Fake Skating(110)

What the fuck?

He was standing there, looking uncomfortable.

Maybe these pain meds are too strong and I’m hallucinating.

“Hi, Mick,” my mom said.

“Hi.” He stepped into the room and said, “How’s the shoulder?”

My mom launched into a medical explanation, thank God, because I didn’t feel like it. I didn’t want to talk about my shoulder, and I didn’t want to talk to him.

He reminded me of her, and I didn’t want to think about her.

I watched them talk, not really listening to their words, because I was exhausted.

I let my eyes close, and I don’t know how much time passed before my mom said, “I’m running to get some coffee, Al—I’ll be right back.”

“?’Mkay,” I said, so tired.

I heard the door close behind her, and then I heard, “Barczewski.”

My eyes sprang open because, shit, Mick was still there. He was standing next to my bed, looking down at me like he had things to say.

“What’s up?” I said casually, even though I couldn’t even guess what Mick would want to talk to meabout, especially now.

“I, uh,” he said, grabbing the reading glasses out of his shirt pocket and putting them on his nose. He looked down at his phone and said, “I just want to make sure you know that everything’s gonna be fine.”

“What?”

He glanced at me, put his eyebrows down, then looked at his phone again. “Even though you can’t play juniors this summer, this injury’s going to heal quickly, and before you know it, you’ll be back on the ice. You don’t have to worry.”

“Oh, okay,” I said, wondering if my mom was texting him. Maybe she’d asked him to talk to me, which would be super weird.

But no less weird than if Mick was actually saying these things to me. “Thank you.”

“And this won’t affect your NHL chances, either,” he said in a weird tone, like he was reading instead of talking. “You’re still going to have an epic draft and—”

“Did you just say ‘epic draft’?”

The drugs are definitely messing with me, because my mom would never text him the word “epic.”

“Goddamn it, I did,” he said, shaking his head in disgust. “But you get it, right?”

“I get it,” I said, even though I actually did not get it.

“Oh yeah.” Mick put his phone down and reached into his jacket pocket. “Here.”

I watched as he pulled a king-sized Charleston Chew out of his coat.

“What’s this?” I asked in disbelief as he held out the candy bar. My favorite candy bar.

“I just, uh, thought you might be hungry after the game.” He cleared his throat and pointed the Charleston Chew at me like he was dying for me to grab it, like it was burning his hand. “Here.”

“What’s going on?” I asked, because I had no idea what this could be about.

“What do you mean?”

“Why would you give me this?” I hadn’t had a Charleston Chew in years, but it’d been my favorite candy bar the summer after sixth grade, when Dani and I discovered how good they were frozen.

“I don’t know, it’s a snack,” he said, shrugging.

“But why this snack?” I asked.

“You don’t like it?” he said with a scowl.

“That’s not the point,” I said. “What made you get it?”

Mick sighed. “For the love of God, can’t you just take the damn snack and say thank you?”

“Fine. Thank you,” I said, grabbing the Charleston Chew.

“You’re welcome,” he said with a beleaguered sigh.

His phone chirped, and he made a growling noise in the back of his throat before pulling it out of his pocket.

He looked at the screen and sighed yet again.

“One more thing,” he said as he looked at his screen. “Did you tell the doctor about the shoulder troubles you were having before the game?”

“What is all this, Mick?” I asked, because something was obviously going on. “Level with me here.”

He stared at me for a minute, like he was weighing his options, and then he said, “Oh, for fuck’s sake—just look.”

He held out his phone, and I could see a string of text messages.

A string that started ten minutes ago.

From Dani.

Dani: Tell him that everything’s going to be fine and that even though he can’t play juniors, this injury’s going to heal quicky and before he knows it, he’ll be back on the ice. Make sure he knows he doesn’t have to worry.

Mick’s response was a simple: Got it.

Dani: Coming from you this will mean a lot. Make sure you tell him that it won’t affect his NHL chances, either. Tell him he’s going to have an epic draft.

Mick’s response: OK

Dani: Don’t forget the Charleston Chew

Mick: Christ

Dani: Did you make sure the surgeon knows his shoulder was already messed up?

“What is this?” I didn’t understand but suddenly felt wide fucking awake.

He put his phone back in his pocket. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Were you reading over my shoulder?”