Will lay on his back, staring at the dark ceiling of the hotel room. The lights were off, the TV muted, the city outside reduced to a faint glow bleeding through the curtains. His phone read 11:07 p.m.

The adrenaline was gone now. Completely. What it left behind was worse — a deep, nagging ache that throbbed from his shoulder down his arm, flaring every time he breathed too deep or shifted even slightly. He kept the arm carefully tucked against his chest, afraid of what even a small movement might do.

The room smelled like antiseptic and cheap hotel soap. Nothing like home. Nothing like his bed. God, he missed his bed right now.

His gear sat in a messy pile in the corner, exactly where he’d dropped it when he came back. Untouched. He hadn’t showered. Hadn’t turned on a lamp. He’d just collapsed onto the mattress and stayed there, replaying the same moments on a loop.

The hit. The jolt. The pain The instant certainty that his night was over.

He hadn’t watched the rest of the game. There was no point. His phone had filled in the gaps for him — the rush of messages, the loud congratulations, the celebration that felt like it belonged to someone else. They’d been down bad when he left the ice. They weren’t when it ended.

Still, it didn’t feel like a win. Not to him. He felt… useless. Hollow.

Will reached for his phone with his good hand, thumb hovering over your name for a second longer than necessary before he tapped it. You picked up almost immediately. You always did.

“Hey,” you said softly, awake despite the hour. “I was hoping you’d call.”

He swallowed. He wasn’t surprised you hadn’t called first — you never wanted to interrupt after games, especially when you thought he might be out celebrating.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Sorry. Long night.”

He shifted slightly, a sharp hiss slipping out before he could stop it.

Your breathing changed on the other end. “I saw the hit,” you said carefully. “I hated watching you skate off like that.”

Will closed his eyes. The room suddenly felt too big. Too quiet.

“I don’t even remember how it felt,” he admitted. “I just knew… something was wrong.”

You hummed softly, understanding. “At least Mack came back and got revenge on your behalf,” you said. “It was the least he could do.”

That pulled the faintest exhale from him — not quite a laugh, but close. Silence settled between you, heavy but not uncomfortable.

Then you spoke again. “I know everyone’s freaking out about the comeback, but… how are you? Really?”

That was the question he’d been dodging all night.

Will stared back at the ceiling, jaw tightening. “I don’t know yet,” he said honestly. "They wrapped it, iced it. I’ve got imaging tomorrow.” A pause. “It hurts more now than it did when it happened.”