The cold air bit at 17-year-old Will Halstead's face as he stood at the edge of the rink, watching his younger brother, 13-year-old Jay Halstead, dart across the ice, his skates slicing effortlessly through the frozen surface. The sound of blades scraping against the ice echoed in the expansive arena, a symphony of determination and grit. Will loved hockey, but not in the same way Jay did. For Jay, it was about the thrill of the game, the rush of competition. For Will, it was more about the camaraderie and the escape from the pressures of his father's expectations.

"Hey, Will! Come on, join us!" Jay called out, his voice full of enthusiasm. Will smiled weakly, waving his hand to acknowledge his brother but remaining rooted to the spot.

"Maybe later, buddy. Just need a minute," he replied, feeling a dull ache in his head that had settled there since the morning. The tightness in his neck was starting to feel unbearable, and he rubbed it absently, hoping the pain would dissipate.

"Are you okay?" Jay skated over, concern flickering in his eyes. "You look kinda pale."

"Yeah, I'm fine," Will said, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. He didn't want to worry Jay, and he certainly didn't want to face their father, Patrick Halstead, who believed that boys needed to be tough, to push through pain and discomfort. Will had learned early on that weakness was not tolerated in their household.

Will's head spun slightly as he watched Jay rejoin the group. The ache in his body intensified, and his stomach turned at the thought of even stepping onto the ice. But he pushed it aside. He couldn't let his father down or give him any reason to believe he wasn't tough enough.

The next morning, Will awoke to find a heavy weight pressing down on him. He felt like he had been run over by a truck. His throat was raw, his body ached, and a relentless headache throbbed behind his eyes. He could barely muster the energy to sit up. Pulling the blanket tighter around him, he wished for just a few more minutes of sleep.

"Will! Get up! You're going to be late for school!" Patrick's voice boomed from downstairs.

"I don't feel well, Dad," Will croaked, trying to keep his voice steady but failing to mask the weakness in it.

"Don't give me that, Will. You've got a hockey game this weekend. You need to toughen up. Get moving!" Patrick barked back, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Will groaned and dragged himself out of bed, the chill of the floor sending shivers up his spine. He could hear Jay's soft voice from the other room, trying to convince their father to let Will stay home.

"Dad, I think he really is sick. He looks awful!" Jay's concern made Will's heart swell with affection, but he couldn't let Jay see him as weak.

"I'll be fine, Jay," Will said as he emerged from his room, forcing himself to stand tall despite the dizziness swirling in his mind. "Just a little tired."

Patrick's eyes narrowed as he looked at his sons. "Boys need to be strong. You don't get a free pass just because you're not feeling great. Now, let's go. You'll feel better once you're out there."

Will plastered on a smile, but inside, he felt as if he were crumbling. He got dressed and grabbed his backpack, determined to push through the day, even as the headache throbbed and his neck felt stiff.

Over the next couple of days, Will's condition continued to deteriorate. Each morning, he woke up feeling worse than the last. The fatigue enveloped him like a thick fog, and his headache had transformed into a relentless pounding. Light and sound became unbearable; even the morning sunlight streaming through his window made him squint and feel nauseous.

He struggled to concentrate in class, his vision blurring as he fought to stay awake. The dull ache in his head had morphed into a piercing throb, and his throat felt like it was lined with razor blades. He barely ate, the thought of food turning his stomach into knots. Despite his best efforts, he was becoming increasingly aware of how badly he felt.

Each afternoon, he would drag himself to practice, where he put on a brave face for his teammates and especially for Jay, who idolized him. As the boys skated, Will fought against his fatigue, his body screaming at him to stop.

On the third day of feeling unwell, he barely made it through practice. As he skated hard after the puck, a wave of dizziness hit him, and he stumbled.

"Will!" Jay shouted, skating towards him, worry etched on his face.

"I'm fine!" Will insisted, but as he turned to push himself up, everything went black.

Will opened his eyes to blinding white lights. He blinked, trying to make sense of his surroundings. The sterile smell of antiseptic filled the air, and he felt the soft pressure of a blanket wrapped around him.

"Will! Thank God you're awake!" Jay's voice broke through his haze, and Will turned his head to see his brother's worried face.

"What happened?" Will croaked, his throat dry and scratchy, the memory of collapsing hazy in his mind.

"You collapsed at practice. They brought you here. Dad's on his way," Jay said, his voice trembling slightly.

Just then, Patrick strode into the room, a mix of worry and anger on his face. "Will, what were you thinking? You should have told me you were feeling this bad!"

Will's heart sank as he processed his father's words. He could see the disappointment in Patrick's eyes, the frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

"I didn't want to worry you," Will said weakly, guilt washing over him. But he also felt a surge of defensiveness. "I thought I could push through it."

"Push through it?" Patrick's voice was sharp, and Will recoiled slightly at the edge of his father's frustration. "You've let this get out of hand. You know that, right? You should know when to call it quits. I expect you to be responsible enough to take care of yourself."

Will's chest tightened as he absorbed the words. He had been trying to be strong, to be tough, just like his father wanted. But it had backfired in a way he had never imagined. "I didn't think it was that serious," he murmured, feeling the weight of shame settle on his shoulders.

"Seriously, Will? You have a fever and you kept saying you were tired. How could you not realize something was wrong?" Patrick's disappointment cut through Will, making him feel small.

"Dad, I just…" Will struggled to find the right words. He wanted to explain, to justify his actions, but he felt the anger and disappointment radiating from Patrick, leaving him speechless.

Dr. Lee entered the room, interrupting the tension. "Mr. Halstead, I'm Dr. Lee. Your son has been diagnosed with meningitis. We're going to start treatment immediately, but he's going to need time to recover."

Patrick's demeanor shifted, worry etched on his face as the gravity of the diagnosis settled in. "Meningitis?" he echoed, his voice softening. "How could this happen?"

Will felt the flood of emotions crash over him, the disappointment, the anger, and now guilt gnawing at him. He watched as Patrick's concern for him began to break through the initial frustration, but the damage had already been done.

As the days in the hospital passed, Will's condition slowly improved, but the emotional toll weighed heavily on him. He spent hours reflecting on his relationship with his father and how they had always clashed over what it meant to be a "man."

Patrick visited every day, his stern demeanor softened by the worry that lingered in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Will. I should have listened to you. I just… I thought I was teaching you how to be strong," he admitted one afternoon, his voice heavy with regret.

"I just wanted to make you proud," Will said, his voice trembling. "But it always felt like I had to do everything perfectly."

Patrick's face fell as he realized the impact of his actions. "I'm proud of you, Will. I always have been. But I didn't know how to show it. I thought pushing you to be tough would help you in the long run."

"Maybe it would have if you'd been there to support me instead of just pushing me," Will replied, the words spilling out before he could stop them. He could see the guilt wash over Patrick's face, and he felt a flicker of hope. "It's okay to not be okay sometimes."

The hospital room, filled with the beeping of machines and the faint smell of antiseptic, suddenly felt like a space of healing—a place where they could start to communicate more openly, to break down the walls that had held them back for so long.

When Will was finally released from the hospital, he returned home to find Jay waiting anxiously. "I missed you, Will! You scared me!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms around him.

"I missed you too, buddy," Will said, his heart swelling with warmth.