Page 176 of Saving Forever with the Hockey Captain

"Oh..."

I whisper.

The room around me suddenly feels very quiet.

For the first time...

I wonder if everyone else has been seeing something...

long before I was willing to admit it myself.

"Oh..."

Chapter twenty-two

Jamie

The Day Everything Feels Normal

There are mornings when progress announces itself, not with fireworks or dramatic breakthroughs.

Just with one movement that suddenly feels easier than it did the day before.

This is one of those mornings. I raise my arm overhead during my warm-up and stop halfway through the motion, not because it hurts but because it doesn't.

For a second, I simply stare at it. Then I keep going until my fingertips point toward the ceiling. No hesitation., no sharp pull through the shoulder. Just movement.

Annette notices before I say a word. "I was wondering how long it would take you to realize."

I lower my arm slowly and grin. "You saw that?"

"I've been watching your face instead of your shoulder."

"That's probably smarter." She makes a note on the chart before handing me a light resistance cable. "We're adding strength work today."

Those words would have terrified me six weeks ago. Today they sound like freedom. The first exercise is deceptively simple. Controlled rows. Slow shoulder presses. Movements designed to teach the muscles around the repaired joint to trust one another again.

I move carefully, paying attention to every instruction Annette gives. She notices immediately. "No negotiations today?"

"I've retired from contract discussions."

"I'm relieved."

"I've accepted that my rehabilitation plan is not a democracy."

She laughs, the sound filling the therapy gym more easily than it used to. "That's tremendous personal growth."

"I like to think so."

"Your shoulder agrees."

The exercises leave the muscles tired but steady, and for the first time since the injury, the fatigue feels earned instead of discouraging. When I finish the last repetition, Annette compares today's measurements with the ones from my first week. Her eyebrows lift. "Well..."

I study her face. "That's usually a good 'well.'"

"It is." She turns the clipboard toward me. Even I can see the difference.

The numbers are no longer creeping forward, they're climbing.