No. No, that's impossible. Ryan is steady. Constant. Unbreakable.
I don’t know enough about sports injuries to understand the severity of what Zanders is trying to tell me, but with his hazel eyes pleading unspoken words, it’s clear that this moment is critical enough that I shouldn’t be on this airplane.
“I should go, right?”
He nods. “Yeah. You should go.”
With shaky hands, I gather my things, looking around the front galley, and completely lost.
“I um…” What am supposed to be doing right now? I’ve never left a flight before. I stick my head into the cockpit, speaking to the pilots. “I uh…I have to go. I need the standby flight attendant to cover me for this trip.”
The captain turns back over his shoulder to look at me. “Is everything okay?”
“No, it’s not. I mean, it will be. Yes.” How the hell am I supposed to explain Ryan’s and my complicated situation? My roommate is hurt? My fake boyfriend is injured? The guy who I’m very much falling for is in the hospital right now and I need to see him?
Composing myself, I try again. “It’s kind of a family emergency.” I don’t know how true the words are, but they feel right coming off my tongue.
“I’ll call dispatch and have them swap the crew.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. This is why we have a standby flight attendant on call. Go take care of yourself.”
Turning back to the rest of the full airplane, I call one of the other girls up to the front and put her in charge, debriefing her with all the information she might need for the trip.
Zanders carries my bag down the steps of the aircraft for me. “It might be hard to get inside the hospital. I’m sure there’s a media frenzy outside. Call Stevie when you get there. She’ll get you in.”
“How’s she doing?”
“She’s okay. She’s worried about him, of course, but with the way Ryan got hit, he probably should’ve landed on his head and not his feet. So, all things considered, she’s all right.”
He hands off my suitcase, gives me a hug, and returns to the plane, but before he’s too far away, he turns back.
“Indy, I don't want to freak you out, but if it’s torn, he’s done for the season, and more than anyone I know, Ryan believes this game is all he has. Take care of him, okay?”
I nod in agreement. It’s what I’m best at.
Zanders was right. The hospital is a zoo of reporters camping out front, hoping to be the first to hear the prognosis for superstar Ryan Shay. As if the Devils organization won’t be the first to release a statement. I can guarantee the team doctor is inside right now.
As I wait for Stevie to text me back and tell me where to go, I sit in my car parked out front. Pulling out my phone, I search his name.
Endless articles litter my screen with speculation of his injury, including countless video replays of the event. Bracing myself, I pull one up and press play.
It isn’t until the third attempt to watch that I’m able to make it all the way through without turning away. It’s hard not to avert my eyes when I see the player in gray charge right below him just as his fingers leave the rim.
Zanders is right. Ryan should’ve landed on his head, but somehow, thanks to his athletic ability, he was almost able to find his feet again. I want to feel relief for that, but it’s almost impossible when I see him writhing on the ground in pain.
He’s strength personified, and I hate seeing him in a moment of weakness.
As the team doctor reaches him on the screen, a text from Stevie comes through with directions to a private entrance. As stealthily as I can, I find the secret door and wait for her to meet me on the other side.
She cracks it open, allowing just enough space to slip through.
“How’s he doing?” is the first thing I ask.
She pops her shoulders. “It’s Ryan. He’s trying to be stoic about it, but he’s a shitty diagnosis away from losing it.” She halts in the hallway to hug me. “You didn’t have to come.”
“Yes, I did,” I say into her embrace.
She wears a knowing smile as she pulls away and we continue to his room.
“Are you feeling better?”
Right now, I’m feeling fairly sick. “I’m not sure how to answer that yet.”
The hallway is littered with countless staff members of the team. They’re still in their Devils polos, looking up things on their laptops, some on their phones in the mists of heated conversations, and a couple pacing the hallway.
Ron spots me while on the phone with a scowl. He offers me only a tight-line expression and a half-hearted wave.
It’s in this moment I realize the entire organization is riding on these MRI results. Riding on Ryan himself. A weaker man would fold under the pressure, but I can guarantee when I open the door to his room, I’ll find him calm, cool, and collected.
Stevie opens the door to prove I’m right. Ryan sits in a private hospital room with his knee propped and covered in ice, eyes closed, leaning back on the pillow behind him, headphones in, blocking any outside noise.
I can see the layer of old sweat drying to his forehead that he hasn’t been able to shower off yet, and his freckled cheeks are still a bit tinted from exertion. Besides that, you’d have no idea he’s just experienced something potentially season-ending.
“Ryan.” Stevie shakes his arm, gaining his attention as he takes out his headphones.
He opens his eyes to look at her, blank and rigid, not showing any sign of emotion until she moves out of the way so he can see me.
That emotionless expression instantly shifts when Ryan furrows his brows as deeply as possible, then bites his lower lip in an attempt to hide the tiny tremble that passed through it.
“I’ll um…” She throws a thumb over her shoulder. “I’ll be in the hall.”
As soon as Stevie closes the door behind her, Ryan drinks me in with his eyes, lingering on my work uniform.
“What are you doing here?”
“Zanders told me what happened.”
“But why are you here?”
His blue-green eyes are begging, pleading for me to give him the right answer. Because besides his sister, not a single soul in that hallway is here for him. They’re here to check on their asset, not him as a person.
As soon as I open my mouth to answer, the door opens and a man wearing a white coat sneaks inside, followed by Stevie and who’d I assume to be the team doctor. They pinch their way through the door, quickly leaving the chaos in the hall behind them.
Stevie rounds Ryan’s bed on the opposite side of me as the doctor puts his MRI images on the screen which lights up from behind. We all stare at the pictures as if we have any idea what we’re looking for. Even as I squint, I can’t make out anything from the black and white images.
“Clearly, this is your knee…”
The doctor begins his spiel, but I accidentally tune him out when I feel Ryan’s hand reach for mine that’s dangling next to his bed. Looking back, I watch him thread our fingers together all while keeping his attention focused on his doctor.
I give him a slight squeeze of encouragement before concentrating once again.
“As you can see here”—he points to a specific part of the image—“the anterior cruciate ligament has been stretched, but there are no visible tears.”