A/N: I decided to be good and finally move this one over to 'M'.
Also, advance apologies that this chapter isn't exactly any less depressing.
April 6, 2001
You're not going to cry.
You're not going to cry.
You're not going to cry.
Walking down the hall towards his hospital room, Julie kept repeating the same mantra, steeling herself for what she was about to see.
She'd been told of the halo bolted into his skull, and of the way that the impact had been enough to shatter four of his front teeth. She knew of the bleak prognosis, and the way that he couldn't move anything below his neck.
She pictured a dark hospital room, and his body tiny and pale against the bed. Of him lying there, frail and helpless.
As she reached to open the door, she braced for the worst; determined that he not see how devastated she was.
After all, he had enough problems, as is.
"Adam?"
And then, for one brief, glorious moment, she realized that maybe it all was a mistake, after all.
Light streamed in as she opened the door, the whole room illuminated by the spring blossoming outside. Looking over, he was him, still freshly tanned from spring break; his body filling out the flimsy hospital gown. Heck, he was better looking than she remembered: A year of D1 hockey having added nearly 15 lbs. of muscle to slender frame.
I knew there had been some kind of mix up.
Everyone's just bummed that he's going to miss this year's draft.
Walking towards him, a smile overtook her face as she realized that her prayers had been answered. Yes, his neck was probably broken-that would explain the halo, but still, life as everyone knew it would go on. Worst case scenario, the doctors would tell him he was through with competitive hockey. He'd end up in an NHL front office. And even that was just the worst case scenario.
"Julie?"
No.
No.
Suddenly, it hit her that he was lying too still.
That he wasn't trying to sit up to greet her.
That his arms weren't moving.
.
This wasn't a mistake.
This was real.
"How ar-"
Before any other words could leave her mouth, the tears became too much to hold back; the lump in her throat too big to let her speak. She collapsed down into the chair beside his bed, her face buried in his still-chiseled abs.
"It's okay." He assured her, doing his best to keep his voice steady as she sobbed into his hospital gown. "I promise, it's not as bad as it looks. It's really not."
"Ah, I see somebody decided to grace us with his presence."
Adam looked down at his Rolex, the knot on the back of his head still throbbing from the night before.
10:09
"It's not that late." He pointed out, smiling as he reached over for a banana from a bowl on the counter.
.
The majority of the Ducks had already congregated in the kitchen for the morning, making small talk as they raided Charlie's refrigerator for food. Light streamed in through the French doors as people poured cereal and nibbled on toast, Googling brunch options in the city as they lounged in pajamas.
Adam had heard their chatter an hour earlier, and thought about joining.
But, he decided, lounging in pajamas was a luxury best reserved for people a bit more attractive than himself-instead, he went ahead and washed his face and got dressed before joining his old friends, hoping to hide the worst of his fading looks behind $200 fleece.
Digging through his overnight bag for moisturizer, he'd also retrieved a bottle of Xanax, pouring two white bars into his hand.
Looking into the mirror, it seemed a reasonable choice: He could hear laughter coming from the other room, and it seemed a safe bet that nobody much wanted to talk to a guy like him. A guy who was too scarred. Too fat. Too unsuccessful.
Putting the pills to his mouth, he also remembered the thousand talks with his psychiatrist, and the fact that trying to medicate away every uncomfortable feeling for the last twenty-three years hadn't actually produced that great of results.
.
The marketing brochures in the doctor's office had been wrong-much to his chagrin, nothing Purdue Pharma made came with a puppy and smiling girlfriend.
.
This time, his therapist won out, his palms sweating as he reminded himself that he could always go smoke in his car alone if things got too bad.
.
"It's not. You still beat Charlie and Fulton."
"And you look nicer than I'm guessing either of them will."
"Fag."
"What?" Averman laughed. "He's a pretty guy."
"And you're pretty gay."
Averman and Portman continued their banter as Connie hopped down from her spot on the counter and carried over a chair from the dining table, motioning for Adam to sit down.
.
His cheeks turned pink at the gesture; her actions at once thoughtful and an unwanted reminder that he was no longer the one scoring goals and carrying pretty girls like princesses.
That he was an invalid.
.
"You didn't need to do that."
"Figured you might as well be comfortable."
"Well thank you."
"So what are the morning plans?" Kenny asked to nobody in particular, the smell of burning toast coming from nearby.
April 6, 2001
Julie sat next to Adam's bed, the various beeps and whirs of the ICU filling the air around them.
Stroking his hand, she was careful not to wake him.
.
It was nice when he slept.
.
Awake, there was no distraction from reality. That morning when she saw him, there had been no ignoring the fact that nothing below his neck moved.
