Chapter 3 Hickey or not

I stared blankly at the brace around my knee. No matter how many times I looked at it, I still couldn't believe this was my reality.

No one had come to visit. Not my friends, teammates, or coach. Maybe they were busy dealing with the aftermath of the game. Maybe they didn't know what to say to me or perhaps I was no longer useful now that I couldn't play.

The thought left a bitter feeling in my chest.

I reached for the television remote on the table and switched it on.

My mother had taken my phone and banned me from using the internet for a while. She knew how obsessed I would become with reading what people were saying about my injury.

The television flickered. Then I froze.

A picture of me appeared on the screen. I was standing on the lacrosse field in my Red Titans uniform, smiling confidently at the camera.

The same field where everything had changed.

The news showed a brief replay of the collision. I watched myself fall, my fingers tightening around the remote.

The screen changed to footage of paramedics rushing toward me. My teammates stood around, their worried faces blurred by the camera's movement, before the scene shifted to the ambulance carrying me away.

A news anchor appeared on the screen.

"Twenty-year-old college lacrosse star Chase Jackson suffered a severe knee injury during Saturday's highly anticipated game between the Red Titans and their rivals."

A photograph of me appeared beside her.

"The injury occurred during the final minutes of the game when Chase Jackson collided heavily with an opposing player while attempting to regain possession of the ball."

I swallowed hard.

"Jackson was rushed to the hospital following the incident. The young athlete was expected to attract significant attention from professional scouts this season, but her injury has now raised questions about her future in competitive lacrosse."

The screen showed photographs from different stages of my career, then the anchor asked the question I had been avoiding.

"Will Chase Jackson ever return to competitive lacrosse?"

My throat tightened.

I wanted to turn the television off, but my hand remained still. My mother's face appeared on the screen. She sat in front of a group of reporters, smiling as though nothing had happened.

"I'm sorry about your daughter's injury," a reporter said. "Considering the severity of it, do you believe she will still be able to return to the lacrosse field this season?"

My fingers curled around the blanket, waiting patiently for her response.

My mother smiled confidently.

"Of course she will. Chase is strong, and she has the best doctors and physiotherapist available. She will recover and return to the field."

"The Jackson legacy will not end because of one injury," she continued. "We have worked too hard for that."

I looked away and suddenly, the bathroom door creaked open. I turned towards it sharply.

Thierry stepped out.

I almost jumped, and my injured leg shifted beneath the blanket.

"Easy," he said softly. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"How did you get into the bathroom?"

He glanced behind him before looking back at me.

"I was here by six. You were asleep, so I didn't want to disturb."

His voice was quieter than it had been earlier, then he lifted his head, and our eyes met.

I paused.

His eyes were red. Not slightly tired. Red enough to make me wonder if he had been crying.

"What happened to your eyes?"

His expression changed for a brief moment.

"Nothing."

I frowned but didn't press him. The news continued playing.

Thierry looked toward the television, then walked over and switched it off.

I blinked. "What are you doing?"

"You shouldn't be watching that."

"It's about me."

"I know."

"Then why did you turn it off?" I almost yelled at him.

He placed the remote on the cabinet. "You don't need it."

I looked at the blank screen.

"It's my life," I muttered.

"And will hearing every opinion about it change what happened?"

I looked at him and whispered. "No."

"Then don't make yourself go through it again, Chase."

His voice wasn't harsh, but there was something firm about it.

I lowered my eyes. "Lacrosse is all I know."

"I know."

"I've held a stick since I was four. I've trained for this my entire life." My voice cracked. "What am I supposed to do now?"

Thierry remained quiet for a moment.

"Find something else to focus on while you recover."

I gave a dry laugh. "Like what?"

"I don't know yet."

I looked at him. "At least you're honest."

He didn't answer. Instead, he walked toward my bed.

"I'm going to adjust your brace. Let me know if it hurts."

He sat carefully on the edge of the bed and checked the straps around my knee. His fingers moved with deliberate care, loosening one slightly before sliding two fingers beneath it.

"Does it hurt?"

"A little, but I can manage."

He adjusted the brace again and a sharp pain shot through my knee.

"Ah!"

My body jerked, and my hand grabbed his scrub. Thierry immediately stopped.

"I'm sorry." He looked worried.

He withdrew his hand and waited until my breathing settled.

I released his scrub and gave him a deadly glare.

He reached for the brace again, moving more slowly this time. He checked each strap before securing it.

My eyes drifted over his chest and up toward his neck. That was when I noticed the reddish marks partly hidden beneath his collar. They looked like hickeys, but something about them seemed unusual.

Thierry noticed where I was looking. His hand immediately moved to his collar, pulling the fabric higher.

"Did you get hurt?" I asked.

His eyes met mine. "It's a hickey."

The answer came too quickly.

I raised my eyebrows. "That isn't an hickey."

His lips twitched, but the expression didn't quite reach his eyes.

"So you know what a hickey looks like?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Of course." He adjusted his collar, then gave me a faint, teasing smile. "You should probably focus on your knee, Chase."

I rolled my eyes. "You're the one who brought up the hickey."

"You're being nosy." He said firmly.

I gave him a deadly glare, but he only looked away, his smile fading slightly. For a moment, I wondered whether he was trying to make a joke because he didn't want to talk about the marks.

I decided not to press him. It wasn't my business.

Before either of us could say anything else, his phone rang.

Thierry froze.

He reached into his pocket and looked at the screen. Something in his expression changed. He didn't answer. He waited until the ringing stopped.

A few seconds later, the phone rang again. This time, he glanced toward the door before declining the call.

A message beeped on the screen. Thierry read it and the faint amusement that had been on his face disappeared. His fingers tightened around the phone, and he glanced toward the door again before locking the screen.

I watched him carefully.

Whatever the message said, it could have triggered him. I could tell Thierry was hiding something. I didn't know what it was, and I didn't know why I cared.

I couldn't stop thinking about his red eyes, the marks on his neck, and the message that had changed his entire expression. Whatever was happening in his life, he didn't want me to know and somehow, that only made me more curious.

"Is everything okay?" I asked.

He slipped the phone into his pocket.

"Yes."

The answer came too quickly.

I raised an eyebrow, but he had already turned away.

"Something came up," he said. "I have to leave."

I frowned. "I thought we had a session today."

"We did."

"You barely did anything."

"Your brace needed checking. You're not ready for exercises yet."

I looked down at my injured leg. That answer made sense, but his sudden change in behavior didn't. Thierry picked up his chart and gathered his files. I watched him move toward the door.

The room suddenly felt quiet again.

I looked at my injured leg, then toward the window. I didn't want to spend another day lying in this bed, listening to people discuss my future as if I wasn't part of it.

I wanted to see the field. My team, something that still

felt like mine.

"Thierry."

He stopped and turned around.

I swallowed hard.

"Can I ask you for a favor?"

His eyebrows lifted slightly. "What kind of favor?"

I looked down at the brace around my knee.

"I need you to take me somewhere."