Page 129 of Puck Struck
"She is." Jesus, he’s a whip.
Ethan giggles. "Mom says you're just frustrated because you can't control how fast you heal."
Smart kid. Smart family.
The front door opens and Cam walks in carrying grocery bags and the rich scent of something wafts under my nose, making my mouth water. Even three weeks into my recovery, seeing him still makes my heart swell with gratitude and something deeper.
He stayed. Through the surgery, the cranky recovery period, my daily battles…he stayed through all of it.
"How are my favorite recovering patients today?" he asks, stopping in the doorway of the living room. A bright smile lifts his lips as he looks from me to Ethan.
"I'm not a patient anymore," Ethan protests. "I'm recovered. Dr. Patel told me so."
"Okay, so how's my favorite recoveree and my favorite grumpy patient?"
"Still not grumpy," I mutter but I can’t help the smile from stretching my lips.
Cam disappears with the bags. I can hear the rustle of the plastic being set down in the kitchen. Seconds later, he’s back and sits carefully on the arm of the couch. He reaches a handaround the back of my head, stroking my neck in a way that instantly relaxes me. It's become one of his habits over the past weeks. It’s the small, casual touches of his that remind me I'm not alone in this.
"Physical therapy go okay this morning?" he asks.
"Define okay." I lean into his touch. "Sarah says I'm making progress, but it doesn't feel like it."
"Your range of motion is better than last week," Cam says. "I can see the difference."
"How can you see a difference? I still can't lift my arm past here." I demonstrate the limited range, wincing slightly at the biting pain that follows.
"Because last week you couldn't do that without your face turning white from pain." His thumb traces my temple. "You're healing, Logan. It's just slow."
Slow. That's the apropos word for almost everything in my life right now. Slow healing, slow adjustment to life without hockey, slow acceptance that my body might never be what it was.
"You know, even though the season is over, I thought I’d miss hockey more. I’d be in training now, doing workouts, conditioning for next season. The schedule became second nature. But it’s weird, but I don't miss it as much as I thought I would. Even thinking about game prep, the practices, the pressure, the schedule…I don’t miss any of it."
"What do you miss?"
I lean my head back. "The guys. The team dynamic. Being part of something bigger than myself." I look at Ethan, who's sprawled on the floor drawing in his sketchpad, a habit he picked up from Cam. "But I've got that here too. Different, but maybe better."
Cam's hand stills in my hair. "Better?"
"This matters more. You, Ethan, Tess. That’s what’s real. Hockey was just what I did. This is who I am."
Tessa walks in from the kitchen, overhearing the last part. "Look at you being all philosophical and emotionally mature."
"Don't get used to it."
"Too late." She falls into the armchair across from us. "So, I have news. The insurance company approved the final claim for Ethan's surgery. We're officially debt-free from all the medical expenses."
A weight I didn't realize I was carrying lifts from my shoulders. The financial stress of Ethan's condition has been constant background noise for years.
"That's huge, Tess."
"It is. And it means I can finally start thinking about getting our own place again. Give you two some space." She nods at us, a knowing twinkle in her eye.
"What?" The word comes out sharper than I intended. "Why would you want to do that?"
"Because you're building something with Cam. You need privacy and space to be a couple. And Ethan and I can't live here forever."
I look at Cam, who's watching this exchange with an unreadable expression. "What do you think?"
