“You know we’d have come to visit if you’d just asked,” William said. “You haven’t had enough of us yet?”
Adam hiccuped an almost-laugh and his father took his good hand.
“What day is it?”
“Sunday morning,” William said. “We got here last night but you’ve been out cold.”
“How—” Adam swallowed. “How’d you get here so fast?”
“Your mother chartered a jet,” William said.
“I know where you got the genes for being extra,” Etienne murmured in his ear.
Adam actually laughed at that. “Ow, ow, don’t. How much of me is broken?”
“Ribs, wrist, and another concussion,” Etienne said. His voice was steady, but his arm tightened around Adam’s waist. “They operated to relieve the swelling on your brain—does your head hurt?”
“Everything hurts,” Adam said. “Although the drugs are good. As long as I don’t move, it’s not too bad. I just—” My eyes.
“The doctor will know something soon,” Colette said. “You should rest.”
Adam didn’t want to rest. He wanted his eyes back. He wanted to be on the ice. But he could feel exhaustion tugging at him.
Etienne kissed the nape of his neck. “Sleep,” he murmured.
Adam had no choice but to obey.
35
Etienne used the time while Adam was asleep to go back to Adam’s apartment and pack clothes and necessities for a week. He ignored the throbbing of his arm as he shoved clothes into a bag, but he couldn’t as easily ignore his phone when it rang.
“How is he?” Rudy asked.
“Awake and lucid,” Etienne said. He sat down on the bed. “He… he can’t see right now.”
Rudy’s breath was sharp. “At all? He’s blind? Do you have a prognosis yet?”
“No. He can… he can see shapes. Dimly. I’m at his place packing clothes for both of us.”
“And how are you?”
Etienne rubbed his eyes. “Tired.”
“Are his parents there yet?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you should get some sleep.”
Etienne snorted. “I’ll sleep when I get back to the hospital.”
“Tenny—”
“Leave it, Rudy,” Etienne snapped. “I’m not sleeping without him, okay?”
“Okay,” Rudy said gently. “But you need to take care of yourself. You’re no good to him if you collapse. Have you eaten?”
Etienne sighed. “I’ll eat when I get back. I promise.”
“When can we visit?”
“I don’t know,” Etienne said. “I’ll ask. Rudy—”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks. For—well, everything.”
“Logan sends his love too,” Rudy said, and hung up.
He took the side entrance to avoid the reporters camped out in the lobby. Adam was stirring when Etienne got back to the room. Colette was leaning over the bed, holding his hand and talking gently to him. She looked tired, Etienne thought.
“Why don’t you go back to Adam’s place and get some rest?” he suggested, dropping the bag in the corner. “I’ll call if Adam needs you.”
Colette dropped a kiss on Adam’s forehead and straightened. “If you’re sure.”
But the door opened before she and William could leave, Dr. Wilson stepping through. She looked momentarily taken aback at the number of people in the room, but recovered quickly.
“Mr. Caron, how are you feeling?”
“Do you have news?” Adam asked. His fingers were white-knuckled on the bed frame, and Etienne skirted the bed, resting a hand over his. Adam twisted his wrist and clutched at Etienne’s hand but said nothing, his attention focused in the direction of the doctor.
“We have the results of the CT and MRI,” Dr. Wilson said. “I understand you’ve had some mild vision impairment all your life?”
Adam lifted a shoulder. “Very mild.”
“But it’s gotten worse lately,” Etienne interjected. “After he hit his head a few months back the first time, he lost about forty percent in his left eye, but it came back within a few days. And then in Seattle in January, he bumped it again. It wasn’t a concussion that time, but he told me his vision started blurring in and out after that.”
Adam grimaced but said nothing.
Dr. Wilson looked disapproving. “And you didn’t get it checked at that time?”
Etienne glanced at Colette and William, who both looked unhappy but not surprised.
“Have you ever met a hockey player?” Adam snapped.
“Wait, you said,” Etienne interrupted. “During the playoffs, you told me you went to the doctor and he gave you the all clear.”
Adam hunched his shoulders.
“Did you lie to me?” Etienne asked.
“No,” Adam said. He tucked his chin, that habitual gesture of his. “I… didn’t give the doctor the whole story, though.”
Dr. Wilson sighed. “At any rate, the scans revealed something. A small mass—very small—the size of a pea, probably.”
“A mass,” Adam repeated flatly. His face was expressionless, but his hand was suddenly punishingly tight on Etienne’s.
“It appears to be benign,” Dr. Wilson continued. “It’s likely you’ve had it all your life and it’s what’s caused your vision impairment in the past. The concussions caused your brain to swell, pushing the mass into your optic nerve.”
Adam didn’t move. Etienne watched him anxiously. He doubted the doctor could see the beginnings of distress in Adam’s face; the tiny muscle twitching in his jaw, the stress around his mouth. But Etienne could see it, and he wanted to wipe it away, make it better, chase the doctor from the room. He said nothing, though, shifting his weight and keeping his grip on Adam’s hand firm.
“So what does that mean?” Adam asked. “Will I see again or not?”
Dr. Wilson cleared her throat. “Well now, we can’t be sure.”
Adam’s breath hitched, so quiet Etienne almost missed it.
“We have a few options,” she continued. “One—we let the swelling in your brain go down, leave the mass alone, and hope your vision returns on its own. It has in the past, it may well do so again. Even if it does, I doubt you’ll recover enough to play hockey again. You may regain up to sixty percent of your vision, but it will likely still be compromised, and another hit could cause permanent damage.”
“And the other option?” Adam was keeping his voice steady with an almost visible effort.
“Surgery,” Dr. Wilson said baldly. “Remove the mass.”
“Would that work?”
Dr. Wilson hesitated.
“The truth, Doctor,” Adam spat.
“It’s in a tricky spot,” Dr. Wilson said. “Even if we get it all, the optic nerve could be damaged beyond repair. You could be permanently blind.” The words hung in the air, hard and uncompromising. Permanently blind.
Adam was going to leave bruises, Etienne thought distantly, but it didn’t occur to him to let go.