Chapter 4
Brayden
“Hey, My! How’re you feeling?” I took a seat in the uncomfortable plastic chair next to Myla’s hospital bed.
Her baby blues fluttered open as a strained smile slowly spread across chapped lips. “Like I got hit by a truck.” She half coughed, half laughed at her stupid joke.
“Physical therapy is starting today.” I grabbed her hand as fear took over her eyes.
She propped herself up on her elbow. “They’re going to make me fucking walk, Bray.”
I hated seeing how terrified my sister was to get back on her feet. “They’re going to teach you how to use crutches. You can’t put weight on that leg yet.”
“No walking yet.” A huge man was standing in the doorway, his dark complexion a stark contrast to his shining grin as he made his way into the room. “I’m Darren and I’ll be doing your physical therapy today. How’re you feeling, Myla?”
“I’m ready to get this done.” Even though her voice was still weak and the pain medication was messing with her, Myla put on the bravest face she could. I had to hand it to my little sister—she made me damn proud to be her brother.
“That’s the spirit,” I whispered before kissing her on the cheek and getting up to leave her to do the exercises.
It was always bittersweet to leave her, but I knew it was easier for her to not have me around. In a medicated rant, right after she had first woken up in critical care, Myla had cried to me, explaining that every time she saw the sadness in my eyes, she remembered how fucked up she actually was. When I wasn’t there, she could pretend like it wasn’t as bad as it actually was. I never was one to let fantasy cloud reality, but if it allowed Myla to find the strength to get better and press on, then I was all for it.
I stood in the doorway for a few seconds to make sure Darren was going to be just as nice when I wasn’t in the room. That was one thing that worried me—Myla was defenseless in this state, and if I wasn’t around, who was going to protect her?
Myla pulled up on the grab bar that hung above her bed, and my heart ached as she cried out in pain. Darren was gentle with her, getting down to eye level and talking her through each movement she needed to make.
Once I felt assured she was in capable hands, I made my way to practice. I was running late—again—and Coach was going to have a damn field day with my ass. He knew what was going on with Myla and everything, but in his mind, the team came first. Usually, I would have agreed, but not when it came to my family. Nothing would ever come before Myla. She was all I had left and I would hang up my skates and stick before I would ever let anything happen to her again.
* * *
The bladesof my skates crashed onto the ice as I joined my teammates in the barn.
“Well, look who finally decided to grace us with his presence,” Gavin said with a snicker, skating by me.
“Cox!” Coach Hayes yelled.
I skated over to the bench. “Yeah, Coach?”
He threw his clipboard down on the ground. “I thought we were past this damn showing up to practice whenever you fucking feel like it bullshit. This isn’t the minor leagues, rookie. I have half a mind to let you collect dust all damn season.”
“Myla is going to be discharged from the hospital this week. I promise this is the last time it will happen.”
“I mean it, Cox, this is it.” Coach’s face was blaring red as he shoved his finger into my chest. I hated being late, hated having Coach pissed at me, but most of all, I hated letting my team down. I just had to keep being grateful that all this shit had gone down during off season. I would have been sent packing to my new home on the bench if I had missed practice during the actual season.
I skated back over to my teammates right as a scrawny middle-aged man glided over to us. He wore all purple, even down to his skates.
“Gentleman!” His bombastic voice rang through the rink. “Are you ready to change it up a bit today?”
Right then, it sank in: we were about to get figure skating lessons from a damn fairy.
No one said a word. We all just slowly formed a circle around our guest.
“Oh, my prayers have finally been answered—I am surrounded by a pack of big, strong, brawny men who all have to do exactly as I say!”
Gavin shot the dirtiest look over to his dad, who just happened to be our coach. “This is bullshit,” Gavin muttered under his breath.
Coach yelled over, “Hayes, don’t think I won’t bench your ass. Boys, pay attention to Simon, do as he says. If you can master some fancy footwork, we might just have a shot at a championship before I am one foot in the grave.”
“Aye, Coach,” a bunch of us yelled in unison.