champ : Vince Dunn

p a r t o n e

October 6th, 2018.
Chicago ➜ St Louis
— — —

"Shit!"

The refs blew the whistle and skated over.

I had managed to roll onto my knees, clutching my arm as I felt the tears coming.

"Fuck." I groaned.

"You okay?" "What happened?" "What's wrong?"

I swatted the hands off me, before feeling someone hold my arm from behind, "shit! Fucking quit!"

With help from my teammates, Tyler Bozak, Vince Dunn, and Ryan O'Reilly, I made it to my feet.

They helped me skate off the ice, without asking any questions at all.

They walked me to the medical room, where the room was empty. I took my place on the bed, and the guys helped me take the top half of my gear off.

"Sit still!" "Why the fuck is it taking this fucking long to take off?!" I was struggling, pulling off things I don't even remember putting on, fighting back tears at the same time.

"I'm fucking sick of this," I sighed, "I don't want to do this anymore." I wiped the tears from my face.

"You don't mean that," Tyler shook his head, "you never do." "This time I do." "Right," he chuckled, "you never mean that either."

"We'll come see you during intermission, alright?" Ryan shot me a small smile, stepping towards the door. "Yea, good luck." I nodded, holding my arm.

"You too." He pulled Tyler and Vince behind him as they all went back out to the ice.

I let out a deep sigh, "fuck."

Eventually medical staff came in, immediately looked at my arm, and wrote on his notepad.

"Well.." he took a deep breath, "I don't think we need any x-rays to tell you that it's broke." He nodded, still writing.

I could've told him that twenty minutes ago, and I'm not the professional.

It felt like the bone was hanging out, it looked like the bone was hanging out. My arm was bent, and not the way it's supposed to.

"How long am I out for?" "Depends, we're still gonna need x-rays." He shrugged.

I rolled my eyes and shook my head.

"But by the looks of it.." he stood up, walking towards the door, "it's somewhere between four and twelve weeks." and he left.

I groaned, "my fucking god."

I could've given a better timeframe, and I am still not the professional.

— — —

I was left sitting on the table, in a room by myself.

I had left my phone, and everything else, with my bag. Which was in the locker room.

And of course, no tv or monitor in the medical room, so I couldn't even watch the game.

When I heard the horn sound, I immediately knew second period had just ended. It wasn't long before a few of the guys came in, asking questions.

"That was a gnarly hit! Holy shit!" Ivan Barbashev laughed, replaying the video for what felt like the millionth time.

I wasn't amused, sitting there in the worst pain I've experienced in awhile.

"Did he say anything about how long you're gonna be out?" Vince asked, breaking the awkwardness.

"Dumbass said anywhere between 'four and twelve weeks' cause he couldn't narrow it down a little bit." I mocked the medical staff, clearing my throat as he walked back in.