Page 20 of Power Forward

“Also, I know your occupation requires you to travel around the country and Canada, but as we move into the winter months, try and keep your visits to places with colder conditions to a minimum. Cold weather can sometimes exacerbate the pain.”

My mind instantly goes to winters in Chicago. The snow, the frigid wind coming from the lake. If the best-case scenario in my plan does come to fruition and Jackson and I do get back together, how will I cope with my pain there? I don’t want Jackson to end up caring for me when I’m in too much pain to get out of bed.

He might not even want you. You’ll be a burden to him, and he’ll end up resenting you. Do you really think he will want you around his kids?

Numbness begins to replace the feeling of defeat, seeping down my body limb by limb. My eyes fixate on a mark in the muted gray carpet while my brain tries to fight off the voice.

It’s not real, I tell myself.Think of the jellyfish.

My vision blurs like I’m underwater, and I squeeze my eyes closed, forcing myself to picture the jellyfish in Roberta’s office. I’m aware of someone speaking, but everything becomes muffled. There’s an invisible heavy weight pressing against my chest, and my breathing spikes as my lungs struggle to inflate.

Baby steps.

One breath at a time.

When I begin to regain feeling back in my arms and legs and my breathing regulates, I open my eyes to see both of them watching me with cautious expressions. Pity flickers through Dr. Moore’s eyes, and that’s enough to get me moving.

“Okay, no problem. I can reschedule some meetings to video calls.” I stand up, ignoring the pain in my joints from standing so fast, and button my suit jacket. “If that’s all, I should be getting back.”

Zara’s frowning, but thankfully, she doesn’t call me on my bullshit. We’re silent as we exit the hospital and head to her car in the parking lot. She usually drives me to my appointments because I never know if I’ll end up getting an injection, and there are strict instructions to rest for a few days after.

“What was that all about?” she asks once we’re in the car.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t act dumb with me. Something happened in there. Like a mini panic attack or something.” Her face softens. “Is it because she said you’re probably going to need surgery?”

With a sigh, I tell her the thoughts I had about the surgery and the negative voice running through my mind about Jackson.

Her voice is quiet when she asks, “Does he know?”

I shake my head.

“Hayden.” She scowls. “You don’t have to go through this alone, you know. I bet you haven’t told him the reasons for your tattoos either?”

“No, I haven’t told him anything.”

She presses her lips together, clearly wanting to give me an earful of exactly how wrong she thinks I am, but she remains silent. For the entire drive back to my house, I stare out of the window and wonder what Jackson would think. Is this some kind of karma for how I treated him? For abandoning him when he needed me the most? Or have I just been dealt a shitty hand in life, and the only good thing is the multiple figures in my bank account?

We drive back in silence, and when Zara pulls up in front of my house, I’m feeling awkward.

“Thanks for driving me,” I say, then place my hand on the handle to open the door, but she engages the lock, preventing me from getting out.

I turn to her with a frown.

“You’re welcome. You know I’ll always take you because I care for you, Hayden, but I’m pretty sure Jackson does too. I think you need to be more vulnerable with him in order for you to move forward. Open up. Share your thoughts and struggles with him. Give him something to see you’re not the same guy who was scared of his own feelings.” She smiles softly. “He’s shown you a photo of his kids. That’s a bigfucking deal. He’s letting you in despite being hesitant, so do the same for him. Give him a chance to seeyou.”

Zara presses the button to unlock the doors, but I don’t move. I chew on the inside of my cheek, digesting her words.

She’s right. I’ve made the first move to try and make amends, but I’m still filled with fear. Still preparing myself for rejection and going against what I told myself I would do. I can’t grow if I’m cutting myself off at the stem.

“Thanks, Zara.” I reach over and give her hand a squeeze. “I appreciate you.”

“I know.” She winks. “Now, get out of my car because I need a big-ass coffee and an In-And-Out burger before Connor gets home from training.”

I grin and push open the door. “Okay, okay. I’m going. Later.”

We say our goodbyes, and I head inside with my phone burning a hole in my pocket. I place it on the arm of the couch and head into my bedroom to strip out of my suit, swapping my pants for sweats and my shirt for a soft ribbed Henley. In the kitchen, I make myself a coffee and whip up an omelet before taking a seat on the couch, angling myself to look out onto the patio leading to the beach. I bought this house two years before I retired, thinking it wouldn’t be used until I was in my forties and ready to take up golf as a full-time hobby. It’s all one story, with a garage built in underneath, and a patio that backs onto a beach. In hindsight, I wonder if past me subconsciously knew I would need a property like this, with no stairs inside to contend with, a lot earlier than I anticipated.

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