How We Are Meant to Be

The game progresses quickly, for me at least. I am snapping priceless moments with my Olympus camera from the press box on the far side of the ice across from the benches of either team. I have no glass in my way, which is really helpful when considering the awful glare some photographers’ experience. I am just happy that the Slasher’s allow me to have a seat here and trust my not-so-professional skill.

Micah’s line isn’t the one that starts the game because of the match up that Portland presented. Instead, Coach Valag sends out the second line to be more even against the starting line-up of our opponents. Alexander Cotton, Micah’s teammate, wins the opening faceoff, passes it to Jeremy Pic, and they lose the puck right inside the blue line to a Portland defenseman. That is what happens the entire time this line is on the ice throughout the whole first period.

However, the Slasher’s have a stable lead of 2-0 at the end of the period. Micah has one of the goals and an assist on the other. I did catch one of his breakaways on film and decide that I will store it away for personal use, which I sometimes do. The Slasher’s never put anything in my contract that said that if I don’t turn over every picture that I would be reprimanded, so the ones I don’t turn over, I keep for myself, or rather, for Micah. One day, I plan to make a photo album of all the ones I’ve saved over the years and give it to him.

The second period starts out much like the first in the fact that we control the puck an awful lot. It keeps going between Micah and his line mates – Josh Tagger, Christian Riggs, Perry Lewis, and Michael Williams – for most of the period since they are the number one offensive and defensive lines. Other guys make a few attacks and draw some penalties out of the visiting Portland Panthers team however. Overall, the game is interesting and easy to watch for a hockey lover like myself. But all good things must come to an end.

The moment my camera’s shutter clicks to a halt is the moment I stop breathing. Micah has been elbowed into the Plexiglas divider between the benches by none other than Max Baxter, the one guy everyone was supposed to avoid tonight on the ice. He has injured more than 30 people in his career and I guess that number just increased by one more.

It’s Micah’s head that suffers the blow. He falls to the ice not moving. I hear gasps from the crowd before I can take my eyes off my best friend and now-boyfriend. They end up ejecting Baxter for all of his penalties in combination with the elbow he threw at Micah who still lies on the ice, still not moving any extremity of his body. The trainers are surrounding him now, but I know he’s unconscious. It is just one of those things that a best friend knows about the other. We are connected in a weird way that tells me that he isn’t okay.

“Sydney,” I hear a voice in front of me and I snap out of my trance to face Micah’s line mate, Tagger. “They are taking him off the ice and straight to a bus, you should go with. You are his family,” I swallow hard at his words and nod, barely noticing the tears that seem to be falling in streams down my cheeks. I smile lightly and pack up my stuff before heading directly to my office to lock up my camera before racing back to the locker room to find them just bringing Micah in and to the ambulance bay.

“Has he regained consciousness?” I question as I follow them.

“No, Ma’am. What is your relationship to Mr. Stevens?” one of the paramedics, a woman, asks. She has probably been on the force for a while; I can see some gray streaks in her otherwise brown hair. And she thinks to ask of our relationship. A rookie might not even think of it.

“He’s my fiancé, please, let me ride with you. I won’t make it there on my own,” I half-truthfully reply. The partner-man nods and they load him in before offering me a hand up.

I hold Micah’s hand for the entire ride. He awakes once and immediately groans in pain when he tries to move. The EMT gives him medication that lets him fall asleep with less pain. I just let some tears fall silently and hold his hand tightly. When we arrive at the ambulance bay of the Pittsburgh Mercy General, I am instructed to get out and wait for them to unload Micah. A group of doctors are waiting right inside the doors.

“What’s the update?” a male doctor in a white lab coat asks as he whips a stethoscope from around his neck to his ears and Micah’s chest. He is taller and dark skinned, but not completely African American. He reachs under the padding and jersey to check his heartbeat. I realize then that either the doctor watched the game on his break or the EMTs had called ahead with the condition Micah was in. I would never find the answer to which it was though.

“He gained consciousness, but couldn’t move without being in pain. I pushed ten of Vicodin and it knocked him out. His vitals were stable two minutes ago.”

“Who is she?” another doctor or nurse or someone asks. This time it’s a female and she is in purple scrubs.

“His fiancée, she insisted on coming in the bus.”

“Ma’am, the EMT is going to escort you to the waiting room while we evaluate Mr. Stevens. Someone will update you as much as possible,” and then I was separated from Micah’s side.

