Page 127 of Brace and Chase

NIK

Three Weeks Later

Natalie putsdown her hand on the dining table we’ve converted into a board-games table, and I have to throw my hand away.

“You’re absolutely cheating,” I argue. “There’s no way you’re that good.”

She laughs at me, the evil woman.

“Time to eat. Clean this up,” she says and gestures at the mess of cards and domino chips on the table. I sigh, but do as she says.

In all honesty, I don’t strictly need to have an in-home nurse anymore. Well, in my opinion, I never did. But Charlie waspissedat me after my three-day stint in the hospital so I didn’t dare argue with him.

Especially when he told me if I didn’t accept the nursethe hospital was going to send, that he’d fly his mom down here so she’d take care of me.

My phone buzzes and I know it’s Charlie without looking, so I quickly finish clearing the table and reach for it.

Charlie

Have you eaten?

God, he’s such a mother hen. I kind of love it, but I’m never telling him that. I write back that Natalie and I are about to eat and hope that gives him peace of mind so he can focus on what’s important.

The team’s playing the first game of the playoffs tonight, and I hate that I’m not there with the passion of a thousand suns.

We’re going against LA, so I’m hoping the team can get it done in four games and that way I don’t miss more games than necessary.

Because it’s official.

After endless hours at home, I’m finally going to be allowed back on the ice by the first game of the second round of the playoffs.

I felt ready this week, but my doctors disagreed. I tried to argue, but then they started reminding me of all the possible lasting effects a second concussion so soon could have on me and I caved.

Charlie looked pleased with me, which I guess helped.

The meal is great, like every single one has been sinceCharlie convinced Jules to share his chef with me—not that it took much convincing, but yeah.

I did get my memory of the day before the game back, but not of the final minutes or of the moments before the injury.

And I’m pretty sure some of the time at the hospital is gone too because I keep dreaming about Charlie telling me he loves me. His voice is crystal clear while I’m sleeping, but when I wake up, it’s like I imagined it.

I can’t help but want it to be true, even though I know it’s far-fetched.

I’m kind of high maintenance, and I snore, and I’m messy.

I also keep avoiding the topic of retirement and redirecting his attention to something else when he gets even a little bit close to the topic, so I wouldn’t blame him if he’s getting tired of my avoidance tactics.

I’ve always been great at denial—one of my many talents—but I can’t help but fear that if I’m faced with a decision, I’m going to cave.

If he forces me to talk about it, I will.

But he doesn’t.

He lets me get away with everything, the infuriating man.

Only time he’s ever been slightly forceful was when he asked if he could tell Max I was alive after the infamous puck hit.

Oh, and when he made Michelle and Kelly sleep overwhile he went on a three-day roadie less than a week after I was in the hospital.

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