Page 54 of The Goalie and Santa's Little Helper

I nod.

“Thanks.” That single word doesn’t feel like enough, but the longer we stare at each other, the fewer words are necessary. I knew I found family the day he and his dad asked me to join them for hockey.

“Mrs. Bardot?” A man’s voice is accompanied by a soft knock at Anthony’s door just before the doctor steps fully inside.

“Mom,” Anthony says, rubbing his mom’s arm.

“Yes, I’m up. Huh?” She sits up tall and scans the room, jetting to her feet when she focuses on the doctor. Frankie does the same about two seconds behind her mom.

“Please, sit.” The doctor’s smile is full, and that signals good news. I grasp Frankie’s hand as she perches on the edge of her seat. Anthony holds his mom’s.

“He’s in recovery. Everything went perfectly. And barring complications, he should get to go home in three or four days.”

“Oh.” Anthony’s mom breaks down, cupping her mouth as the tears she’s been holding in spring loose.

“It’s a good day. Or night, as it were,” the doctor says, gesturing to the dark window covered in frost.

“Someone will come get you in an hour or two when he’s awake.” He rests a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and she clasps her hands around his wrist, I think simply needing to hold on for a second. The doctor doesn’t seem fazed at all.

“Thank you,” I say.

Once Anthony’s mom lets go, the doctor moves to the end of the bed and scans the chart.

“I bet you’re feeling pretty good right now, huh?” He quirks a brow over his glasses.

Anthony waggles his head, clearly still a bit loopy. Part of that is just his personality, though.

“Well, this stuff wears off. So, take the instructions seriously. You should be back up and running in a couple of weeks. Nothing crazy in the meantime, okay?”

“So, that’s a no on hockey?” Anthony says. His mom shoots him a glare, and he holds up a hand.

“I’m kidding,” Anthony adds.

The doctor seems to find us amusing, either that or he’s gotten really good at playing whatever part the patient needs.

“I need to walk or something,” Frankie says, stretching her slender frame in front of me.

“I could use a coffee,” her mom says.

“Coming right up,” Frankie replies before turning to me. “Wanna join me?”

She holds out her hand, which I quickly accept. We make it to the door before Anthony calls out, “No doing it in maintenance closets!”

Frankie spins around to shoot him a glare, and I hear her mom mutter for him not to be crass in the hospital. But really, what better place? And when Frankie and I pass the maintenance closet on our way to the elevator, we get a good giggle.

By the time the elevator doors close, Frankie drops the mask and lets her exhaustion show.

“We made it,” I reassure her, pulling her into my arms as we tick down six floors to the main level.

“I couldn’t have done this without you,” she insists.

Before the doors open, there’s a tiny pause when I think—and maybe hope—the elevator will get stuck. I’m not sure whether it’s because I’m exhausted too, or because I feel as though fate is giving me a kick in the ass. But whatever the reason may be, I feel it in my gut. Now is the time. Before those doors open.

“Marry me?”

Her head bops up, and her doe eyes capture mine just as the elevator dings and the doors slide open. Two people step inside with us, maneuvering around us since we’ve confiscated the very middle. It’s uncomfortable and awkward—for them, for us, and for me. Especially for me.

The doors close again, and we begin to head up. I immediately conjure excuses, of ways to take it back and give her an out. And then our companions step out on the fifth floor and the doors close again while we hang in limbo, waiting for someone to call the elevator to them. Wherever they may be. Eventually, we will need to get her mom coffee.

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