“Doesn’t he already know everything?” Rylan asked.
“Now that you’re out of anesthetic and able to speak for yourself I have to stop explaining your condition to anyone else.” She nodded toward Brett. “Since Mr. Rocha was an emergency contact I did speak to him while you couldn’t speak for yourself.”
Rylan looked at Brett. “Yes, of course.”
Brett immediately crossed the room and sat on the bed beside Rylan, taking his hand. Rylan had the distinct impression Brett knew what was coming.
Cora Merrill took a deep breath and tapped on the computer keyboard until an image appeared. “This sort of injury is called the unhappy triad. There is a break here,” she ran her finger across the screen. “Basically, your leg was broken just under the knee. During surgery I placed pins, and I’m of the school that prefers the use of a brace over plaster casting. Other reasons aside, overall, I think a brace is more comfortable during recovery. It’s my opinion that fact alone speeds recovery. Structurally your leg will never have the strength it did. I’m very sorry.” She pointed to a different spot. “On top of that, the knee cap was shattered as well. There were torn ligaments both anterior and medial along with tendon damage. The already existing arthritis in your knees and hips is a serious complication to recovery. The full knee joint dislocation and corner injury is further complicated by nerve and vascular damage. Wearing a brace will allow you to use a cooling wrap to help with pain management. Also, icing of the injured areas is an invaluable method to aid healing. Difficult to do with a leg covered in plaster or even fiberglass.” As she spoke she moved her fingers to point to different parts of Rylan’s knee. “Many of these injuries alone are very recoverable, but in your case there was too much damage. With therapy, there’s a very good chance you’ll walk almost normally.”
“Walk?” Rylan choked out the word. He didn’t bother wiping away the tears streaming down his cheeks. Brett squeezed his hand then shifted to put his arm around Rylan’s shoulders.
Concentrating on the doctor’s words was impossible, Rylan tried, he really did. Some of her words stuck in his head.
Probable limp.
Unlikely to ever do more than the simplest skating.
Jumps, twists, impossible.
Recommend wearing a brace.
The rest blurred together and was overshadowed by Rylan’s sobs. He turned, pressing his face to Brett’s shoulder, trying to block out the world. Finally, Brett said something to Dr. Merrill, but all Rylan was capable of processing was the soft rumble of his voice.
When they were alone again Brett retrieved a washcloth from the bathroom for Rylan to wipe his face off.
“Rylan, this is my fault. If I’d stayed in Vancouver…” Brett’s voice trailed off.
Rylan squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop more tears. “It’s not. They still would’ve.” He simply didn’t have the energy to explain it all. Maybe tomorrow, but not today.
He dozed off, waking later to hushed voices near him. A patient care aide came in, an older man with a kind smile. He shooed Brett and another man, Rylan realized it was James Markus, from the room. The man introduced himself, but Rylan didn’t manage to retain the information. An aide helped him use a bedpan and Rylan utterly hated himself for needing something like that. After confirming Rylan still was refusing pain medication other than non-narcotics, the man left.
“Hey,” James Markus poked his head through the door then walked into the room, Brett trailing behind. “I am so sorry.”
“Thanks,” Rylan said.
Everyone was sorry. They all feel pity for poor little broken Rylan. Broken, useless Rylan.
“Do you remember anything either of them said?” Markus asked.
Rylan nodded. “The day before I’d told Lars and Kathryn that I wasn’t renewing my contract with Celebration on Ice. They were pissed. When I saw Lars at the skating party he said I couldn’t leave and right before Kathryn hit me, she said, ‘you’re finished’. I keep hearing her every time I sleep and I see that pipe whenever I close my eyes.”
“The way you kicked Lars was badass.” Brett was practically gushing. Rylan glanced up at him and for a few seconds he didn’t feel such defeat and hopelessness.
“I was going to go public about being gay. Not that it was a huge secret lately anyway,” Rylan added. Brett’s single nod gave Rylan another few seconds of encouragement.
