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Harris always thought he was the one who would leave Troy alone someday, given that his heart was... well, malfunctioning, and a fucking ticking bomb, even though it was okay now. He had lived with that condition all his life. He was used to appointments with his doctor, surgeries... So, he had never really thought about the possibility of Troy being the one who left him behind.
Never.
Until now.
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It was a rough game.
Since Shane Hollander had joined the Ottawa Centaurs, every game against Montreal was a nightmare.
Ottawa players received far more hits in just one game than in the rest of the league.
Not just Hollander. All of them. It was like the Metros hated them. Well... probably they did, given that most of the players were a bit “homophobic” and resented with their captain (and best player) for choosing love above their team.
Plus, since Shane joined the Centaurs, the Metros hadn’t been able to beat them. Not a single time.
Even though of the brutality, everything was going well for the Centaurs.
Until suddenly it wasn’t.
It was being a good game for Troy by far; he had already scored the first goal. He was having fun; hockey was what he was best at, and against all the things he had thought about the Centaurs when he had been traded, they had a good team. He trusted his teammates (and vice versa), and yes, they were more than just teammates by now; he could call them friends.
Especially Ilya, who was skating fast by his side right now. They didn’t need words to communicate while playing.
Troy was racing through the net, Rozanov at his left; he sorted the defenseman and took a turn, passing the puck to Rozanov, who received it and scored an amazing goal.
Troy didn’t see it coming. Suddenly, another player who was skating fast behind him just a second ago, was on him, hitting his chest and making him fall down on his back. The impact made him slide through the ice and collide, probably against the board, headfirst.
An intense shot of pain run through his body.
And then, darkness.
When Rozanov turned to Troy to celebrate, he was on the ice, a few meters further. Motionless.
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Harris was on the bench doing his usual social media videos during the game, capturing the best moments to make compilations and GIF’s. He enjoyed being there and being able to let the spectators see how it was to be on the bench with the players. It was also a good spot to film the best plays.
He was recording Troy with the puck, racing through the rink, gaze fixed on the net while sorting out the defenseman and giving the puck last moment to Rozanov to score a goal.
His phone fell on the ground.
Yes. He had also recorded the hit.
Troy had taken a turn giving his back to the net, to give the puck to Rozanov.
A defenseman from Montreal collided against his chest with high force, making him fall on his back and slicing on the ice, his head hitting the boards. The helmet flew and landed at his side.
After that, nothing. He wasn’t moving.
TROY wasn’t moving.
Harris froze.
Before he could even realize what was happening, Bood was in front of him, blocking the view; “It’s going to be okay, Harris” he assured him, his big hands on Harris’s shoulders, like anchoring him on the earth “Let’s seat, just look at me”.
Maybe his body was still there, in front of Bood, but his mind surely wasn’t. Lots of “what if’s” running through his head.
When he reacted again, he realized he was seating on the bench, Bood standing in front of him, with Shane now, blocking almost all of his view. But he could feel it. The same arena that a few minutes before was filled with people screaming and applauding, was now dead silent. The only hearable noise was the rush of the paramedics breaking into the rink with the stretcher, screaming orders between them and to Troy, trying to make him open his eyes.
God, was he unconscious? Probably, it had been a bad hit...
Even though having Bood and Shane in front of him, he managed to see Troy, who was surrounded by paramedics with Ilya crouched by his side.
But he wasn’t moving.
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Ilya received the puck from Troy in a fast movement and introduced it into the net, making it 2-0 for Ottawa.
That understandability with his teammates was what made him happier. He was enjoying hockey again, not just because he and Shane were finally playing on the same team, with no need for hiding.
He stared back to where Troy had been 10 seconds before to celebrate his assistance, but he wasn’t there anymore.
The defenseman from Montreal wasn’t there either.
It didn’t take long for Ilya to realize that there was a body on the ice. A body with an Ottawa jersey. A body that must be Troy’s.
And that body wasn’t moving.
He skated fast to reach him, setting aside the player from Montreal and crouching on his knees.
Troy’s eyes were closed and he was motionless.
“Bring the paramedics!” screamed Ilya towards their bench.
His first instinct was to look for his vital signs.
He was unconscious, but he was breathing. Thank God. The hit had been hard; his helmet had felt and was lying on the ice next to him.
