Boston General Hospital – Day 3
The afternoon sun filtered softly through the hospital blinds, casting golden lines across the foot of Kyle's bed. He hadn't moved much in the past two days. Not because he couldn't—though the IVs and fatigue certainly made movement painful—but because every time he tried to shift, his mind spiraled.
Not into fear.
Into doubt.
A knock came at the door.
"Come in," he muttered, voice hoarse.
Coach Udoka walked in slowly, a man who wore strength like a tailored suit. But today, his eyes betrayed something deeper—worry.
"Thought I'd find you staring into space," Coach said, pulling a chair up beside the bed.
Kyle forced a smirk. "Guilty."
There was a pause, thick and uncomfortable. Then Udoka leaned forward.
"You gave us one of the best playoff performances I've seen in over twenty years. But let me be real with you, Kyle… You scared the hell out of us."
Kyle looked away.
"I didn't mean to—"
