Page 128 of American Beauty

The door opens again a minute later, and in walks the doctor––still in scrubs, surgical cap on his head. He offers me a warm smile as he sinks into the chair across from mine.

“Alex is out of surgery. He’s in recovery now.”

I’m able to breathe again.

“He did great. The damage was a little more extensive than what we saw on the scans, which is why it took longer than expected. But I was able to repair the ligaments and reinforce the joint.”

“That’s great.”

“He’ll have some pain, of course. The next few weeks won’t be easy—but with the right rehab protocol, he should make a full recovery.”

I close my eyes for a second, press my palms together like a silent prayer answered. Relief floods me, leaving warmth in its wake. “Thank you so much.”

He stands to leave, reaching out to shake my hand. “He’s tough. You’ll see. He’ll be back on the rugby field next season, better than ever.”

The words land like a stone in my stomach.

I blink. But by the time I look up, the doctor’s already gone, door closing behind him.

And I’m left sitting there. Stunned. Silent.

Back on the rugby field?

I don’t go back to the waiting room. Instead, I wander the hallway on autopilot until I find an alcove—just a narrow bench beneath a window that faces a blank brick wall. I sit––slowly––like my body weighs twice as much now.

He didn’t tell me.

My eyes burn, but I don’t cry. Not yet. I’m still too caught by surprise.

He’s going back to rugby?

Was this always the plan? The surgery, the rehab, the clean return to the sport that almost destroyed him?

My heart beats faster, the panic catching up to my lungs.

Despite all the opportunities, he didn’t say a word. And that’s what hurts the most.

Did he not trust me with the truth? Or was he trying to protect me from it? I don’t know which answer feels worse.

I would walk through anything with him. Even watching the man I love push his body to the edge for a game that’s already taken so much from him.

Did he not think he could tell me?

I came here to help him heal. But now I don’t know what that healing means.

Not for him. Not for me. And definitely not for us.

Chapter 33

Magnolia Steel

Alex propson a sea of pillows, his leg elevated. The pain’s not gone, but it’s easing. He hasn’t gritted his teeth once tonight. That has to be a win.

I help him with the last of his meds, brushing my fingers against his when I hand him the water glass, and something about that small touch makes my chest tighten. These past two weeks have been tender. Healing. Familiar in a way that both comforts and wrecks me. It’s about more than recovery.

It’s been about us.

This isn’t the kind of intimacy you plan for—helping him to and from the bathroom, guiding him in and out of the shower, making sure he’s hydrated and fed.

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