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“It’s okay. Roman will be here. You’ve got a kid and a husband to take care of, and I’ve got a whole team.”
“Is it the same knee?” she asks softly.
“Yeah.”
“Oh, Hollis, what does that mean? Will you be able to play after this? Should you?”
“First surgery, and then we’ll go from there.”
“Will you call me when you’re out?”
“Yeah, of course. Or I’ll have Roman text. But we’ll let you know how it goes.”
“I’m so sorry this is happening again.”
“Me, too.”
“Do you want me to fill in Emilia?”
“Yeah. She’s on nights this week, so she probably doesn’t know yet. And we can hold off on telling Mom and Dad since they’re on a cruise.” Our older sister is a NICU nurse out in Bobcaygeon.
“They’re supposed to be in the Cayman Islands tomorrow, so we can try to touch base then,” she suggests.
“Yeah, better to wait until I’m out of surgery.”
“Agreed. I hope it goes smoothly.”
“Same. I love you, sis.”
“I love you, too, Hollis.”
I end the call, and the worry is all-consuming. It’s a blessing when they come to put me under.
They keep me overnight after surgery. The procedure went fine, but the doctors have warned me to take it easy. My knee is swollen to twice its size, and my pain levels make me short-tempered and prone to snapping.
I’m sent home the following morning once I’ve seen the team physiotherapist and have been cleared for release by the doctor. All I want is my own bed, and my cats, and to escape from the relentless beeping and the smell of sanitizers. Roman wheels me out and helps me into the back seat of his car, since bending my leg is off the table for the next while.
“This was the one thing I didn’t want to happen,” I say once we’re on the way home.
His gaze meets mine in the rearview mirror. “I know, man. I’m sorry.”
At least he isn’t feeding me bullshit about things being okay. The doctors are cautiously optimistic, a phrase I hate. I thought I had time to prepare for retirement, and now it might be here.
Getting from the vehicle to the elevator is a chore, and the ride up to the penthouse makes my head swim. I close my eyes and lean my head against the mirrored glass.
“You okay?” Roman holds the doors open for me, and I crutch the short distance to my penthouse.
“Just tired.” I want to sleep for the next several weeks—until my knee is healed and this mental shitstorm is over. You’re only a handful of hours post-surgery, I remind myself. I might be fine. It’s a big might, though.
Roman helps me into my place. The throw pillows Aurora added to the couch last year after my first surgery are in the corners. The blanket neatly folded in the center boasts two cat-shaped dents. I’m pretty sure that’s not how I left things.
The boys trot out of my bedroom, meowing loudly. I stop in the middle of the room while they wind around my legs. I can’t even bend to pet them. “Hey, Postie. Hey, Malone. Sorry I left you so long. I hope you didn’t shit on my bed.”
“Peggy stopped by last night and again this morning,” Roman offers.
“I’ll have to thank her for that.” Malone rubs himself against my leg. “You mind giving them a couple of treats? First cupboard on the right, the one with the yellow lid. Just a few, though.”
“No problem. You want to lie on the couch or your bed?”
