Forever Pucked (Pucked 4)

My mom gasps and turns away.

My dad lifts his eyes to the ceiling while Violet pulls my gown down and the sheets back up, mouthing Shit. Sorry! at me. I’m too medicated to care, but she looks embarrassed.

Getting off the bed is more awkward for her than it should be, but she’s flustered, so she’s even more uncoordinated than usual. She’s coordinated as hell in the bedroom, but outside of it… not so much.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” She hugs my dad, who squeezes her tight.

“I wish it was under less distressing circumstances, but I’m glad we’re here, too.” He’s looking at me, his concern obvious.

My mom stands with her palm covering her mouth, and tears track streaks of black mascara down her cheeks. I must really look like hell.

She hurries over, her hands fluttering in the air around my face. “My baby! Oh, God.” She looks like she wants to touch me, but she’s afraid to. “That’s going to leave a scar. Robbie? Will that leave a scar?” She’s motioning to my face.

“I’m sure they had a plastic surgeon do that, honey. You’ll hardly know it happened in a couple of years.” My dad goes back to whisper-talking to Violet.

“But the wedding! We’ll have to cover it.”

She’s been here less than a minute, and already we’re on to the wedding business. I look at Violet to see her reaction, but she doesn’t seem to have caught it since she’s close-talking with my dad.

“They have Photoshop now, Mom, and we don’t even have a date set.”

“If you’d gone to the Olympics like you should’ve, your beautiful face wouldn’t look like this.”

“Daisy!” my dad snaps.

Oh, shit. The last thing I need is my parents arguing, or Violet having to listen to my mom’s projected lost dreams.

Violet disengages from my dad, and her expression reflects a lot of things: concern, stress, anxiety, fear, love. “Daisy, you must be exhausted. Can I get you something from the cafeteria? Maybe you’d like to come with me?” She looks to me. “Alex, do you need anything?”

It’s then that I notice her red, lacy bra hanging off the foot of the bed. I check out her chest. Oh yeah, she’s braless. Her nipples are extra nipple-y.

I look down, and then back up, and back down until she notices her bra.

She snatches it from the end of the bed, hugging it to her chest. “I need to use the bathroom first!” She zips across the room and slams the door behind her. Which alerts me to the fact that I need to relieve myself. And getting there isn’t going to be easy with all the shit I’m hooked up to.

“Is she okay?” my dad asks.

“Yeah. I mean, it shook her up, but she’s managing okay.” At least I think she is.

“Are you okay?”

“I hurt, but that’s to be expected.” I’m downplaying it. I have to; otherwise my mom will freak out. “Did you come straight from the airport?”

My mother nods. “We would’ve been here sooner if we could have.” She adjusts my pillow and rearranges the sheets.

Her hair’s a mess. Her face is blotchy. I’m sure she’s been panicking since she saw me go down on the ice. They always watch my games, and it’s usually a pleasant evening in front of the TV. I’ve scared a lot of people.

“I’m going to be fine, Mom.”

She’s about to dispute that when Violet bursts out of the bathroom, no longer braless. “Okay, Daisy, let’s go get some snacks. Alex, you must be starving.”

I’m too hopped up on drugs to think about food, but Violet needs to take care of me, or stay busy, so I tell her whatever she gets me will be good. She links arms with my mom and pats her hand as they leave the room.

My dad waits until they’re gone before he starts with his questions. “Do you remember what happened last night?”

“Not yet, but I’m okay, Dad.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Have you seen your face?”

“It can’t be too much worse than when Buck broke my nose,” I joke.

When he stands there, stoic, I know maybe it really is that bad.

“I need to take a leak.”

He taps the rail. “You want a bedpan or the bathroom?”

“I’m not pissing in a pan.”

“Bathroom it is.” He drops the rail that keeps me from falling off the bed—not that I could since I haven’t moved in hours—and uses the controls to get me into a mostly sitting position.

I groan as I ease my legs over the edge. I’ve got bruises all up my shins. There are other ones on my arms, so dark they’re almost black. Every damn muscle in my body aches. My head throbs, and my vision blurs.

“You want me to get a chair?”

“I can walk.”

“You sure about that, son?”

“I need to walk.”

My dad sighs. He’s used to my stubbornness. “Let’s give it a whirl, then.” He moves my IV stand over so I have something to hold.