“Lars confessed everything. They’d tried to hire someone to kill Celia’s fiancé, Clive. That way they could preserve the image of you and Celia being a couple both off and on the ice. The guy never showed, or so Lars claimed. I’m not sure she ever hired anyone.” Markus pulled a chair up and sat next to the bed. “They were angry that Celia and Clive refused to keep their engagement a secret beyond the end of the tour. Too many people were seeing them together and Kathryn found out they were regulars at BDSM clubs in various cities. She followed them to the one in Vancouver, confronted them and there was apparently a rather heated argument. Celia said she was announcing her engagement before leaving Vancouver. Two days later Kathryn and Lars tried to kill Clive and ended up killing Celia. I think they were targeting you no matter what, after you told them you were leaving the show. It seems the next season was already being booked with the presumption you’d still be the headlining act. If you quit, the contracts would be void. Loss of those bookings would bankrupt the show. An injury, or your death—something beyond your or their control—wouldn’t have the same impact. In fact, the insurance pay-off to the show would prevent bankruptcy and the sympathy factor would likely improve ticket sales,” Markus finished his explanation. He glanced from Rylan to Brett and back again. “I’m very sorry we didn’t catch them sooner.”
Markus asked Rylan a few more questions, writing down his answers. After he finished he said, “I’ll have these typed up if it’s okay with you, then you can sign it if you agree.”
“Sure,” Rylan agreed.
By the time dinner arrived Rylan was exhausted from breathing exercises and pain. Brett scavenged up some food from a café in another part of the hospital and brought it to Rylan’s room to have dinner with him. Dark was descending outside his window when one of the nurses came in and told Brett he had to leave for the night.
Rylan’s spirits were raised for a few minutes watching Brett sort of puff up and try to argue with a woman who was probably half his size. He argued that he hadn’t had to leave the night before, but apparently, now that Rylan was out of anesthesia and completely awake Brett wasn’t permitted to remain there 24/7.
In the end Brett kissed Rylan’s forehead and left, promising to return in the morning.
* * * *
Brett was annoyed but not surprised the hospital staff made him leave. Since the moment Rylan arrived and he’d been taken into surgery, Brett stayed as close as possible. Most of the time that meant sitting in a waiting room. In order to keep Rylan as still as possible and prevent further injury he was heavily sedated until Cora Merrill arrived. Brett knew who he needed, not how to get a hold of her. The hospital staff stepped in and made the necessary connections and arrangements. With Rylan unconscious, his parents out of the country and the two people from Celebration on Ice who would normally authorize medical care out of commission there was some uncertainty until the Sweenys’ administrative assistant produced emergency contact documents. Celia and Rylan both listed Brett. By the time Dr. Merrill’s plane landed, they had everything sorted out. Brett was utterly amazed at how it had all been put into motion and implemented so quickly.
Nurses, doctors, and aides alike had warned Brett that once Rylan was stable and awake he’d have to go back to his hotel and get some rest.
That time had finally arrived. Brett went back to the hotel, feeling wired and helpless. A hot shower and Brett was beginning to relax. He sent an email off to another member of Ice Dragons, a woman who might give Brett some tips to help Rylan—both of them—through this.
The next morning Brett arrived in time to wat
ch Rylan shove food around his plate but not into his mouth.
“You’re going to be hungry if you don’t eat before PT,” Brett pointed out. He set a paper cup of coffee down on Rylan’s tray. “Brought you some of the good stuff.”
Rylan shrugged. “It’s not as if I’ll be actually working out.”
“You’re forgetting it’ll be a lot more strenuous than you think.”
Shrugging again Rylan stared past Brett at the wall. One of the many people who helped care for patients came in.
“Vitals,” he announced. “I’m Jack.”
Brett lost track of all their names and was surprised at how many different people there were, all doing different jobs to care for the patients. After Rylan’s blood pressure and whatever else they kept track of was recorded, Jack tried to get Rylan out of bed and to the bathroom.
“I can’t,” Rylan grumbled, turning his head so he wasn’t making eye contact.
“Oh, with a little help, I bet you can.” Jack grabbed a walker sitting against the wall and moved it closer to the bed. “Walkers are much less wieldy than crutches and they have more stability. It takes a bit of practice to get the hang of one but you’ll find that—”
“I can’t.” Rylan shouted and sent the tray of food tumbling to the floor.
