Page 29 of Puck Me

“Even if I fulfill all of his greatest hopes for me, the best he can offer me is being able to walk without a limp. I’ll never be able to play ice hockey again. If I can’t have that, what’s the point?”

“I can see how you feel that way, Chester, but being able to walk without a limp is certainly better than walking with a limp forever.”

I know he’s right, but it still all feels kind of pointless. I don’t want to talk about my leg right now. We’ve discussed the subject exhaustively, both in sessions and out. “Tell me more about you. You know my whole sad life story, but I’ve only ever gotten snippets about you.”

“That’s true. Now that I’m no longer your doctor, I’m at liberty to fill you in more. What do you want to know?”

“Do you have any family?”

“My parents are both gone, but I have a younger sister, Jamie. She lives in the U.K. She’s also a doctor—a surgeon. I’m so proud of her, I can’t help bragging to people about her. She’s one of the best in her field, you know. She’s two years younger than me, but she already teaches seminars on subjects doctors ten years her senior are only learning.”

“She sounds amazing. Are you two close?”

“We’ve grown apart a little since she moved for work, but we still do video calls regularly. I often miss her. What about you? Any family?”

“Not anymore,” I say sadly. “It was just me and my mother, but she died when I was in my early twenties. My team was my family, but now, I don’t even have them.”

“That’s not true. You can’t tell me that Noah is any less your family than he ever was. And I know your other teammates visit you. You always perk up after one of them comes over.”

I suppose he has a point. “It’s not the same, though. I still get to see them, sure, but it’s different to practicing and playing with them every day.”

“I know it’s not the same. It’s never going to be quite the same, but please don’t believe that your family has abandoned you. They still care. They wouldn’t have stuck with you this long if they didn’t.”

That much is true. Only people truly devoted to me would put up with all my crap. “I guess you’re right.”

“I usually am.”

I nudge Storm’s arm with mine. “Don’t be so smug.”

“I can’t help it. One of the pitfalls of being right so often,” Storm teases.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go on this date already.”

Our table is ready when we arrive, and Storm pulls out my chair for me, helping me with my crutches as I sit down. We order and Storm takes my hand over the table.

“How are you doing?”

I shrug. “About as well as I ever am nowadays. The depression never really goes away, but it’s not as crushing right now as it sometimes is.”

“I’ll take that.”

“Yeah, me too.”

As we wait for our food, we chat about our childhoods. It turns out that we both had a rather easy time growing up. I expected Storm to have a tragic backstory to match the story of how he got into medicine, but I’m glad to hear that his life hasn’t been difficult from the start.

For my part, losing my mother was difficult, but growing up with her had been like a dream. She was the most devoted, loving mother I could ever have wished for. We always had what we needed, and she readily accepted me when I came out, as well as supporting my dream of being a professional hockey player.

The carbonara is indeed delicious, but I’m far more interested in Storm’s company. I love finding out more about him. It makes me feel like we’re on more of an equal level. It’s a really good feeling, sharing this meal with him and getting to know each other better—not as patient and doctor, but as potential partners.

All too soon, dessert is finished and seemingly seconds after that, the restaurant is closing. Storm helps me up and we go to the car, now involved in a deep discussion about the various merits of theLord of the Ringsmovies versus the books.

Storm drives me home and walks me to the door. He hesitates, his eyes flicking to my lips.

“I believe you promised me a goodnight kiss,” I prompt.

Storm nods firmly. “I did.”

“Only if you want to,” I say, noticing his hesitation.

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