I'll Be Right Beside You

I got to the hospital about thirty minutes after the ambulance did, and was told that I would have to wait until the doctor had finished her examination before I could see Jordan. I’d panicked, which I knew wasn’t smart because it meant I wasn’t going to be of much help. I didn’t know why Jordan had been at the rink so late after practice; usually he took off as soon as he could, but for whatever reason he’d been leaving just before me. When I saw that car approaching the intersection too close to stop I panicked, and wasn’t able to hit my horn and make Jordan pause. He hadn’t been able to see the oncoming car until it was too late; he’d hardly pulled into the street and the car T-boned him right at the driver’s door.

He’d passed out long before the ambulance arrived; and they had to drag me out of his vehicle before they pulled his escalade back into the parking lot and proceeded to pry the door off to get him out. Every ounce if willpower I owned wasn’t enough to look away, as badly as I wanted to, and I broke down when I saw them pull him from his mangled vehicle; blood streaming down his face, his shirt and jacket stained a dark red. His arm looked pretty rough too, and there was a mean gash down his left leg. I wasn’t allowed to ride in the ambulance, and instead had to try and calm myself down enough to drive to the hospital, but when I got there they told me I wasn’t allowed to see him yet. It took nearly two and a half hours before someone came into the waiting room, and as soon as he made eye contact I was up and out of my chair.

“You can go in now,” I gave the doctor a curt nod and immediately entered the hospital room, seeing Jordan with his head bandaged and hooked up to an IV, looking a little dazed.

“Cam?” he asked, squinting because one eye was partially covered by the bandage.

“Yeah, it’s me,” I nodded, sitting on the chair beside the bed. This was going to get awkward before long, and I knew it.

“So, what’s up?” I asked, and he managed a chuckle, before his expression returned to solemn.

“I’ve got a serious concussion, fractured the bone above my eyebrow… I guess that basically I broke my head… stitches on my arm, same on my leg,” he tried to keep his voice light and make a joke, but he was struggling a little.

“Ouch,” I allowed, and one corner of his mouth raised in a partial smile before dropping back to its original place.

“Cam, I’m scared,” he whispered, refusing to look at me. I bit my lip, fighting tears and the urge to wrap my arms around him, kiss his forehead and tell him that everything was going to be all right. It had been hard enough keeping calm and phoning Claude, explaining that I was going to the hospital. He’d panicked, but that had turned to confusion when I’d told him I was fine, and that I was going with Jordan. I’d reasoned that he had no family here, and that some of the guys would feel uncomfortable, but I think deep down I knew why. And it wasn’t because Jordan’s family wasn’t here, it was just that it was Jordan.

“Don’t be Jord, you’ll be okay,” I assured him, pushing some of his long blonde hair back and off of his face.

“What if I’m not? They said there could be damage to my brain that they don’t know about…” a tear slipped loose and he sniffed, trying to get a hold of himself. This was the Jordan so rarely seen by anybody; he had worries, insecurities, and he seemed so vulnerable I found myself wiping a tear from my own cheek before gently thumbing his away.

“Don’t think like that; you’ll be fine, and I’m sure you’ll be skating in no time,” I assured him, and pondered his confusion as he furrowed his brow and stared at me.

“Skating?”

“Well yeah, I’m sure you’ll be back to practices and everything soon,” something was wrong. Why this wouldn’t be near the top of his list of worries was beyond me, because that’s how he was. His team meant the world to him, and he hated missing even an optional practice, let alone being out on an injury. He was downright pissy when he had to miss games.

“Why would I be worrying about skating? They told me I might not even be able to write my name again, depending on the damage; why’s skating so important to me?” he asked, leaving me flabbergasted.

“Your job?”

“My what?” suddenly panic was written all over his features, and I wracked my brain for an explanation of his behavior. Frontal lobe… motor functions, I guess, impulses, reasoning…
Oh God. Memory.

“Jord, can you tell me where we are?” I asked, and he took a shaky breath.

“The hospital,”

“Yeah, but the hospital where?” I squeezed his hand tight, not sure if I could handle his answer. He took another long breath before he seemed to be mustering his confidence as he looked at me and replied.

“Thunder Bay,”