor.
I’ve seen Coach angry before. I’ve seen him rage until he was blue in the face and the locker room was littered with pucks, but I’ve never seen him like this.
The calm control is new, and it scares the shit out of me.
He’s clearly pissed, and rightfully so. I betrayed his trust, and while the guilt has been eating me alive, it didn’t stop me from lying to him for the last two months.
I was a coward. I see that now, for all the good it does.
Shame burns my throat yet again, and this time it’s hotter and oilier, a foul reminder of all the mistakes I’ve made recently.
The prospect of losing Coach as a friend and surrogate father is terrifying, but Ava’s barely gotten to know him. She deservesthe chance to build something real, something lasting, with the father she’s always longed to know.
I hope like hell I haven’t ruined that for her. Maybe I can talk to Coach. Explain that it was my fault, my idea to keep things between us quiet. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect Ava from the reckoning that’s coming.
I scrub a hand over my face. Should I ask him to step into the hall?
No, Ava’s right. This isn’t the time or place for that discussion, but it’s clear from his death stare that it won’t be far off.
A doctor dressed in navy scrubs enters the waiting room and asks for Mr. Davis.
Frank raises his hand. “That’s me.”
The doctor surveys the room, his lips pressed flat. “Would you like to step into the hall, Mr. Davis? I believe it’s a bit more private there.”
Frank shakes his head. “It’s okay, Doc. These boys are like family to Ollie.” At the doctor’s flat stare, he adds, “I’ll just tell ‘em what you said after you leave anyway.”
“Very well.” The doc joins Frank in the corner of the room. He positions himself carefully, so that he’s facing Frank, but not quite turning his back to the rest of us. “I’m Dr. Applegate, and I’m one of the surgeons who worked on your son. I’m pleased to share that Ollie is out of surgery. Everything went well, and we’ve moved him to recovery.”
Frank sighs, his shoulders sagging with relief, and I do the same.
“As you know, his injuries were extensive. He’s got a long road to recovery ahead, but it’s too early to say what, if any, lasting effects he might experience.”
My palms begin to sweat.
The doc rambles on, revealing that Ollie’s fractured rib also punctured his lung. “His range of movement is going to be severely limited for a while, but that lung will heal up just fine.”
That, at least, is a bit of good news.
“The damage to his right leg is extensive. We were able to set it, but he’s going to need a specialist and may require additional surgeries if there’s any hope of returning to the sport.
My chest tightens, and it’s a struggle to keep my face neutral. Ollie’s only twenty-five. He’s still got a lot of good hockey years left in him, and I’d hate to see him forced into retirement.
“Your son is very lucky he was wearing his seatbelt,” Dr. Applegate says. “Or his injuries would have been far worse.”