Page 121 of Rookie Recovery

“He’s here now, isn’t he?” I asked Aaron in a whisper. I wouldn’t turn to look at Jamie. I didn’t know if I could bear to see his beautiful face.

Aaron nodded. “He’s just come to check on us, tape us if needed.”

I swallowed, and tried not to listen to Jamie making his way through the locker room, visiting every player but me. I padded up, pulled on my jersey, fiddled with my helmet’s chin strap, while I waited for Jamie to get around to me. Or skip me entirely. I wasn’t sure what would happen. Had I made things so weird between us, it would affect our professional relationship, too?

“Bowman,” Jamie eventually said. His voice was soft, a caress, despite the formality of my full surname.

I lifted my head and there he was. Not looking as tired as he did the day before. At least one of us got some sleep. He’d shaved and donned a charcoal suit that fit him so well it looked as though it’d been sewn onto his body. I stood to greet him.

“Want me to tape your shoulder?” he said. His face was passive, professional, his forearms crossed over his chest like he was protecting himself from the cold.

I wanted to scream, and weep, and wrap my arms and legs around him like a koala bear and never let go. “Rowan taped it already,” I said, trying to mirror his emotionless manner. I’d had Rowan strap my shoulder up earlier because I didn’t think I could keep my shit together if Jamie touched me.

“Want me to check it?” he said, his voice going uncharacteristically squeaky at the end.

I shook my head.

“I see,” Jamie said.

I see. I see! What did it fucking mean? I wanted to shout at him. Pummel that chest of his. Pull his arms around me like a weighted blanket and sink into him.

“Well, if you don’t need me for anything else, I’ll go sit.” He paused, obviously waiting for me to say something. Probably something ludicrously inappropriate that would have him asking the lord for strength.

When I didn’t say anything, his shoulders dropped, and he huffed out a small, resigned sigh. “This doesn’t have to be the end, Bowie. If you don’t want it to be. Of us, I mean. I … I understand what you did. Hell, I’d have done the same. Did worse, actually. Much worse. And, fuck, I’m so—”

“Okay, boys!” yelled Turner. “We ready for warm-up?” He turned to us. “All set, Sullivan?”

Jamie nodded, but didn’t take his eyes off me. After a beat, two beats, he gave me a half smile, turned on his heel, and walked out of the locker room.

I sat back on the bench and pretended to listen to Turner.

All along, it had felt that choosing to play today was choosing between skating and my relationship with Jamie. That it was one or the other. Black or white. Do or die.

But now … Jamie had dropped a little ray of hope into my lap.

This doesn’t have to be the end. Of us, I mean.

He still wanted … something with me. Maybe not as intense as before, and maybe it would take a little longer to get everything back to what we had. But it was there, burning brightly in my hands. A ball of fucking sunshiny optimism.

I wouldn’t have to compromise. Give one of them up.

I could have both.

I knew exactly what to do.

Chapter 17

Jamie

I made the right decision.

I made the right decision. I made the right decision. I made the right decision. Amazing how you could say something over and over and still not believe it. Well, my cold, logical brain refused to believe it, anyway. Injuries and hockey didn’t mix, that logic said. C’mon, Sullivan, you know that.

But my heart—which I didn’t listen to often—knew the truth. That what I’d done was right. This was Bowie’s game. Bowie’s life. Bowie’s decision. And whatever I was to him … It needed to be kept separate from that decision.

Didn’t mean I had to sit in my seat behind the bench and like it, even if I had to watch the game. I was technically working, though as a PT and not the on-duty athletic trainer. Working meant pre-game stretching and taping, followed by free hockey right next to the glass. A dream come true for most.

Usually, I enjoyed it.

---