“You nothing,” I yelled, then yanked open the office door. “This is complete and utterbullshit!”
The white hallways of the clinic blurred by as I ran. Tears stung. I felt them streaming down my face, but I didn’t care. Nothing mattered.
I burst out the front doors of the medical office building and into the sunshine. It was chilly out, and I was only wearing a hoodie, but I didn’t care. I took off running.
Fifteen minutes later, I found myself at the corner of Main Street and First Avenue, right on the edge of downtown Twin River.
My lungs burned. My legs felt heavy. And it was like there was a bowling ball lodged in my stomach.
Annie’s Coffee Shop was ahead on the right. The streets were bustling with people. The last thing I wanted to do was run into someone I knew from Twin River High.
My head thumped so intently, I started to feel nauseous.
Luckily, there was a bench a few steps ahead. I made my way over and plopped down.
What the hell was I going to do? No hockey? I couldn’t imagine that. I shoved my hands into my hair.
Shutting my eyes, I replayed everything Dr. Simons had said. Every. Single. Word.
Bile stung the back of my throat. My heart took off again. I leaned forward, then planted my elbows on my legs and squeezed my eyes shut. The headache that’d been annoying me all day pulsed at the base of my neck.
Fucking concussions.
Fucking Grace Milner standing in the middle of that road.
Fucking everything!
A shadow cast over me, and I looked up. Dad held out a smoothie. “Doubled the protein.”
Of course he found me. I always had theshare my locationon my phone active. Mom’s rule.
“Here,” my dad said.
I wasn’t hungry. Nothing could fix this mess. Especially not a smoothie, even if it was my favorite.
Nothing would fix this. Absolutely nothing.
Maybe I could play against medical advice?
No. Coach wouldn’t let me unless a doctor signed off. Alabama’s coach wouldn’t, either.
Shit!
“I know there isn’t anything I can say, Ryan.”
“Got that right.”
“But I am going to say how you treated that doctor in there was unacceptable. Cussing. Running out.” He took a drink from his smoothie, then sat beside me on the bench.
It faced the coffee shop, and inside I saw the people sitting at tables. They were smiling, laughing, like everything was perfect in their lives. Like they had no worries about anything.
“Dr. Simons was very gracious about the whole situation, saying she understood. Your mother called in several favors to get this appointment for you.”
“But she told me I can’t play hockey, Dad.” Tears stung again, but I cleared my throat and sat straight. “I can’t play hockey!”
“I know, son.” He rested his hand on my shoulder. “You got dealt a tough hand.”
“It’s all Grace’s fault.”