Between a Jock and a Hard Place (2 page)

The rest of the day was equally disastrous. Nothing was working and she finally gave up in mid-afternoon and made a quick trip to the store. With fresh cream, perhaps tomorrow would start out on a more positive note.

She heard the ringtone the moment she came back in. She recognized her parents’ number and hesitated for a moment before picking it up.

“Claire, dear, are you coming for dinner?” Sometimes her mother’s unfailing cheerfulness could be annoying.

“I hadn’t planned on it, no.”

A startled gasp preceded her mother’s next words. “But dear, Cam has a hockey game tonight.”

Claire glanced at the calendar and groaned silently. It was there all right. Cameron’s team was playing Spokane tonight. She couldn’t quite remember when they’d slipped into the habit of having dinner together before going to the rink to watch her twin play. Of course now that Cam was in the minors, the team had their game-day routine, so it was just the three of them.

“Mom, I don’t think I can make it tonight. I’ve had a really bad day and I just...” Her voice trailed off.

Silence from her mother. She was so good at this, Claire thought. She could make you feel guilty for the smallest things. But this...failing to attend a game was unheard of and worthy of a major freeze-out.

“Are you sick, dear?”

Ah...there it was. The little dig. She’d have to be sick indeed to miss one of her brother’s games. She counted slowly to three. “No, Mom. I just don’t feel like going tonight. Cam won’t even know I’m not there.”

“But what will I tell your father?”

Right on cue. She knew how Claire hated to disappoint her father.

She was getting angry now. “Tell him what I told you. That I’m just not up to it.” She considered explaining further, but dug her heels in. “I know I’ll probably be stripped of my citizenship for saying this, but the entire world doesn’t revolve around hockey, you know.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Her mother actually sounded concerned. “You don’t sound like yourself.”

The tension that had been building all day suddenly drained from her body. It wasn’t her mother’s fault that her project hadn’t gelled. “Don’t worry, Mom. It’s just been one of those days.” She touched the calendar. “I’ll be there for his next game on Thursday, okay?”

“Well, if you say so.” She still sounded doubtful. “We’ll miss you.”

Claire disconnected, wandered into her bedroom and lay down on her bed. Her back ached from bending over the drafting board. She’d just rest for a few minutes.

* * *

The phone rang, jolting her awake. The room was dark; she must have fallen asleep.

“Claire?” Her father’s voice was unnaturally shaky. “Cam’s been taken to the hospital. We’re on our way there now.”

She swung her feet out of bed and looked at the clock. By her quick calculations, the second period of Cam’s game should be starting any time. “What happened?” she asked.

“We don’t know yet. He’s unconscious. He was boarded and his head hit one of the stanchions.” Her father took a quick breath. “They’re taking him to the General. We’ll meet you in Emergency.” He disconnected without further discussion and she sat staring at the phone in her hand. Whoever said that twins could sense each other’s injuries were wrong this time. She’d slept through the whole thing.

* * *

Her hands trembled as the paid the taxi driver and climbed out of the car. She knew that hockey was a rough sport...some might even call it violent, but she’d never considered that it would touch Cam. How ridiculous was that?

The doors of Emergency whooshed open and she entered, looked around and spotted her parents. Her mother seemed to have aged ten years and her father looked like he might never smile again.

“Have you heard anything?” she asked, acknowledging her father and taking her mother’s hands in her own.

Her father stood up and started pacing. “The Doctor was here a minute ago. They’ve taken Cam for an MRI. He’s still unconscious.” His voice wavered. “He’d chased the puck into the corner and passed it off already when this big bruiser slammed him into the boards.” He closed his eyes as though to block out the image. “Cam just crumpled onto the ice.” His opened his eyes again and looked around the waiting room as though wondering what he was doing there. “He was so still.”

Claire nodded. There was nothing she could say to ease the pain. They’d all seen Cam hurt before, but nothing like this. She gave her mother’s hands a gentle squeeze. “Can I get you anything, Mom? A cup of tea?” She looked up at her father. “Dad?”

He nodded. “Yes, tea would be good.” He touched Claire’s mother on the shoulder. “Grace? Would you like a cup of tea?”

She nodded, gave her daughter a weak smile. “Thank you dear, that would be nice.”

Claire brought back three cups of tea and the vigil began. Her father paced, frustration leaking from every pore in his body. Her mother sat quietly, lost in thought. The Doctor came back shortly before eleven and informed them that Cam had been taken to a room. He was still unconscious, but the results of the MRI were excellent.

“We have him sedated,” the doctor reported. “You might as well go home and get some sleep. In cases like this we like to keep them immobilized.”

They left reluctantly, and Claire’s parents dropped her off at her apartment before going over the bridge. “We’ll pick you up in the morning,” her father informed her. “That way we can all be there when he wakes up.” He was speaking for her mother’s benefit; Claire knew that, but she clung to his words. “Okay, Dad,” she said, raising her cheek for the familiar kiss. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

He looked startled, angry perhaps. “Nonsense. I don’t want to hear any more of that kind of talk. There’s nothing you could have done to prevent it, so don’t go blaming yourself.” He looked into her eyes. “We need to stick together now.”

She nodded tearfully and watched them drive away. No matter what he said, she still felt guilty.

* * *

Cam woke up the next afternoon while their parents were taking a walk in the hospital corridors. He saw Claire and smiled. Then he pointed to the water glass and she held the straw to his lips.

“Just a couple of sips,” she said, when he tried to take more. “I asked the nurse and she was quite adamant about that.” She grinned at him. “I think she has a crush on you by the way.”

He turned his head and winced in pain. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus,” he said hoarsely.