Instinctively, he looked at Ottawa’s bench, his eyes searching for Harris. He knew from his own experience how it felt seeing the person you loved lying unconscious on the ice. Damn, he still could remember how his heart had stopped that day when that same thing happened to Shane.
Fortunately, Bood was there, his hands on Harris, grounding him and blocking the view. No, it wasn’t necessary for Harris to see it. To see his boyfriend being put on a spinal board, with 3 paramedics surrounding him, trying to, unsuccessfully, make him open his eyes.
Troy was strong. He never complained. He had played games feeling bad, feverish, with a headache... And now he wasn’t responding.
Ilya took a step back just because the paramedics made him to.
They started getting Troy on the spinal board, immobilizing his neck and securing him on the stretcher.
Then, he slightly opened his eyes.
It was the faintest motion, but Rozanov was sure he had seen it. He was responding.
With that simple movement of opening his eyes, Troy made Rozanov breathe again.
Without thinking about it, he headed to the bench, with Harris.
Shane was already there, with Bood, Harris was seated on the bench, paler than usual, his voice trembling “Is... Is he awake? I need to know, I need to be with him,” he babbled.
“He opened his eyes” Rozanov’s voice was miraculously steady, even though fear was running through his veins. He reached for Harris and hugged him.
Harris exhaled loudly against Ilya’s chest and started crying.
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His ears were buzzing.
His head hurt. And his neck. The pain was excruciating. It felt like a hand squeezing his brain, not wanting to let go.
He couldn’t move. Why couldn’t he move? Oh. Was he on a stretcher, gripped with a spinal board? What happened?
And where was Harris?
He tried to open his eyes, but the lights were too intense. He tried to move his head, causing another shot of pain to travel through his body. He decided he felt better with his eyes closed and not moving.
Suddenly someone was clapping him in the face. What the hell was happening?
He thought he heard his name, was somebody calling him? Maybe Harris? He was mostly sure this voice wasn’t Harris’s, but just in case he tried to open his eyes again...
Oh... he was in the arena. It was Ottawa. He recognized it. Was he playing a game? Then, why was staring at the ceiling?
Harris. Where is Harris? Did something happen to Harris?
Troy tried to move his body again, unable because of the pain and the restraints.
There was someone still calling his name. Why didn’t he shut up? It was annoying.
Finally, a figure appeared in front of his eyes and smiled fondly at him.
Oh, Troy knew her. She was that paramedic; he had seen her before in other games. What was her name? Nowhere to be found in his brain right now, all he could think about was the pain he was suffering. Why was nobody taking care of that? If he could just tell them...
But. Wait. Why was the paramedic in front of him? Was she shouting at him? God, her voice.... It was destroying him, as if a bullet had made his way into his brain. What was she saying? He couldn’t distinguish the words. He tried to speak, but no sound left his body.
He felt the stretcher he was on started moving, leaving the ice and inside the tunnel. At least those lights were softer. The ones from the rink were bothering him even with his eyes closed.
He couldn’t keep his eyes open; he couldn’t decipher what that paramedic was trying to tell him. All he felt was as if his head was being drummed, and it was frustrating.
Every time he closed his eyes, her hand found her way into his face, clapping softly, making him open them again. God, couldn’t she understand that it hurt? Why was she so insistent?
Troy just wanted to sleep. It hurt to be awake.
The way she was looking at him... almost apologetically but also kind of frustrated.
“Leave me alone, let me sleep” he tried to say it out loud, but his voice didn’t reach past his lips.
He couldn’t keep his mind working; it hurt so much.
Was she now asking him to move his feet? Well, good luck with that, not going to do it right now girl...
Harris. Where is Harris?
It was hard to keep his mind clear, so he closed his eyes and let his mind go away again.
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Once the paramedics had left the ice with Troy, the match was resumed.
The Centaurs fought until the last minute, maintaining their distance between Montreal, accomplishing a win that today, given the circumstances, felt bittersweet.
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Harris left the arena immediately after Troy did, assuring Ilya and the others to let them know about Troy as soon as he got informed by the doctors.
Gen had already called a cab that was waiting for them at the entrance.
The hospital wasn’t that far from the arena, but to Harris that short cab drive felt like an eternity. All his mind could focus was on thinking how was Troy.
