Page 72 of Game Face

Her body relaxes immediately, and she moves in to embrace me. Her touch is gentle at first, so I make sure to squeeze her tight so she can feel my palms on her back. She closes her arms around me a bit more before stepping back.

“Have a seat,” I say, nodding next to me.

She sits on the very edge of the mattress, her legs flexing like she’s doing a wall sit, and I can tell she’s trying to tiptoe around me.

“You’re allowed to sit normal.”

“Oh, yeah,” she laughs out, moving deeper into the bed and eventually tucking one leg under the other. I make a mental note to put that on my goals list.

“Your mom said you’ve been making a ton of progress,” she says, her gaze moving slowly over my body. I kind of think she’s searching for scars.

“I am. I had a little blood clot issue a few weeks back that was sort of like a hard reset, but I feel like I’ve progressed again. I’m walking on my own with a walker. It’s slow and looks a little bit like that dance Coach Kane does?—”

“Oh yeah, the robot!” Alicia hops to her feet and does a decent impression of our coach. We both laugh.

“I’m glad,” she says, her gaze drifting away from mine as the pregnant pause grows into an extended silence.

I’m about to fill it with more pointless banter when her eyes snap to mine.

“I’m so sorry, Peyton. About . . . hurting you. I didn’t mean . . . I wasn’t . . .” Tears well up in her eyes, and I feel them threaten mine as well.

“Alicia, it was an accident,” I say, holding my arms open again. She falls into them, almost knocking me back.

“I’m so, so sorry Peyton.”

Her body convulses with sobs, and I can’t help but cry along with her. My mom steps in, hearing us wail, but I quickly hold up a hand to let her know we’re okay. We’re more than okay. We’re healing.

Alicia and I cry it out for what feels like an hour, and as painful as it is to relive some of the things I’ve been through, I share every detail when she asks. I hold back the part about my future of having kids. That’s a question that will linger for a while, and a conversation I’m going to have to have with Wyatt one day. Probably soon.

There’s this huge gap in my memory of the accident, which Alicia is finally able to fill. I remember seeing her body lurch forward above me, and then I felt the drop in my stomach as my base collapsed. But I never fully understood when the impact happened. Alicia, however, was alert for every millisecond. Her knee landed on my head just as my bottom hit the ground, and the impact from both ends was too much for my middle to absorb. That’s when the fracture happened.

“I dream about it sometimes,” I tell her, wondering if I’ll see it happen differently next time.

“I dream about it every night,” she admits, her mouth souring as her gaze drifts away.

I know from the text messages with other teammates and emails with Coach that Alicia hasn’t been back out since the fall. She was cleared a couple of weeks ago, having been on concussion protocol. She’s one of the best flyers I’ve ever seen.

I can feel us both slipping back into the hurt. I’m so done feeling sorry and resentful, so before Alicia falls apart again, I reach for my walker and lift myself to a stand. Even though I’ve ridden Otis a lot these last few days, one more trip to the arena is in order. This time, I’ll lead while she rides.

“You ever been on a horse?”

Her eyes are already wide, I think from watching me pull myself up. It’s probably jarring for someone to watch when they haven’t seen it yet. I suppose it either looks like a miracle or a struggle, depending on the perspective. Rather than label it either, I waggle my hand in front of her zoned-out gaze and snap her attention back to my face.

“Horse? You been on one?” I flash a tight smile, and we’ve been friends long enough for her to know that means I’m ready to change subjects.

“Uh, maybe? When I was little?”

I chuckle and urge her to follow me.

“You’re still little,” I joke. She’s under five feet. It’s why she’s our flyer.

We pass through the kitchen, and I bend my head down a little to catch my mom’s attention at the stove. She’s trying to learn how to make some of her mom’s recipes. They practiced a lot of things when my grandparents were here, and I get a feeling my mom wants to be able to teach me what she learns. I’m more of a buy-the-cookie-dough-ready-made kind of chef, but I admit there’s a big difference between the shortcut and my grandma’s way. Both grandmothers, truthfully. Though my Grandma Rose has a few secrets she says she won’t share until it’s her time to go. That’s her way of being competitive, my mom says.

“Taking Alicia to meet Otis. Wanna come?” My mom nods and sets whatever’s on the stove to simmer, wiping her hands, then rounding the counter to join us. I want her expertise in case Alicia gets nervous. It’s near impossible to startle Otis, but nothing is ever a total impossibility with animals.

The three of us get Otis out of his stall, and my mom fits him with his saddle then leads him out to the arena.

“Go ahead. I’ll catch up,” I say, wanting Alicia to head in with my mom rather than watch me struggle over the rough terrain. I know how far I’ve come making this trek, but she doesn’t. I know what it looks like when I guide these big wheels through the rock and dirt.

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