“Do you remember what happened?” She held her breath. Please don’t let him have lost his memory.

“Oh, yeah. It was a late hit.” He tried moving again. “Are Mom and Dad okay?”

“They’re right outside. I’ll go get them.”

She found them opposite the nurses’ station, speaking with the doctor.

“...that will be my recommendation,” he was saying, then looked up at her approach. “Hello, Miss Collins. I was telling your parents that Cameron has suffered a concussion and that I’ll be wanting to keep a close eye on him for the next couple of months.”

She saw the disappointment in her father’s eyes.

“But he’ll be all right, won’t he?” she asked.

“I believe so. Eventually. But even minor concussions are serious injuries. Not only in their own right, but because of the cumulative effects in the event of another concussion. We call it second-impact syndrome.” He looked at her father. “I’ve already consulted with the team doctor, and we both agree. Cameron won’t be playing hockey for the rest of the season.”

Claire’s father started to walk away and the doctor called after him. “Look at it this way, Mr. Collins. Your son is one of the lucky ones.”

“Oh my gosh. I forgot. I came out to tell you he’s awake.”

They all walked briskly down the hall. The doctor gave Cam a cursory examination, and then straightened up. “You’re a lucky young man, Cameron. You’ve had a minor concussion, but as far as we can tell, there’s no long-term damage.”

Cam looked from the doctor to his father. “When can I go back?”

Donald Collins cleared his throat. “Well, son, that’s up to the Coach, but you might have to sit out the rest of the season.”

Some of the sparkle went out of Cam’s eyes but he soon recovered. “I kind of expected that, to tell you the truth. They’re being so much more careful these days.”

Claire watched her twin absorb the news. She knew him well enough to know that he was devastated, but trying to hide it for his father’s sake. It was difficult to take solace from the fact that he’d probably come back next year - especially since he’d been leading his team in points. A setback like this could cost him his dream of playing in the NHL. Was it any wonder she’d turned away from hockey? At least in tennis they didn’t try to injure one another.

* * *

“Zoey?” Claire called her friend the next morning.

“Claire! I heard about Cam, but didn’t want to bother you until later. How is he?”

“He’ll recover, but it looks like he’ll be out for the rest of the year.”

“It’s just not right. Don’t get me started.”

“I hear you. Listen, Zo. Are you still looking for someone to write a few blogs?”

“Well, we were thinking of making it more of a permanent thing. Why? Did you find someone?”

“I was thinking about me.”

“But you told me you don’t have anything to say.”

“I didn’t the last time we talked, but I do now.”

“I’m not following you.”

“I’d like to write about violence in hockey, and how it’s getting out of hand.” She paused. “It would be controversial, if nothing else. I mean, everyone has an opinion on the subject.”

“That’s for sure. A blog like that would have everyone split right down the middle.” Claire could hear the enthusiasm building in her friend’s voice. “I think it’s a great idea. Are you okay with making it anonymous?”

“For sure. As a matter of fact, I’d like anonymity written into any agreement we make. For example, if I write about Cam’s situation, I’d like to do it in the third person. You know, as if I don’t even know him. It would be much more effective that way.” She had a sudden idea. “I could use the thread of Cam’s story to tie the columns together. Not every column would be about him of course, but I could report on his progress now and then. It could make the issues seem more personal to the reader.”

Zoey laughed. “You sound like a blogger already. Are you sure you haven’t done anything like this before?”

“Oh, I’m quite sure. I have no idea how I’ll find the time, but I’d like to do it.”

“Hey, look on the bright side. There’ll be some extra money for that trip you’d like to take.”

“Call me crazy, but I hadn’t even thought about the money aspect.”

“You’re crazy all right. Listen, I’ll talk to the editor and get back to you.”

The week that followed passed in a blur. Between visiting Cam, work, and meeting with the newspaper about the blog, Claire could scarcely remember what day it was. She’d hammered out a loose agreement on the blogs, aiming for one per week.

She sat down at her computer and stared at the screen. She’d heard of writers not being able to come up with anything, but her problem was the opposite. Every spare minute of the past few days had been spent researching and those facts combined with Cam’s story made it difficult to choose where to start.

It was important that she get her facts right because the newspaper had surprised her, informing her that if there was as much interest in the blog as they anticipated, they might hire someone to write from the opposing side.

“That’s all I need,” she muttered to herself. “Some macho idiot whose idea of a good time is going to a fight to see if a hockey game will break out.” But she acknowledged that a well crafted opposing view would bring more attention to the issue.

Her opening salvo was critical. She may not be an experienced writer, but she knew that she had to grab the reader’s attention with her first sentence. With a groan of frustration she got up and walked to the window. The sun had burned off the morning mist and the ocean glittered with reflected sunshine. Maybe what she needed was a walk to clear her head. Just a short walk along the seawall and then she’d come back inspired and make a fresh start.

It was sunny but cool. She pulled on a turtle neck sweater, a pair of sweats and a fleece jacket. Her oldest, most comfortable walkers completed the outfit.

It seemed as though half the population of the West End had decided on a walk, but that didn’t surprise her. Vancouverites knew enough to take advantage of days like this.  Who knew when the next one would come around? The constant hum of traffic faded into the background as she made her way along the seawall, past the yacht basin. The distinctive tang of ocean air filled her lungs as she stopped to look at the sailboats. Seagulls swirled overhead, their cries blending with the clink of rigging against metal masts. Zoey would be on her case right now for checking out the boats instead of the men jogging past. She glanced out of the corner of her eye.
Especially that one
. She couldn’t see his face very well, hidden as it was by a hoodie, but he was tall, broad-shouldered, and moved like an athlete.