Suddenly Last Summer

Sean wondered what it must be like for the boy, growing up with these two on his back.

“It’s too early to set a timetable for return. If you push too hard, he won’t be playing at all. The focus now is on rehab. He has to take that seriously. So do you.” This time his tone was as blunt as his words. He’d seen promising careers ruined by coaches who pushed too hard too soon, and by players without the patience to understand that the body didn’t heal according to a sporting schedule.

“It’s a competitive world, Dr. O’Neil. Staying at the top takes determination.”

Sean wondered if the coach was talking about his player or himself. “It also takes a healthy body.”

The boy’s mother, silent until now, stood up. “Is he all right?” The question earned her a scowl from her husband.

“Hell, woman, I just asked him that! Try listening.”

“You didn’t ask.” Her voice shook. “You asked if he’d play again. That’s all you care about. He’s a person, Jim, not a machine. He’s our son.”

“At his age I was—”

“I know what you were doing at his age and I tell you if you carry on like this you will destroy your relationship with him. He will hate you forever.”

“He should be thanking me for pushing him. He has talent. Ambition. It needs to be nurtured.”

“It’s your ambition, Jim. This was your ambition and now you’re trying to live all your dreams through your son. And what you’re doing isn’t nurturing. You put pressure on him and then layer more and more on until the boy is crushed under the weight of it.” The words burst out of her and she paused for a moment as if she’d shocked herself. “I apologize, Dr. O’Neil.”

“No need to apologize. I understand your concern.”

Tension snapped his muscles tight. No one understood the pressures of family expectation better than he did. He’d been raised with it.

Do you know how it feels to be crushed by the weight of someone else’s dreams? Do you know how that feels, Sean?

The voice in his head was so real he rocked on his feet and had to stop himself glancing over his shoulder to check his father wasn’t standing there. He’d been dead two years, but sometimes it felt like yesterday.

He thrust the sudden wash of grief aside, uncomfortable with the sudden intrusion of the personal into his professional life.

He was more in need of sleep than he’d thought.

“Scott’s doing fine, Mrs. Turner. Everything went smoothly. You’ll be able to see him soon.”

The tension left the woman’s body. “Thank you, Doctor. I— You’ve been so good to him right from the start. And to me. When he starts playing—” she shot her husband a look “—how do we know the same thing won’t happen again? He wasn’t even near another player. He just crumpled.”

“Eighty percent of ACL tears are non-contact.” Sean ignored both the woman’s husband and the coach and focused on her. He felt sorry for her, the referee in a game of ambition. “The anterior cruciate ligament connects your thigh to your shin. It doesn’t do a whole lot if you’re just going about your normal day, but it’s an essential part of controlling the rotation forces developed during twisting actions.”

She gave him a blank look. “Twisting actions?”

“Jumping, pivoting and abrupt changes of direction. It’s an injury common among soccer players, basketball players and skiers.”

“Your brother Tyler had the same, didn’t he?” The coach butted in. “And it was all over for him. It killed his career as a ski racer. Hell of a blow for such a gifted athlete.”

His brother’s injury had been far more complicated than that, but Sean never talked about his famous brother. “Our aim with surgery is to return the knee joint to near-normal stability and function but it’s a team effort and rehabilitation is a big part of that effort. Scott is young, fit and motivated. I’m confident he’ll make a full recovery and be as strong as he was before the injury, providing you encourage him to attack rehab with the same degree of dedication he shows to the game.” He hardened his tone because he needed them to pay attention. “Push too hard or too soon and that won’t be the case.”

The coach nodded. “So can we start rehabilitation right away?”

Sure, just throw him a ball while he’s still unconscious.

“We generally find it helps for a patient to have come around from the anesthetic.”

The man’s cheeks turned dusky-red. “You think I’m pushy, but this kid just wants to play and it’s my job to make sure he gets whatever he needs. Which is why we’re here,” he said gruffly. “People say you’re the best. Everyone I talked to gave me the same response. If it’s a knee injury, you want Sean O’Neil. ACL reconstruction and sports injuries are your specialty. Didn’t realize you were Tyler O’Neil’s brother until a few weeks ago. How’s he coping now he can’t compete? That must be hard.”

“He’s doing just fine.” The response was automatic. At the height of Tyler’s skiing success the whole family had been bombarded by the media and they’d learned to deflect the intrusive questions, some about Tyler’s breathtaking talent, others about his colorful personal life.

“I read somewhere he can only ski for recreation now.” The coach pulled a face. “Must be hard for a guy like Tyler. I met him once.”

Making a note to commiserate with his brother, Sean steered the conversation back on topic. “Let’s focus on Scott.” He went through it again, repeating words he’d already spoken.

Drumming the message home took another twenty minutes. By the time he’d showered, checked on a few of his patients and climbed into his car, two hours had passed.

Sean sat for a moment, summoning the energy to drive the distance to his waterfront home.

The weekend lay ahead, a stretch of time filled with infinite possibilities.

For the next forty-eight hours his time was his own and he was ready to savor every moment. But first he was going to sleep.

The phone he kept for his personal use rang and he cursed for a moment, assuming it was Veronica, and then frowned when the screen told him it was his twin brother, Jackson. Along with the name came the guilt. It festered inside him, buried deep but always there.

He wondered why his brother would be calling him late on a Friday.

A crisis at home?

Snow Crystal Resort had been in their family for four generations. It hadn’t occurred to any of them that it might not be in the family for another four. The sudden death of his father had revealed the truth. The business had been in trouble for years. The discovery that their home was under threat had sent a ripple of shock through the whole family.

It was Jackson who had left a thriving business in Europe to return home to Vermont and save Snow Crystal from a disaster none of the three brothers had even known existed.

Sean stared at the phone in his hand.

Guilt crawled over his skin because he knew it wasn’t the pressures of his job that kept him away.

Breathing deeply, he settled back in his seat, ready to catch up on news from home and promising himself that next time he was going to be the one who made the call. He was going to do better at staying in touch.

“Hey—” he answered the call with a smile “—you fell over, smashed your knee and now you need a decent surgeon?”

There was no answering banter and no small talk. “You need to get yourself back here. It’s Gramps.”

Running Snow Crystal Resort was a never-ending tug of war between Jackson and their grandfather. “What’s he done this time? He wants you to knock down the lodges? Close the spa?”

“He collapsed. He’s in the hospital and you need to come.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in and when they did it was as if someone had sucked all the oxygen from the air.

Like all of them, he considered Walter O’Neil invincible. He was as strong as the mountains that had been home for all his life.

And he was eighty years of age.