Rozanov had told him that he had opened his eyes, but he hadn’t moved since the hit. That couldn’t be good. Plus, he needed to see those eyes open by himself. What if Ilya had told him that just to calm him down?
Harris drove his hand instinctively to his heart. It was doing okay, beating a little faster than usual, but given the circumstances it was quite normal. No palpitations, no extra beats... everything was normal in that aspect.
Gen took his hand and smiled at him. “He is strong Harris” she said, nodding, her voice steadier than expected. “Yeah...” Harris wasn’t able to articulate more words. He felt as if he spoke; he would cry again.
Troy is strong; he is going to be okay. It’s not the first hit he has taken. He is going to be okay.
He kept repeating those words into his head, as a mantra.
When they made it to the Hospital, the ambulance was already there; the paramedics were downloading the stretcher, the ER doctors listening to all the specific words the paramedics were using to describe what had happened.
Hit against the boards. High speed.
Concussion. No, no seizures.
Loss of consciousness.
He opened his eyes and responded to orders but faded again.
Harris was sure he saw Troy’s eyes open for a moment.
They followed the stretcher through the halls until a doctor told them to wait in the waiting room. It was a reserved area, and they needed to do a CT and some other tests to find out what had happened. And what to expect. Maybe that was the most terrifying part. What to expect.
Harris’s mind started to spiral.
What if he can’t walk anymore? What if he has lasting effects? And the scariest one... What if he never wakes up again?
He let his body fall onto the chair. Gen sat by his side, rubbing his knee, saying some comfort words that Harris couldn’t really hear right now.
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Coach Wiebe and Rozanov were the first ones to walk into the waiting room.
Shane, Wyat, Bood, Luca... following them. All with their hair dump, making it obvious they had left the locker room just minutes ago.
“Harris” said Wiebe, “Do we know something?”.
All Harris could manage was to shake his head.
They stayed there, with him, in silence.
Harris had never seen those guys this quiet. Ilya was sitting at Shane’s side, making imaginary circles on his back with his hand, Bood was resting his elbows on his knees, gaze fixed on the floor. Wyatt was typing on his phone, probably talking to his wife, who was actually a doctor.
Harris was glad, really glad, that Bood and Shane had practically blocked his view of the ice. He had the hit recorded; he was recording for the Centaurs Instagram account, at it had been a good play, but probably he would never look at that video. He still could hear the sound of Troy’s head hitting the boards.... A tear fell down his cheek.
How much time had passed since they had taken Troy inside?
A glass of water appeared in front of him. Ilya. “Drink” he ordered. “Is your heart okay?”. Harris nodded. He didn’t care about his heart right now; he just wanted to know how Troy was. Why weren’t the doctors informing them? Besides, his heart was doing well.
“Thanks...” he muttered. Ilya sat next to him. “He was responding, I saw him open his eyes” Harris looked at him, Ilya’s eyes piercing him. “He is going to be okay”. Harris didn’t know if he was trying to calm him down or to convince himself with those words. Troy was Ilya’s best friend, and hadn’t left Troy’s side until the paramedics made him to.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the doors opened, a middle-aged man stepping into the waiting room, “Relatives of Troy Barrett?”.
Harris felt his heart stop.
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The ride on the ambulance felt like hell.
The paramedics didn’t stop bothering him, making him stay awake. Why couldn’t they just let him go?
“Harris...” Troy managed to say, but the sound was probably inaudible with all the beeps and the noise from the machines inside the ambulance.
“Hey, Troy, can you listen to me?” asked the same damn voice that had been bulleting his head before.
Why wasn’t she telling him where was Harris? What the hell had happened?
“Mhm” was all Troy managed to say.
“I need you to open your eyes” Again. That girl was stubborn.
He tried, like, really tried, but it was hard.
“It’s okay, well done!” At least she was happy with that. Not that bad. “Can you move your feet?” Well, that sounded more difficult.
In that moment reality hit him.
Wait, wasn’t I playing hockey? Why am I in an ambulance?
Surely, something bad happened. He tried to search into his brain. Montreal. Okay, that was good; he was sure they were playing against Montreal. He had talked a little with Hayden before the game.
But why did his head hurt so much?
That could only mean...
