Chapter 4 Damage (Sofia)

I make it two blocks before I have to pull over.

I barely get the car into a parking space before my hands start shaking so badly I have to grip the steering wheel to keep from sobbing outright. My chest feels tight, like there’s a weight pressing down on my lungs, making it hard to breathe. I tip my head forward, forehead resting against the wheel, and count to five. Then ten.

Emma is still asleep.

Thank God.

I don’t want her to see me like this—eyes burning, hands trembling, the tears I’ve been holding back for hours finally breaking free. She’s had enough fear in her short life. Enough nights waking up to raised voices and slammed doors. Enough memories of a man who couldn’t control his anger.

I wipe my face with the sleeve of my jacket and check the rearview mirror again. Emma’s chest rises and falls evenly. Her stuffed rabbit is tucked under her chin. Safe. For now.

Tyler Rodriguez.

Just saying his name in my head makes my chest tighten all over again.

I shouldn’t have gone to his apartment. Shouldn’t have brought Emma. Shouldn’t have stood in that dark parking lot and poured out my pain to a stranger who didn’t ask for it and probably didn’t deserve it.

But I needed him to see.

Needed him to understand that Danny isn’t just a number on a jersey or a replay slowed down for analysis. He isn’t a talking point on SportsCenter or a statistic buried at the bottom of a box score.

He’s a person.

My person.

And Tyler Rodriguez almost took him away.

My phone rings.

Unknown number.

My heart stutters, panic flaring sharp and immediate. What if it’s the hospital? What if something’s changed? What if—

I answer without thinking.

“Sofia Martinez?” A woman’s voice. Professional, calm, but warm beneath it.

“Yes?”

“This is Dr. Avery Quinn. I’m calling about your brother, Daniel.”

My heart stops completely. “Is he okay? Did something—”

“He’s stable,” she says quickly. “I’m sorry, I should have led with that.” She sounds genuinely apologetic. “I’m not his medical doctor. I’m the sports psychologist for the Roanoke Reapers. Carter Hayes, our team captain, asked me to reach out.”

The Reapers. Rodriguez’s team.

I should hang up. Every instinct tells me to end the call, to put distance between myself and anything connected to the man who hurt my brother.

“Why?” I ask instead.

“Because I wanted you to know that the team is covering all of Danny’s medical expenses,” Dr. Quinn says. “Whatever insurance doesn’t cover, we will. And if he needs long-term rehabilitation, that will be covered as well.”

Blood money.

That’s what this is. A way to smooth things over. To buy forgiveness. To make this go away.

“We’re not trying to buy anything,” Dr. Quinn says, like she can hear my thoughts. “We’re just trying to help. What happened to your brother?” She pauses. “It was an accident. A legal play. That doesn’t make it less devastating for you or your family.”

“You weren’t there,” I say, my voice coming out sharper than I intend. “You didn’t see him lying on the ice. You didn’t watch them immobilize his neck. You didn’t see the blood.”

“You’re right. I wasn’t there.” Her voice softens. “But I do know what it’s like to watch someone you love suffer because of hockey. My husband nearly died on the ice three years ago. Fractured skull. He stopped breathing. The doctors told me he’d never play again.”

Carter Hayes.

I remember that night. The headlines. The debates. The shock.

“I spent months angry at hockey,” Dr. Quinn continues. “Angry at the violence. Angry at the men who choose to play, knowing the risks. But eventually I realized anger was easier than grief. Easier than admitting how terrified I was of losing him.”

“I’m not angry,” I say automatically.

“Yes, you are,” she replies gently. “And you have every right to be.”

There’s a pause.

“But Sofia, I’m calling because I want you to know something about Tyler Rodriguez.” She hesitates. “He’s devastated. He’s been sitting in the hospital waiting room since Danny was brought in. He hasn’t eaten. Hasn’t slept. He’s just… waiting.”

“Good,” I say before I can stop myself. “He should feel devastated. He should feel everything I’m feeling.”

“He does,” Dr. Quinn says quietly. “Trust me.”

“I’m not calling to defend him or minimize what happened to your brother,” she continues. “I’m calling because I’ve worked with Tyler for two years, and I’ve never seen him like this. He’s destroying himself over what happened.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“No, it’s not,” she agrees. “But it might become your problem if Tyler doesn’t deal with his guilt healthily.” Her voice turns clinical. “I’ve seen players spiral after incidents like this. Depression. Substance abuse. Self-destructive behavior. Tyler is already at risk. He lost his younger brother three years ago and never processed it.”

I don’t want to care.

Don’t want to feel even a flicker of sympathy for the man who hurt Danny.

But I think about Emma. About what it would do to her if she lost Danny, too. About how grief twists people, how it hardens into anger if you don’t let yourself feel it properly.

About how violence grows.

“Why are you telling me this?” I ask.

“Because Tyler needs to face what he did,” Dr. Quinn says. “Don't hide from it. And I think—” She pauses, choosing her words carefully. “I think you might be the only person who can help him do that.”

“Help him?” I let out a short, bitter laugh. “My brother is in the ICU because of him. Why would I help him?”

“Because Danny would want you to,” she says softly. “I spoke to Marcus Chen. He told me Danny’s first words in recovery were asking if Tyler was okay.”

My throat tightens painfully.

“That’s the kind of man your brother is,” Dr. Quinn continues. “And maybe you could honor that by giving Tyler the chance to take responsibility instead of running from it.”

“There is no making this right.”

“Maybe not,” she agrees. “But there’s making it better.” She pauses. “Think about it. That’s all I’m asking. And Sofia—call me if you need anything. Even if it’s just someone to yell at.”

She gives me her number and hangs up.

I sit there for a long moment, the car silent except for Emma’s soft breathing.

I think about Tyler Rodriguez standing in that parking lot, looking hollowed out and lost.

Think about Danny whispering, Tell him it wasn’t his fault.

Think about how anger is easier than grief. Easier than admitting how terrified I am of losing the only person who ever truly protected us.

My phone buzzes.

A text from the hospital.

Danny awake. Asking for you.

I start the car.

Whatever I feel about Tyler Rodriguez, whatever Dr. Quinn wants from me, it can wait.

Right now, my brother needs me.

And that is the only thing that matters.