.
Until it was gone, she'd never thought about how much a person moves during a normal conversation: About all of the shrugs and nods and shifts in weight that aren't important enough to register in consciousness, but that help ease the flow of discussion. Without them, their absence was conspicuous; a constant reminder that something wasn't right.
Worse, when he was awake, she couldn't escape the sadness in his eyes.
As they'd talked, he'd smiled, and made the same endearingly lame jokes he always had. Even with the circumstances being what they were, he couldn't help but try to be a good host. Still, every time she'd look into his eyes, she'd notice that they were at risk of brimming over with tears.
He knew what his prognosis was. He knew as well as anyone that even if every possible miracle rained down from the heavens, he'd still be left with a shell of his former life.
But asleep?
When he slept, she didn't have to notice how still he was, or the pain in his eyes. She could just sit there in the hospital room, being with him. Pretending that things were going to be okay.
And that was nice.
Ugh, why is there nothing in here for mimosas?" Connie complained, staring into the abyss of the refrigerator.
"Because apparently Charlie's not as much of an alcoholic as you are."
"Whatever."
As everybody sat around, the morning chatter continued, the group still waiting on the last of the late risers to get out of bed.
Inspecting the refrigerator, Connie had found the options woefully lacking; breakfast cereal and a wilted head of lettuce not what she had in mind for a lazy Saturday morning.
"I'm siding with Connie on this one." Russ agreed. "Mimosas are a requirement."
"Thirding."
"Fourthing."
Dwayne shook his head, chuckling.
"Y'all need Jesus."
"Whatever, Cowboy."
"Didn't I pass a grocery store like, a mile from here?" Ken asked, typing directions to the nearest store into his phone.
"Yeah, I think there's a Meijer just down the road."
Connie closed the refrigerator and walked over to the next room to grab her purse; the solution to this problem an obvious one.
"I think we need to make a morning champagne run." She suggested, Louis Vuitton bag in hand.
"I think you're right."
"I'm in."
Remembering that his car was parked at the end of the driveway, Adam stood up, fishing in his pockets for his keys and wallet.
"I can drive." He offered, the needlepoint key fob dangling from his hand.
April 7, 2001
"I'm not going back in there."
Julie paced the halls of Abbot Northwestern with Connie, taking in the labyrinth of beige, institutional tile.
It was now past midnight, and they'd walked mile after mile of windowless corridor, occasionally happening upon an elevator or cafeteria. After more than 12 sleep-deprived hours, the hospital had taken on a surreal quality; the endless loop of floors and waiting rooms and stairwells no longer quite real.
.
Still, that was better than the waiting room of the sixth floor ICU, where the sofas were filled with a rotating cast of muscled-up hockey players and random frat boys.
Every so often, two or three boys in boat shoes and Abercrombie sweaters would leave, and soon as they were gone, two or three more guys just like them would come to take their place.
There, things were real.
And that wasn't a reality Julie couldn't handle too much of at one time.
.
"I know. But you have to."
"It just...how could something like this happen?"
"I don't know."
"It's not fair."
"No. It's not."
.
The same conversation had been had a dozen times.
The same corridors had been walked a dozen times.
And yet, that didn't change anything.
Julie knew that she needed to back in and see him. But after breaking down and sobbing earlier that morning, she just couldn't make herself go back in there. Not when he was awake. Not when he could see her cry.
He has enough to worry about without having to try to cheer me up.
.
"Do you remember that time when he pulled something in his hip last year and had to miss like, two games?" Julie joked, thinking back to an incident the year before as she tried to take her mind off of the present.
.
Their senior year, he'd pulled his groin just a few weeks into the season. Despite the fact that it had been a minor injury, and despite the fact that they were more than a month away from any important games, his normal stoicism crumbled the second the Coach Wilson benched him. For nearly three weeks, everyone got to listen to his protests about the injustice of the situation, with even Charlie having to remind him that 'it's just hockey'.
.
"Oh my gosh!" Connie laughed, "You would have thought it was the end of the world. And to top it off, weren't we playing like, JV and Breck?"
"Yes! Those were the two games!"
"'But this will be the last time I get to play against Larson!'" Connie mimicked, recalling the angst-ridden epiphany about not getting to face off against his elementary school alma mater. "Like, yeah dude. You're best friends. He lives a block away. I don't think it's going to be that hard to arrange a one-on-one game if you really want to."
"Good ol' Averman. Why was he the only one who thought to just have Larson come over and remind him of that?"
"Because he's smarter than we are."
"Good point!"
"Larson looked at him like he was such a tard..."
"He was being such a tard!"
"Those two really are peak tard together sometimes."
"Sometimes?" Connie chuckled.