Jack apparently had dealt with this sort of reaction a lot. He didn’t seem flustered or insulted. He simply cleaned everything off the floor and said, “I’ll get you a new breakfast. In the meantime, I’ll help you with the bedpan.”
Rylan winced at the word ‘bedpan’, but didn’t refuse. Brett had watched the exchange from a spot near the window where he’d moved to give Jack room to work. Taking a few steps forward he asked Jack, “Would you mind if Rylan and I talked privately for a few minutes?”
Jack smiled. “It’ll take me fifteen minutes or so to get another tray of food.” He nodded at Brett then Rylan and left.
When the door was shut, Brett pointed to the bathroom. “Get out of the bed and go in there,” he said in a soft, even voice.
“I can’t. I can’t walk, can’t skate, can’t do a fucking thing. I sit here and wonder how long will it be—?” Rylan shouted before glaring at the wall and clamping his lips shut.
“I’m not going anywhere, Rylan,” Brett said.
“Why not? It’s not as if I’m any good now.”
“If you want to insult me, do it to my face, not that goddamn wall!” Brett snapped. When Rylan didn’t respond, but continued to stare at the wall, Brett growled, “Look at me, boy. When you talk to me and ask when I’m walking out on you, you will fucking look me in the eye! Boy.”
Slowly Rylan’s head turned so he faced Brett and looked into his eyes. “I didn’t mean…it’s not as if we can…” Rylan’s voice trailed off.
“Not if you won’t even get your skinny ass out of bed to take a piss.” Brett picked up the bedpan and chucked it into the trash. He pointed to the bathroom. “Get out of bed, use that walker, and go use the toilet.”
“I can’t walk,” Rylan’s voice was a shaky whisper.
“Fine. If using a bedpan is what you want to do for the rest of your life, give me your safeword and I’ll sit you on it myself.”
Rylan opened his mouth, glanced away for a second then looked at Brett and shut his mouth. He shook his head a few times and looked away again, focusing on the sheet over his legs, picking at the edge. He pushed himself farther up in the bed and sat straighter. Waving at the brace and leg wraps then the IV pole he said, “I don’t think I have enough hands for all this.”
Brett snorted. “Yeah, it does look like a ten-man team effort.” He picked up the walker and set it next to the bed. “I’m not going anywhere, Rylan.” He helped Rylan disconnect the leg wraps and the leg brace from the frame over the bed as the nurse had shown them the day before. That complete, he held the IV pole steady, since it seemed to have a mind of its own and wanted to run away, while Rylan shifted around and eased his legs over the side, lowering the bed as he did so.
Rylan’s face screwed up, his eyes watered and his breathing quickened as he inched forward and took hold of the walker. He slipped off the bed and balanced on his good leg. His entire body shook and he bit down on his lip as he stood. Rylan could only take a step or two before he had to stop. His knuckles were white and he’d gulp in huge, wet breaths, squeeze his eyes shut, then begin again. Brett stayed far enough away not to hover, but close enough that if Rylan had a misstep or was too overcome by pain he’d be able to help. He wanted Rylan to walk, not faceplant on the floor.
By the time Rylan reached the bathroom door, Jack had returned with his replacement breakfast. He silently set the tray on the hospital table and positioned it by a chair. He nodded to Brett and said quietly, “Nice work. That’s the most important walk he’ll probably ever take.”
Brett rubbed the back of his neck and blew out a long breath. He leaned against the wall and waited until Rylan was finished.
Jack patted the chair. “I scored you some extra ham to go with the eggs.”
“Thank you,” Rylan practically collapsed into the chair. He took a few bites and leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes. A few deep breaths and Rylan set his fork down and clasped his hands together on his lap. After another few minutes he opened his eyes, took one more deep breath, and picked up the fork again. He began eating again, this time with more vigor. Scrunching his eyebrows for a few seconds he looked from Brett to Jack. “All downhill from here, right?”
It was a start, and for that Brett felt enormous relief.
“One step at a time,” Brett said.
Those words had much more impact today than a week ago.
Chapter 12
Rylan looked up from his breakfast when Brett walked into his room and stopped in the middle, paper coffee cup in one hand.
“Holy crap.” He sipped his coffee and turned a slow circle, looking all around the room. Every empty surface was covered with cards of all sizes, some with photographs.