Someone with cold hands leads me to the waiting room and helps me plop into a chair. They ask if I need anything or need to call someone to wait with me, but before I could answer, Paris and Aires bust into the room. The EMT silently bows out and leaves me with my sisters as they exclaim my name many times before reaching me.

“Sydney,” my oldest sister snaps me out of my trance. I look up at her; I must have looked horrible because she wraps me in a tight hug. Just then, the sobs burst out and I just cannot stop them for anything. “Sweetie, it is going to be okay. He is a tough guy, the Stevens’ boys are.” For a while, Paris just keeps me wrapped in a hug, she even pulls me onto a couch where I can lean into her, not supporting myself in the least. But eventually, she has to use the restroom and has to let me go.

Aires offers to take her place, but I decline as I feel the need to stand and stretch. Paris disappears, Aires stays in her seat twiddling her fingers and sometimes pulling out her phone, and I pace the waiting room. I thought it to be longer than it was because before Paris came back, a nurse suddenly appears. Seeing as we were the only ones in the waiting room, she comes right over.

“You are the family of Mr. Stevens?” she eyes us curiously. I know I’ve been pictured with him a time or two in tabloids, but some people don’t always look at those.

“Yes, I’m his fiancée. Please, is he alright?” her face turns to examine me. She stops when she lands on my hands.

“Where is your ring, if I may ask?” she stands with her hands on her hips, glaring at me with one hand holding a medical chart that I assume have Micah’s files.

“We aren’t a public couple for the sake of privacy and so I leave my ring at home when we do happen to be going out with people. After tonight’s game, we were set to go with some of our friends out for the evening and so I left it at home,” I came up with as fast it came out of my mouth. It seems to please her and she takes her hands off her hips and opens the chart.

“Alright, Mr. Stevens is stable and they are waiting to look at his MRI and CT scans to rule anything out. He is drifting in and out of consciousness. He keeps saying Sydney, any idea why? Did he travel there or something?” I give her a look that says, ‘really?’

“It’s my name, can I see him? Awake or not, it doesn’t matter, I just want to see him,” I ask hoping she will say yes.

“He is in room 2100 on the twenty first floor. Take the elevator at the end of this hallway, and please, only two visitors at a time.” I thank her before looking to Aires who has come to stand beside me.

“Go ahead, I’ll wait for Paris. Then I want to hear those wedding plans and see this ring, alright?” she smiles. I return it and head down the hall after the nurse to the elevator. The nurse didn’t join me in the elevator but gives me a small smile as I hit the button for his floor.

The elevator ran far too slow in my opinion and when it finally opens, I almost pass by his room as it is right next to the elevator bank. That is probably a bad idea for a person with a headache considering the beeping of the elevators.

I find my shaggy haired best friend in the hospital gown and bed hooked up to at least three different machines. He didn’t have his eyes open, so I thought he was asleep.

“Sydney, is that you?” he asks with his eyes still closed. It actually surprises me to hear his weak voice instead of the loud, rambunctious one I am so used to. Slowly, he opens his eyes and I take his hand before sitting lightly on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah, it’s me. And if anyone asks, I’m your fiancée.” I chuckle softly before brushing some hair out of his eyes. He just stares into my eyes intently.

“Sounds great, really, unbelievable. Maybe after today, it really is,” he mumbles some incoherent thoughts out loud.

“Mic, tell me how bad it is, I can take it,” I promise him as I give a light squeeze to his hand.

“They haven’t told me anything yet, but it is most likely a concussion. From the whispers, it sounds pretty bad. Tell me, how bad the hit was?” he lightly chuckles and squeezes my hand reassuringly.

“I stopped breathing the moment his elbow connected with your head. I don’t remember anything else because all I see is you lying unconscious on the ice. It scared me, and then you woke up in pain in the ambulance. It’s the worst feeling I have ever had. Please do not do this to me again. I can’t take it. That was a good thing about your amazing skills, you never get hurt. And really, all it takes is Baxter’s damn elbow.” I start to babble, so he cut me off.

“Babe, I’m okay, or I will be eventually.” There is a knock and a doctor comes in to cut him off.

“I have the results of your MRI and CT scan, Mr. Stevens and I’m guessing your blushing bride-to-be?” I nod and look from Micah back to the doctor with a smile. “You do, in fact, have a concussion. It does seem rather mild, however, considering the severity of your hit and how you hit the ice. We can never know for sure, though. It will take some memory tricks and things before we can get you back on the ice. You have to stay tonight for observation, but you can go home tomorrow. There will be no hockey for at least two weeks. Some things that may occur in the next few weeks that seem to be somewhat typical of a concussion can include nausea, lack of focus, dizziness, and of course, the headaches.”

