Offside (45 page)

“What's wrong with me?” I asked. I went into a coughing fit then, and the doctor held up the water for me to drink. My stomach lurched as it trickled down my throat.

They both looked at each other, and then Dad pulled up another one of those little rolling chairs to sit close to me. Doctor Winchester started listing all my injuries.

“The impact from the vehicle hit you in your shoulders and back,” he started. “There was a rough edge near the bottom of the car, which tore open part of your left side. There was damage to your kidney and spleen, and you collapsed a lung. Your left kidney had to be removed, as well as a portion of your spleen. Your left shoulder blade was shattered, your pelvis cracked, your right arm broken, and there was some trauma to your lower back. Your spinal cord took a lot of shock with the impact.”

“Shit.”

Doctor Winchester chuckled, but my dad's eyes narrowed at my comment.

“Yes,” the doctor continued as he gave me another drink of water, “you were in pretty bad shape.”

“How about now?” I asked, wondering just how much I had mended after six weeks.

“Your bones have healed,” he said, “with the exception of your left scapula, which had to be replaced. You're going to have a nasty scar down your side, but considering the circumstances, I would think you should wear that with pride.”

I looked up at him questioningly.

“From all accounts of the accident, you most certainly saved the Skye girl's life.”

I felt my mouth turn up in a bit of a smile.

Dad's eyes narrowed again.

Doctor Winchester looked over at his clipboard for a minute and then turned back to me.

“I want to talk a bit about your legs, though.”

I felt cold, and the muscles in my shoulders tensed.

“Your right leg got a nasty cut as well,” he said, “though not as bad as the one on your back. You lost a lot of blood there, but it's your spinal cord injury that is of the most concern.”

“He'll be fine,” my dad interrupted. “He's strong.”

“We don't know that yet, Lou.”

They didn't have to say it—I already knew.

“I'm not going to walk, am I?”

“You'll be fine,” Dad repeated.

“Thomas, it's hard to say at this point. I'd like to go through some tests first and see how you're responding now that you are awake. Without those results, it's hard to say for sure, but it's going to be difficult. With extensive physical therapy, you may walk again eventually.”

Eventually.

What the fuck did that mean?

“How long will that take?”

“I want to run some tests—”

“
How long
?” I asked again, raising my voice a little.

The doctor's eyes softened, and his lips smashed together.

“It will be at least a year,” he finally answered. “Maybe eighteen months, if you really work hard, and there isn't any permanent damage. Even then, you may never have a complete recovery.”

“What about soccer?” I asked, glancing up at my dad. He glared at Doctor Winchester. The doctor looked at him, took a deep breath, and then turned back to me.

“Thomas, it's very unlikely you will be able to play soccer again.”

My stomach lurched, expelling the little water I had consumed. Pain shot up my back as I tried to lean over to get the water out of my mouth. Both my dad and the doctor held me to one side, and a nurse came in to help as well.

I still saved Rumple.

It was still worth it.

But what did I have now? If the only thing that had mattered in my life for years was gone, where did that leave me?

Dad closed the door to the room as Doctor Winchester left to schedule various tests over the next few days. As soon as the door was closed, I could feel the entire atmosphere of the room change.

Dad stayed at the door for a moment with his hand pressed against the frame, leaning into it before letting out a long breath and turning around to look at me.

Well, glare would be more accurate.

Here it comes.

“I always thought you were an idiot,” he said darkly. “I never realized how big an idiot you really are.”

He walked slowly over to the side of my bed, and I tried to shift around, though I didn’t know where I was going to go. I could barely move at all, and I could feel a strange panic building inside of me.

I couldn’t move my legs, and I could only move my arms a little. As soon as I shifted one arm over—even a little bit—I could feel the muscle fatigue from my shoulder to my wrist.

I was trapped.

“Do you realize what you’ve done?” His voice was still quite low and soft, and I looked over toward the door, wondering just how far away the night nurse was from my room. “You may very well have fucked up your entire life in one stupid, pointless move.”

“Not pointless,” I heard myself whisper and immediately regretted saying it out loud.

“What was that?” he snapped. “
What
?”

“Nothing,” I mumbled.

“Not pointless, is that what you’re telling me?” Contempt was evident in his voice. “You almost
died
, Thomas! It’s going to be at least two more seasons before you can play again! For what, huh? For a piece of ass?”

Two more seasons?

“I thought the doctor said—”

“That moron doesn’t know what he’s talking about!” Dad waved a hand toward the door. “You’ll play again—you just have to stop being a pussy and get the hell out of that bed as soon as you can. No more napping, you hear me?”