“They keep coming,” Rylan said. He picked up the mug on his breakfast tray and looked inside then set it down with a clunk.
Brett glanced sideways and arched an eyebrow. “What? The last one I brought for you got tossed onto the floor.” He walked along the windowsill and plucked up one card after another. “Scott Hamilton, Katarina Witt, Evgeni Plushenko, Todd Eldredge, Kim Yuna, the front office staff from Ice Skate America.” Moving along to a three-foot card in the shape of Mickey Mouse, Brett nudged it open to read the inside. “Looks like the whole cast and crew of Disney on Ice signed this one. This is like some shrine to who’s who of the ice skating world.”
“Uh huh.”
Brett side stepped to another group of cards. “Oh, Meryl Davis and Charlie White, I like them.”
Rylan blew out a loud sigh. “You do know Celia and I competed against them, right?”
“And beat them, but it doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy their routines.” Brett crossed to a table along the wall. “Aww, that cute Japanese guy whose name I can’t pronounce.”
“You think he’s cute?”
“A youth hockey team, they look about ten years old,” Brett said. Ignoring Rylan’s question as he held up a card with a photograph in it.
“Jack gave me a sponge bath last night. It was pleasant.”
Brett sipped his coffee then mused, “Wonder if he’s gay.”
“Jack?”
“No, the skater with the name I can’t remember how to pronounce.” Brett put down the photograph of the hockey team and picked up another card. “This one is from a high school figure skating club. All these people care about you.”
Rylan glared. “I bet what they care about is they’re not laying in a hospital bed with a wrecked knee and no career.”
Brett sighed and picked up another card, this time showing Rylan a photo of a boy and girl dressed for a competition. “These kids are wearing outfits almost exactly like yours.”
“So what?” Rylan grumbled.
&
nbsp; “They live in France. For every card from someone famous there are three here from kids.” Brett gathered up a handful of cards, showing Rylan the photographs attached. “Little kids, medium sized kids, older kids. Rylan, you’re their hero. They want to skate like you.” He shrugged and held up the hockey team card. “Okay, these kids want to skate like me, but the point is they look up to you.”
“Joke’s on them, isn’t it? Unless they want to be a has been.”
“You’re not the first great athlete to be side lined by an injury, and you won’t be the last,” Brett snapped. “That doesn’t mean your life is over or that you don’t have plenty to give, or other career opportunities.”
“Was a great athlete. Was a world class skater,” Rylan shot back. Saying the words filled the back of his throat with burning bile.
“You’ll always be a great athlete, even a hundred years after you’re dead! No one and nothing can take your accomplishments away from you. There is no reason you can’t help others with their hopes and goals. You’re kind, patient and have a lot of skills to offer. I told you before, you’d be a great coach.”
“Yeah, I can’t even do that now since I can’t demonstrate anything,” Rylan shouted. He turned away when tears stung his eyes.
“You know what? Pity parties will get you nowhere. I’ve got half a mind to take you out to the hall, turn you over my knee, and paddle your ass in front of everyone. I mean, for God’s sake you only skate on one foot half the time anyway. You’ve got one good leg, use it,” Brett argued.
“You wouldn’t dare.” Rylan’s self-pity evaporated, replaced by defiance.
“Well, no, you’ve got me there, I wouldn’t. You’d probably get off on it and this is an orthopedic ward, there’s little kids around. They seem to break a lot of bones.” Brett raised his eyebrows and smiled softly when Rylan flipped him off with a smirk.
Brett put his cup down and sat on the bed, taking Rylan’s hand in his. “I’ve chartered a jet to get you home. Gloria, the PT coordinator at Big Sky has been in contact with the people here and a few others in the field, equipment you need to rehab is being installed. There is no reason you can’t be coaching within a week. You should see the computerized analysis software we’ve got. These kids are being taught to spin more, jump higher by making slight changes to their body positioning the naked eye can’t possibly follow and process. It’s remarkable.” He stopped for a minute then gave Rylan’s hand a little shake. “I know you didn’t get the choice of when you’d retire, and that sucks. If I could fix it or change it, I would. What you can control is not allowing your skills and knowledge to wither up and be forgotten.” He squeezed Rylan’s hand and looked down.
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