A Helping Hand Chapter 1 (Patreon)

I should have seen their defensemen coming for me. There were only two minutes left in the last period with the score tied, but of course I was distracted by him—dear old dad—holding court in the audience as people kept approaching him all game to ask for selfies. So it’s not surprising that I ended up with a six-foot-something, two-hundred pound hockey player slamming me into the boards just as I was about to pass the puck to Kyle so he could score the winning goal. 

All I remember after that is experiencing the worst pain I’ve ever felt before blacking out, and I’ve taken plenty of hits over the years. Sprains, dislocated shoulder, broken leg, you name it, but this one takes the cake. 

I’ve been in and out of consciousness for a while now, I think. Hushed voices swirl around me, and a steady beeping sound hits my ear from somewhere to my right. When I finally open my eyes, I’m blinded by bright fluorescent lights overhead, and my throat feels dry like the Sahara. 

“What’s going on?” I croak out. 

“Honey, he’s awake! Go call the doctor,” a familiar, feminine voice says. It only takes a second for my mom to pop up in front of me, face scrunched with worry, dark circles under her eyes. “Hi, sweetie. How are you feeling?”

“Really thirsty, can I have some water?”

Mom nods and holds a paper cup with a straw to my lips. I drink until the cup is drained, the water nice and cool going down my throat. It’s only when I’m done that I look around and realize that I’m in a hospital room. My right arm is wrapped in a cast and held up against my chest with a sling. 

“What happened?” I ask. 

“You were hurt playing hockey, Mr. Monroe,” a pretty, blonde doctor says, stepping into the room. She’s wearing the traditional white coat with a stethoscope around her neck, her hair tied back in a ponytail. 

Dad is standing right behind her, his face expressionless as he looks at me. 

“Um, right. I remember that part now.” I look down at my arm, frustration building as I try to move it and find that I can only wiggle my fingers. 

Fuck! It was the first game of the season, and now I probably can’t even play. 

“You’re going to have to be patient with your recovery, Mr. Monroe—”

“Please call me Toby. No one really calls me Mr. Monroe,” I interject. 

She nods, smiling kindly. “Unfortunately, you fractured your radius bone. I was able to go in and fix it surgically, but it’s going to take some time to heal completely.” 

“How long will it take for him to get back out there?” Dad asks, not even bothering to look at me. 

The doctor hesitates for a second before saying, “If he heals like I expect him to and his physical therapy goes well, Toby should be ready to play by January.” 

My heart drops to my stomach when I hear the word January, and before I can even say anything, dad shoots me a glare, shutting me up. He turns back to the doctor and plasters on that smile he only uses when he’s trying to act like someone he’s not. “Isn’t there anything you could do to speed up his recovery? It’s his senior year and the last chance he’ll get to play before the NHL draft. Playing in January means he’ll miss half the season.”

The doctor gives us a sympathetic smile and shakes her head. “I’m sorry, but there’s no rushing his recovery. If his bone doesn’t heal properly, it could ruin his mobility, and any chance of playing professionally would be gone.” 

Dad huffs and runs his hand through his dark blond hair. “Okay then. Thank you for your help.” 

“Of course.” The doctor turns back to me and says, “I’ll start the paperwork to get you discharged, Toby. But you’re going to need to take it easy, especially in the beginning. You’ll also need someone to help you with basic tasks to prevent your injuries from getting worse. Will you be staying with your parents while you recover?”

I shake my head quickly, avoiding the pleading look my mom is giving me. “Uh, no… I’ll be going back to my apartment. But one of my teammates is also my roommate—I’m sure he’ll help me with whatever I need.”

With a satisfied nod, the doctor leaves us alone. 

I look back and forth between my parents, Mom looking worried as ever while Dad just glares at me like it’s my fault that I got hurt. 

“Sweetheart, are you sure you don’t want to come back with us? I can drive you to campus if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

I shake my head again, my throat closing up like it doesn’t trust me not to say what I’m thinking. There’s no way I’m going back there. Not if I have to listen to Dad complain all day about how much of a screwup I am or how much better of a player he was at my age, already playing in the NHL. I finally mange to get out, “I’m good, thank you, Mom.” 

She cups my cheek and places a kiss on my forehead. “Okay, sweetheart. But please let me know if you need anything. Your father and I will be there for you if you need us.” 

I give her a grateful smile. “Thanks, Mom. I know you will.” 

But when I look over her shoulder, I see Dad scrolling on his phone. So much for having both of them there for me.