I looked up at him and then down at the blanket that covered my legs. I tried to moisten my lips, but my tongue was too dry, and I started coughing again. Once I got it under control, I tried to shift my legs like I had my arms.

Nothing.

They didn’t hurt or feel strained or fatigued. I just couldn’t make them move.

“Dad,” I whispered as I looked up at him again. The panic was back. “I can’t move them, Dad. They just…don’t.”

My heart was starting to beat faster, as evidenced by the increasing tempo of the monitor off to the side. My lungs expanded and contracted over and over, and I couldn’t seem to make them slow down at all. I strained—trying to just shift my leg a little, but nothing happened at all.

Nothing.

“Dad…”

“Stop that,” he said through a clenched jaw. “It may take a little time, but you’re going to work through it. You’re going to play pro.”

I couldn’t even listen to what he was saying. My head started to pound with the exertion of trying to make my leg move—or even to wiggle my toe. My breath came in gasps, and the monitor started going wild. My vision blurred, and I tried to grab onto the railing of the bed as my head started spinning, but my arm just flopped to one side.

“Dad!”

“Stop it, Thomas!” he yelled. I felt his hands on my shoulders, and then there was another set of hands—the nurse—holding one of my arms. “You are going to hurt yourself!”

“Relax, Thomas,” the nurse said. “Should I sedate him?”

“No, you aren’t going to sedate him!” Dad yelled at her. “He’s just coming out of a coma, for God’s sake. Did you even go to school?”

“Sorry, doctor.”

“Thomas!” His voice made me cringe, and that, along with the combination of his hands holding my shoulders, was not helping me relax at all, but it did make me shut down a little. The muscles I could control tensed and held still.

“I want Nicole,” I said as I looked up at the nurse. “Where’s Nicole?”

“You just need to rest now,” Dad said. He pushed my shoulders to the bed and started lowering it a bit.

“I hate sleeping on my back,” I grumbled.

“It’s better to keep all the tubes in place,” Dad said. His voice had softened a lot. “It’s just more incentive for you to work hard and get through this, right son?”

“When can I see Nicole?” I mumbled.

“I’ll look into it,” Dad said dismissively.

“She’s still trying to get in,” I heard the nurse say to Dad. “Shall I call for her in the morning?”

“Absolutely not,” Dad replied. He glanced back to me for a moment. “I’ll take care of it.”

As my head settled against the lumpy, stiff pillow, my eyes closed without asking me if it was okay, and the voices faded.

It was light in the room when I opened them again, and I was alone.

My head hurt, and there wasn’t a single part of my body that wasn’t aching in one way or another. I wanted to roll over, but there was just no way to do it. I didn’t have the strength, and all the tubes and shit all over the place didn’t help at all.

For the longest time, I just lay there and stared at the ceiling.

A nurse came by—a different one than who had been there overnight—and checked my vitals. She leaned down and changed a bag near the end of the bed, which I realized must be attached to a catheter.

Fucking awesome.

Note sarcasm.

Once she gave me some more water, which I managed to keep down, she left me alone again. I tried moving my fingers, one at a time, just picking them up and putting them down again. It seemed to work out okay and wasn’t making me tired. I tried lifting my wrists next, and that seemed okay, too.

My arms were a whole other thing. After two tries, I was exhausted again.

I fell back asleep.

Tests, tests, tests.

All fucking afternoon and most of the next morning.

Could I feel this and could I feel that? Lift this; flex that.

I wanted to punch something, but I couldn’t make a complete fist without wearing myself out so much, I had to take a fucking nap.

Maybe Dad was right, and I was a pussy.

I wanted to see Nicole, but when I brought her up, he changed the subject or just told me to shut up.

I woke to voices in the hallway.

“I’m going to talk to him, Lou.”

“He’s not ready.”

“Well, I need to talk to him anyway.”

“I will not allow it.”

“At this point, I have an incomplete accident report, and police business overrides your authority here at the hospital. I’m going to talk to him.”

“Don’t screw around with me. You’ll regret it.”

“Police business, boss.”

The door opened, and I looked up to see Greg Skye walking into the room. I could still see Dad in the corridor outside with his hand gripping his hair and his eyes boring holes into Greg’s back. Greg shut the door behind him.

He walked over to me slowly with a tentative smile across his face. His hand grabbed the rolling chair, and he pulled it up next to the bed before he sat down.

“How’s my hero?”

I smiled and chuckled a little, which really fucking hurt. I tried to take a deep breath as I looked back up to him.

“How’s my Rumple?” I asked.

Greg shook his head and smiled.

“Nicole is fine,” he said. “She’s really been missing you.”

“Is she going to come here?” I asked.