"Okay. Always."
"He still came back like, stupidly early." She shook her head, thinking of how he insisted on playing in the game against Edina, even though he was limping whenever he was off the ice. Though the trainer told him he needed another week off, the whole thing had turned into a war of attrition, and good sense was no match for Adam's sheer determination.
Julie sighed.
"I so wanted to kill him for that."
"I know, me too. I would not want to have to live in his body twenty years from now...
.
As soon as Connie said it, the weight of reality came flooding back, crushing both girls beneath the knowledge that those things weren't going to matter anymore.
That there were going to be far bigger long-term concerns than a few more aches and pains in middle age.
"Guess it's a good thing he got to play in that game." Connie muttered, her stomach sinking as she thought about how well he'd played, and the look on his face when they beat Edina 7-2.
"Yeah."
.
"How is he ever going to live like this?" Julie finally asked, the question on both of their minds too hard to ignore.
"He's one of the strongest people I know." Connie reminded her, pulling her into a hug. "If anyone can handle something like this, it would be him."
"Yeah..."
Soon enough, Russ, Connie, and Ken were all piled into the backseat of Adam's Audi, the two guys elbowing one another over who had more space. In the front seat, meanwhile, Julie relished in her permanent shotgun privileges, flipping through the car's touchscreen to find just the right song for her and Connie.
Before they'd even made it out of the driveway, she discovered just what she was hoping to find.
Mariah Carey.
Don't mind if I do.
"You are such a girl." Adam shook his head, chuckling.
.
It was his phone that was plugged into the USB port, of course. But he figured that if he protested enough, that detail could remain his little secret.
.
"Whatever. You know you like 'Always Be My Baby'."
"Well yeah, but I try not to publicly admit it."
"Loser."
"Heh, you know you love me." He shrugged.
"Yeah. Kinda'."
As Mariah's voice filled the cabin, and Julie and Connie belted out the chorus together, Adam lighting a cigarette as he fought the urge to join in.
Not turning in my Man Card THAT easily.
...
For his part, Russ sat back against the creamy leather, getting comfortable as they made their way through Oak Hills Estates.
As he looked around, he couldn't help but notice how clean everything was; how there were no booster seats to be found, nor any melted crayons or Doritos crumbs or abandoned Breck Hockey hoodies that smelled like Axe and sweat.
Used to the travails of fatherhood himself, he marveled: With just two kids, he struggled to remember what color his minivan's interior was beneath all of the mystery stains. Yet somehow with three kids, Adam's SUV looked like he had never seen a child.
.
"Dude. You have got to share your secret." He shook his head. "I'm pretty sure my kids are growing some new life forms in the back of the Odyssey."
"Don't be telling me that!" Kenny chuckled. "I like my Range Rover, and I don't want to think about what's going to happen to it once Lia's born."
"Crumbs. Crumbs as far as the eye can see. Everywhere the light touches, there are more crumbs."
"No. Don't be puttin' that on me, man."
"There's no vacuuming them, either. Cuz' kids are secretly made of paste. Shit sticks to everything. You get in your car, and you find melted Jolly Rangers in your seat. Don't even know how that happens..."
"Nah man. Tell me this isn't true, Adam. Tell me there's another way."
"Ain't no way around it, bro. Adam probably has like, a butler or something. Because otherwise, it's all crumbs."
"Nooo! Tell him, Adam. Tell him there's another way."
"Ain't no other way, man. At least not for us normal folks."
As Kenny and Russ continued to joke, the color drained from Adam's face.
.
Unlike some of the others, that incident had stayed quiet; few outside of he and Laura knowing the truth.
Adam's fingers drummed at the steering wheel, his thoughts drifting back to the crumpled juice boxes and half-finished coloring sheets in the back of his old Lexus. To the times that he'd pick the boys up from Saturday morning hockey practice, and the trips through the Krispy Kreme drive-thru that they kept quiet from Laura. Kid detritus filled that car, right down to the CD changer that once got stuck on Jack Johnson's 'We're Going to be Friends' for the better part of a month...a reassuring message that was probably more pertinent for the driver than his young passengers, anyway.
.
When he got out of the hospital two weeks after the accident, he tried to go retrieve Caroline's stuffed walrus that had been in the back floorboard, but by then, it was too late.
A snowstorm had come along.
With the side of the car cut apart, there was nothing to stop snowdrifts from forming; burying everything underneath blankets of powder that had already melted and refrozen multiple times.
There would be no saving Horton.
.
"Heh, drive the Range Rover into a tree, and your kids probably won't be riding with you in the next car." He muttered, missing the matted grey walrus that used to occasionally keep him company at work.