Double Hockey Sticks

Chapter 7 - Martin

I lay as still as possible in the MRI scanner. The headphones and earplugs they gave me slightly muffle the loud noise so that it isn't deafening. I'll take the next 30 minutes to try and recenter myself. It's been a whirlwind since this morning. I use the rhythmic thumping sounds to count my breath.

Four in. Six out...

When I get out of here, I need a way to move. I need a way to sweat all of this stress out.

I'm not thinking about later. I'm thinking about now. Focus on your breath. Four in. Six out...

Normally when I get like this, I skate, but I can't do that.

On your breath, Martinelli. Four in. Six out. Four in. Six out...

I focus again. This time the concentration clicks and everything falls effortlessly into sync. Breathing in and out effortlessly like waves. Images dance behind my eyelids and I've stopped thinking in words.

I lose track of time, and before I know it, the technologist says through the headphones, "About two more minutes and you're done."

Great. That was easy. I'm actually a lot calmer now. The noise isn't even that bad anymore. I feel kind of comforted. Can't believe I'm actually getting used to this thing.

Once I'm out of the scanner, they tell me the results will be looked over and my doctor will receive them by tomorrow.

With a clearer head, I make my way to the changing room and get dressed. I'm still not entirely myself, but I feel a lot better now and my eyes are less puffy. As I look in the mirror, I remember how I treated James in the car. I sigh. So embarrassing. I want to apologize for snapping at him. We're both just probably having a rough day. He did just move his entire life to another state. Not that it excuses punching some random guy. Whatever. I want to remain cordial, so I should apologize for snapping and thank him again for the ride. I'll shoot him a quick text. I need to message Stephen as well.

I reach into my pocket, but my phone isn't there.

Great.

I look in the locker, but it's not there either. It could be anywhere. What a shit day.

I head to the elevator. Once I'm at the lobby, I head towards the front desk. There's a kind-looking man there who smiles as I approach. "How can I help you?"

"Hi. Do you have a phone I could use?"

"There's a pay phone at the end of the hall." He points towards the hall with bathrooms.

Great. I head towards the phone and pull out my wallet. Thank god I didn't lose that too.

I slot the coins (it's a miracle I have any) into the machine and dial my number. It rings for a while, and just before I think it's a lost cause, someone picks up.

"Hello?" The person has a low voice and they sound a bit out of breath.

"Oh! Hi. My name is Martin. I'm the owner of this phone."

"Yeah, Martin, this is James. I found your phone in my car. It must have fallen from your pocket at some point."

"Oh good. That's a relief." It probably fell during the fender bender. "Are you going to Brooker's tonight after the team meeting? I can grab it from you then." I feel bad for inconveniencing him.

There's a pause.

"Actually, I'm... still out front."

That doesn't seem good. "Oh. Is everything okay? Is your car working alright?"

"Working 'alright'?" He scoffs. "Marty, it's a Ferrari SF90 XX—" He cuts himself off. "Look, it's not the car. I just, uh. I went in to get lunch at the cafe. That's all. Come on out front when you're done with everything."

"Um. Okay. I will be right out."

I hang up the phone and leave the building. I make it outside and look around for his tan sports car. It shouldn't be hard to find. As I'm looking, my stomach growls. What an eventful day this turned out to be.

I see his car pulling up towards me. I wave and get in.

We're sitting in the pick up zone and the air is awkward—and also strangely smells like fish.

"James, I–"

"Listen Martin–"

We cut eachother off, then pause.

"Go ahead," James concedes.

"I just wanted to say: thank you for rushing me here. Also, I want to apologize for the way I acted earlier. My own stress shouldn't affect the way I treat my teammates. I shouldn't have snapped at you. I'm sorry."

There's a pause as he stares intently at me. His face is unreadable.

He finally opens his mouth: "Right, right. No worries. I just felt like... I couldn't let you just miss an appointment when I was right there. It seemed pretty urgent." He looks away uncomfortably. "Sorry for, uh, being inconsiderate about... y'know?"

I'm not really sure what he's apologizing for, but at least he's someone who shows signs of remorse.

I wave it off. "Whatever. Water under the bridge. Not a great day for either of us. Let's start over." I look at the time. "You're going to be late for our team tactics meeting." Well, not my meeting.

"I'm sure Coach will understand. I'm your ride, after all." He faintly smiles. "Besides, I just wanted to give you this."

I expect him to hand me my phone, which he does, but he also hands me a bag.

"Thought you might need some lunch. You eat around this time right?"

Wow. That's extremely considerate and unexpected.

"Your drink is here too." He pulls a cup from the center console.

"Wow. Thank you. I'm actually really hungry. This is great."

"Of course. Yeah, it's a whitefish bagel with lettuce, onion, tomato, and capers, a side of some Old Bay chips, and a sweet tea lemonade–at least the tea half was unsweetened. But yeah. Maryland staples. Probably. Right?"

I'm kind of dumbfounded at this kind gesture. "Really, thanks James." I look down at the food given to me by my unpredictable new teammate and then around at his immaculately clean car. "I'm assuming you don't like people eating in here."

He taps the tan leather on his seat. "The last guy who did got turned into this."

I laugh. "Understood" I look at the time. "You're really going to be late."

He smiles. "Definitely."

"You can just take me with you. I'll spend some time in the recovery room."

"Sure thing." He pulls out of the pickup area and we head back to the training facility.

We get back to the building in time for James to make it to the meeting only a few minutes late.

We pass Cliff in the hallway, and he shouts back to us. "Marty! James! Did you make it to the appointment?

"Yes," we say at the same time.

"Good. Good. Martinelli, I know I told you to get some rest."

"I know, I know. I'm here for the hot tub."

"Good. While you're at it, alternate between that and the ice bath."

"Yes sir."


Once we get to the lounge, I nod goodbye to James.

He returns to gesture. "Take it easy, Marty."

"Thanks, man. See ya later."

I sit at one of the tables and take a few minutes to eat my food. I'm not really in the mood for a ton of bread, so I just eat the fish and other fillings then wrap the bagel back in its paper. I never pass up chips when I have the chance, so I eat those too. I take a few sips of the drink, an Arnold Palmer. I don't normally drink a ton of sugar but I'm needing the energy, so I have half. I clean up my mess and head to the recovery room.