He had an accident. Maybe someone had hit him? Probably. Made sense.
“Harris” he wanted to know where he was, and if he was okay. Harris’s heart was... well, special.
What if Troy had been hurt, and Harris’s heart had a complication because of this scene?
“Troy, hey, listen to me. We need you to move your feet,” the paramedic insisted.
Yeah, his feet. Easier to ask than to do it...
What if he couldn’t?
“Good job!”. Oh, he did it. Good. Will they let him sleep now or there were more stupid things he needed to do before?
“It hurts...” he groaned, “My... head” was everything he could say before falling into darkness again.
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Ilya helped him stand up and go closer to the doctor.
“He is going to be okay” Harris’s heart started beating again. “It’s been a severe concussion; he has a small subdural hematoma, nothing to worry about right now. It just needs time and control, so he will stay here for a few days. He was awake and obeyed orders, which is a good sign. He is sleeping now, in and out of consciousness, which is normal. He is on strong painkillers too.” The doctor looked at them, “If you want to see him, you can come in, but one or two at a time, okay? He needs to rest”.
The doctor gave them the room number and left.
“Would you come with me?” Harris asked Ilya. He just nodded and followed Harris. The rest of the team stayed there, waiting for news.
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When they came into the room, the nurse was finishing placing every IV and cable monitor in place. She gave them a soft smile before giving them space with Troy.
Troy was asleep. The beep of the monitor and his breath the only sounds filling the room.
“Oh God...” Harris muttered, collapsing on the chair next to the bed and taking Troy’s cold hand between his. “You scared me buddy” he said, his lips against Troy’s skin.
They stayed there for a few minutes, in silence.
"Harris, I’m going with the others, I’ll tell them you two are okay, da?” Harris nodded; his eyes were teary.
The moment Ilya left, Harris started crying, releasing all the tension from the past hours.
Troy was fine, recovering, but alive. And the doctor had said that everything was going to be okay.
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The first thing Troy noticed was his head. It still hurt badly.
The second one was the soft hand that had his gripped. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know whose hand was.
Harris.
“Harris” he said, squeezing the other man’s hand.
Troy heard the creaking of a chair before a figure appeared in front of him while trying to keep his eyes open.
“Babe, I’m here” Harris’s soft voice felt like music to Tory’s ears. “I thought...” Troy took a shaking breath, battling against the increasing headache “You are okay”.
Harris’s brow furrowed, holding Troy’s hand against his lips; “You were the one that almost kills me Troy... You were there, on the ice, motionless... Oh God, I thought you... I was so scared. You scared me...” His voice broke.
“I’m fine. Just sore. And my head is killing me” he managed to say, closing his eyes tightly given that the headache decreased with darkness.
“I’m going to call the nurse to give you something. You need to rest. I’ll be here”
Harris lost no time calling the nurse, and whatever it was they were giving Troy, plus the fact that now he knew Harris was okay, made him feel better in just minutes, letting him rest again.
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The next weeks passed slowly from Troy’s POV.
He hated not being able to do whatever he wanted.
While he had been at the hospital, Ilya, Shane, Bood, Wyatt... had been there making him and Harris company.
The nurses had also been there, but it seemed their purpose was to make his stay a nightmare. They didn’t let him do anything he wanted.
No screens. No music.
No more than 2 people in the room. Don’t speak too loud.
No walking the first days. No walking that much the following days.
You need a new IV, now take that pill, don’t move that fast....
He had also lost count on how many CT’s he had done those weeks, necessary to make sure the hematoma was being reabsorbed.
He was on the bed, head lifted, listening to an anecdote Ilya was telling them about yesterday's practice, laughing, when the doctor came in, and told the words he had been wanting to hear for days.
“Troy, the scans came back normal. No remains from the hematoma. You can go home” Tory’s face lit up, finally he could go home, with Harris, and finish his recovery there. “But” he added “Take things easy please”.
Troy nodded frantically.
Harris and Ilya hugged him, and they started packing everything up.
Of course, Troy and Harris knew this wasn’t over yet. He still had many weeks of recovery, and the sequels would be bothering him for some more months.
He had already accepted that he was out for the rest of the season. It was hard to accept, but there was nothing he could do about that.
But, after all, he was finally going home. With Harris. That was everything that mattered now.