“That sounds better than I expected. Two weeks is pretty average, right, Doc?”

“It is average for professional athletes, yes.”

“Okay, I can do without for two weeks. I’ll just be assisting on the sidelines then. Can I travel with the team?” Micah looks hopeful for a good answer.

“We would not recommend that you fly at this point in time. Bus traveling would be okay,” the doctor replies. Micah just nods and starts to process the information. “As for your restrictions, the next few weeks are very critical. You might be in a lot of pain or you may not. Either way, this is the list of things you cannot do: watch TV, listen to the radio, play video games, play hockey, train in any way, do any memory games, have sexual relations, or focus too hard on one thing for at least the first two weeks. Oh, and no driving. After that, you will need to see your regular doctor or a team specialist to see what follow up things you need to do. Just take it easy, you need some rest. I guess that means more work for you then, Miss.” The doctor directs that at me and I smile lightly, gripping Micah’s hand. “Any questions for me?” we shake our heads and he shakes our hands before leaving us be.

“It’s better than you thought,” I tell him quietly while squeezing his hand.

“Even mild concussions leave guys stranded for weeks. It was what ended Coach’s career, do you remember that?” I nod as I remember how his Coach had a career-ending blow to the head and hit the ice. Just then, Paris strolls in.

“How are you, Micah? I saw a doctor walk out just before I came in, didn’t I?”

“Mild concussion, I’m out for two weeks of no hockey and even longer to get back into the game,” he is silent then, realizing the truth in his words. I hear him mumble a French explicative.

“I think I have convinced your parents to stay in Montreal. They wanted to take the first flight in. I assured them that the Worth girls could take care of things here.”

“Thanks, P. I would never get any rest with mom bustling about the apartment. Say, when do you and Aires leave?”

“Our original flight was for ten in the morning, but Aires is pushing it back to the last evening flight right now.” Paris states before pulling out her cell phone.

“You don’t have to do that, Paris. The guys and I will keep him in check,” I assure her, not needing her bustling around telling me what I should be doing in my apartment. She shrugs and then smiles.

“Too late, Aires just finished. She texted me the confirmation number. Anyways, do you have to stay tonight, Micah?” when he nods, she just kept talking. “Okay, I will take Aires back to your apartment and we will stay there. Tomorrow morning, we will be back first thing with Sydney’s car and a change of clothes for both of you, okay?” she said it in such a motherly tone that I found myself agreeing with her, which is weird. We just nod in her direction mindlessly. I still sit on the edge of the bed and Micah’s free hand starts to rub my back in a soothing manner. “We will be going then, feel better, Micah. Get some rest, both of you,” she kisses each of our cheeks before leaving. Aires did not even pop in, which I am okay with.

We are quiet for a bit as we just stare into each other’s eyes. It is Micah who breaks the silence. “I can share the bed with you so you don’t have to sleep in a chair?” he offers. I nod and he moves over the slightest bit so I could fit in next to him lying on my side. We barely fit, but I can honestly say that it would be more comfortable then a chair all night. “Did you get any good pictures tonight?”

“Yeah, until you fell to the ice. I probably have some of my best work in those photos of tonight. I might use them in my showcase if I can get Mr. Mahoney to give me the team’s permission.” He smiles as I tell him about a few of the shots I captured; he is enthralled by my depictions it seems.

“Have you ever thought about taking photos of anything but hockey for money?” I shake my head wondering what brought this on. “Why not? Your photos are amazing. You could make some good money doing what you love.”

“I already earn money doing what I love. I love being able to watch you play hockey. Photography is only a hobby that gets me to see the game closer than I normally would.” His hand comes and strokes my cheek as he stares at me again. He brushes a strip of my auburn-reddish hair out of my eyes. I lean forward and press a light kiss to his lips afterwards. “I know our non-platonic relationship is just starting, but I know how I feel about you, Micah Stevens. All I ask is that you do not break my heart. I do not think I could take that,” he smirks a little. His fingers stroke my cheeks and move my hair again.

“I could never break your heart, but you can break mine,” he promises as he brings my head down to lie on his shoulder. We fall asleep shortly after that conversation although we had not said another word.