Page 64 of Shoot Your Shot

Something else that keeps going through my mind is imagining the day he gets the all clear to return to play hockey. I’ve watched him play hundreds of times. I’ve seen him take hits, watched doctors check him for concussions, stood beside a stretcher while they loaded him into the back of an ambulance as a safety measure. But until a few weeks ago, I never watched him lie in a hospital bed, unconscious, with the possibility of not waking up after suffering a heart attack. And even though I’m a physical therapist and I understand the risks of playing high-intensity sports, nothing has prepared me for the awakening that Kolt is playing with fire. And one day, he might burn to the ground.

My father played hockey until I was ten years old. And after that, he coached. I know what it’s like to see your own dad take a hit and cover your eyes because you’re scared to watch in case he doesn’t get up. If the universe ever granted us a child, I don’t know if I’d want our baby to have the stress of that.

But I also know if Kolt and I were ever lucky enough to have a child of our own, I’d want to teach them that you should chase your dreams and find what ignited that spark inside your soul. What would it say about me if they found out I was so scared of their dad getting hurt again that I forced him to hang up his skates?

And now, I’m thinking about hypothetical children that we might never even have.

Bringing up my dad’s contact on the screen of my car, I hit Call. After a few rings, his voice floods through the speakers.

“There’s my favorite child,” he says, and I can envision his amused grin suddenly.

“That’s right. I was such a perfect kid that you stopped at me, knowing you’d never be so lucky again,” I joke back with him, just like I always do. “You could have ten kids, Dad, and I’d still be your favorite.”

“Depends if they were all as much of a pain in the ass as you are,” he teases. “How’s it going in Maine? Mom said you’re back at the office this week. How’s that going? Bet your patients were happy to see you.”

“It’s … good, I suppose.” I clear my throat awkwardly. “And, yeah, I’m working in the mornings while Kolt is at the arena. I’m happy to see my patients and the crew, but to be honest, they’ve been keeping everything running just fine without me.”

“You sound bummed about that,” he points out. “Were you hoping it was a dumpster fire and they had to cry for you or something?”

Sort of.I don’t say it out loud, but I bob my head back and forth, thinking about it before realizing I’m being crazy.

“No. I mean, I guess I assumed I was more … like … important. And needed.” I sigh. “Turns out, that place is just fine without me. And I’m happy. Really, I am. If they didn’t keep it running smoothly, it would have made my life a lot harder the past few weeks, being with Kolt during his recovery. But I don’t know, Dad. I walked in there today, and I didn’t even feel like it was my office anymore.” I continue to drive, looking straight ahead mindlessly. “It felt like it was someone else’s.”

As soon as the words leave my lips, I know my dad is going to hit me with some fatherly advice. How could he not? I set him up perfectly for it.

“Did you ever think maybe there’s a reason for that?” he asks gently. Even though I know he already knows the answer anyway. “Perhaps it felt more like your place before you went back home.” He pauses. “Your real home.”

“I worked so hard to get that office, Dad,” I say, growing defensive.

“I know you did, sweetie. I’m not saying otherwise.” He sighs. “You’ll figure out what’s the next move on your own terms. And whatever it is, it’ll be great.”

Portland and Boothbay aren’t far enough apart that I could never visit again if I moved back in with Kolt. But making the commute daily? That would be rough.

“Not all my clients are going to follow me to PortlandifI decide to stay here,” I utter. “It’s an hour’s drive for the ones who live in Boothbay.”

“So, don’t make them,” he says matter-of-factly. Like we aren’t talking about what I’m going to do with a physical therapy office I created from scratch. “Like I said, you’ll figure out what’s best for you. On your terms, no one else’s. But this leads me to ask, how is Kolt doing?”

“He’s doing good. All things considering,” I say, pressing the button on my seat warmer.

November in Maine can be cool, cold, or freezing. And today, it’s freezing out. We have yet to see any first flakes of snow, but I anticipate it’ll be any day, and I, for one, can’t wait.

Normally, I’d have the tree up by now. The first week of November, it’s holly, jolly time. That’s always been my motto. But Kolt’s accident happened before I got the chance to put mine up. And now, I feel weird, putting a tree up in a house where I might not be living at during Christmas.

I mean, how do you erase the past year and a half plus? We can’t pretend like it didn’t happen. It haunts me daily.

“You still there?” my dad says, pulling me from my mixed thoughts of Christmas trees and my messy marriage. “Did you lose service? Maine needs to figure their shit out with cell phone towers.”

“I’m here.” I press my elbow on my door and push my hand into my hair. “What did you say?”

“I asked if there’s been any mention of him returning anytime soon. I know you can’t listen to everything you hear onSportsCenter, but there’s been some talk that he might not play again till next season.”

“I have no idea. But, yeah, Kolt’s hoping to be back the second the doctor gives him a clean bill of health,” I say sharply but honestly. “The man had a heart attack. One would think he’d understand that he can’t rush back. Or consider the risk of playing again at all!”

And now, I’m frustrated. I’ve kept everything to myself since I first saw him lying unconscious in that bed. But the truth is, deep down, a part of me wishes he’d just retire. No matter what the doctor tells him, I’m a trained professional. And the heart is never exactly the same after a heart attack—everyone knows that.

“Paige Elizabeth,” my dad says sternly into the phone. “You know that man well enough by now to know he isn’t going to walk away from the game because of this. You’ve been married to him for quite some time now. Long enough to know that this sport gave him life.” He stops for a second, but I know he’s going to continue scolding me. “I understand you’re scared. You have every right to be. But you know where he came from. Hockey saved his life as much as you did. You can’t expect him to give it up just because you’re afraid he’s going to get hurt.”

“He will get hurt again, Dad,” I say immediately, gripping the steering wheel so tight that my knuckles turn white. “You know that.”

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