“So romantic,” Etienne teased, but kissed him quickly so Adam would know he wasn’t serious. “Are you sure, though? This is your career on the line. What if you lose signing opportunities?”
“What if I never play again?” Adam countered. “I want to stand beside you, hold your hand in public. But are you sure? Even if I don’t ever play again, you still have your whole career ahead of you. I’ll never forgive myself if—”
Etienne put a finger over Adam’s mouth. “I don’t give a flying fuck if I never go further than the Freeze, as long as I have you.”
“That’s not true,” Adam said against his finger.
“No, you’re right, it’s not. But I do love you more than hockey. And as long as I can play, and you’re with me, I will be happy. I promise.”
“I don’t want the surgery,” Adam said abruptly.
Etienne hesitated. “Are you—sure?”
Adam nodded, but his mouth was set in an unhappy line. “It may come back, right? I don’t want to take the chance that I’ll lose it for good.” He reached up, tracing a line down Etienne’s cheek. “I want to see you again,” he whispered.
“You’d—” Etienne stopped to swallow. “You probably won’t be able to play hockey again if you don’t get the surgery, baby.”
“I know.” Adam looked miserable but determined. “I know, Tens. But what are my choices? Have the surgery and risk being permanently blind, therefore no hockey, or don’t have the surgery, a slim chance of hockey, and maybe I’ll be able to see your face again.”
Etienne closed his eyes as tears sprang to them. “Adam… are you really choosing the possibility of seeing me again over hockey?”
Now Adam looked mulish, that stubborn expression Etienne knew so well and secretly loved.
“I love your face,” he said. “I love you. I love looking at you. I’d only have hockey for about ten more years anyway, but you—I want to look at you for the rest of my life.”
“God.” Etienne crowded forward, cupping Adam’s cheek to press their mouths together as the tears spilled down his cheeks. “Adam, God, I love you so much—”
“I love you too,” Adam managed between kisses. There were tears on his face too, and Etienne kissed them away tenderly.
“Okay,” he finally said.
“That’s it? You’re not going to try to change my mind?”
“It’s your body,” Etienne said, capturing Adam’s wrist and pressing a kiss to each fingertip in turn. “Your decision, your future. I’ll support you no matter which way you go.”
Adam’s mouth wobbled briefly, then firmed. “You and me?”
“Always,” Etienne said, and kissed him.
They sent Adam home from the hospital with strict instructions to rest and allow his broken bones to heal. Adam bore it with ill-hidden frustration. He wanted to be gone, out of the smell of disinfectant and sick people, back to his own place with Etienne.
His sight returned in agonizingly slow stages, the gloom lightening almost imperceptibly every day, until he had about sixty percent vision in his right eye and twenty percent in his left. No matter what he did, though, it was blurry and dark, details lost to obscurity even in blazing sunlight.
He developed a ritual. Every morning, Etienne got up first and drew the blinds so sunlight enveloped the room. Adam stayed in bed, eyes closed, and counted backward from a hundred. When he opened his eyes, he told himself, he’d be able to see.
Every morning, he opened his eyes to the same dim gloom.
Everyone came to visit, of course, in pairs so perfectly coordinated that Adam suspected Etienne and Rudy of organizing it. He didn’t ask. Rudy and Logan were first, Rudy translating for Logan as they talked about how close they’d come to the Kelly Cup that year. They didn’t mention Adam’s eyes, or his plans for the future, and Adam forced himself to listen and make appropriate responses.
Hideki and Jake brought flowers and pizza. Johnny and Liam brought their Playstation and played NHL 19 while Adam listened to their cheerful chirping of each other. Hunt brought Adam an album he’d been listening to that he thought Adam would enjoy. Claude Latour told him the story of how he’d nearly lost his career due to a severe concussion. Coach Benton stayed for over an hour, talking about the Wolverines’ need for better defense.
“I’m just saying, we can’t expect you guys to score all the time and hope that makes up for a defense with holes in it, you know?”
Adam made noises of agreement and didn’t mention that he wasn’t going to score ever again anyway.
Through it all, Etienne stayed with him, waiting on Adam’s every need until Adam got tired of the hovering and pushed him away, a month after his release.
“I’m not a child,” he said, and heard Etienne take two quick steps back. Adam swallowed guilt, lifting his chin. “Stop treating me like I’m going to break. I can walk on my own.”
“I know,” Etienne said. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t,” Adam said sharply. “Stop apologizing and just—” He turned away, groping along the wall until he found the door to the bathroom. Slipping inside, he shut it behind him with a final click.
Etienne came to bed that night silently, climbing in his side and turning off the lamp without a word. Adam lay quietly, guilt and shame tangling under his breastbone in knots.
The room was still, Etienne’s breathing slow and steady. Adam rolled over, careful of his still-healing ribs.
“I’m working out with Jetty and Orlov tomorrow,” Etienne said. “Will you be okay on your own?”
Adam nodded.
“Is there anywhere you’d like to go?” Etienne asked.
“Like where?”
“I don’t know.” The sheets rustled as Etienne shifted to get comfortable. “I just—you’ve been stuck in the house for weeks now. You need to get out. Get some fresh air.”
Adam drew away. “There’s nowhere I want to go.”
Etienne took a breath. “Adam—”
“Leave it alone.”
“We need to talk about it,” Etienne insisted. “You need something to do, Cary. Are you just going to be my house-husband, staying at home all day with no hobbies, nothing to do except twiddle your thumbs? You know I can support you and I will, but this is about you. You need this, for your own sanity.”
“And what can I do?” Adam shot back, sitting up. “I can’t play hockey, I can’t coach if I can’t see the fucking players; I can’t even be an announcer. What am I supposed to do?”
“Lots of things,” Etienne said. The nearness of his voice said he’d sat up as well. “Your life isn’t over, Cary, there are so many things you can still do. You could teach. You could write. Hell, you could go to law school or become a sports agent—there are so many options!”
Adam snorted derisively. “Because a blind agent is going to inspire all kinds of confidence.”
“Don’t,” Etienne said. “I know you’re depressed, but don’t just shut down my suggestions.” His voice gentled and Adam felt a hand on his knee. “It’s still you and me, baby. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.”