Page 215 of Saving Forever with the Hockey Captain

Her tone tells me she does not believe that any more than I do.

Annette is standing at the far end of the gym when I walk in. She’s helping an older woman reach for a row of colored blocks placed on a shelf above shoulder height. Her voice is patient and encouraging, the same voice that once convinced me another inch of movement was possible when I was certain it was not.

“There you go,” she says. “One more.”

The woman stretches, touches the blue block and beams.

Annette celebrates with her exactly the way she celebrated my first small victories. Nothing about her has changed. She is still warm. Still attentive. Still entirely herself.

Then she looks up and sees me. Her smile appears immediately. It is beautiful. It is also guarded.

“Good morning.”

“Morning.”

She turns back to her patient and finishes the exercise before walking toward me with the chart held close against her chest.

“How’s the shoulder after Tuesday?”

“Fine.”

“Any soreness after practice?”

“Nothing unusual.”

“Did you complete the new stretches?”

“Yes.”

She nods and begins writing. The questions are familiar. The rhythm is not. I wait until she finishes the note.

“Annette.” Her pen stops. “Yes?”

“We need to talk.” The words come out more seriously than I intend, but there is no taking them back.

She glances toward the treatment area around us. “About your shoulder?”

“No.”

Something shifts in her face. Not surprise, recognition. She already knows.

“Jamie, I have another appointment in forty-five minutes.”

“Then we have forty-five minutes.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“I know.”

She looks down at the chart before setting it carefully on the counter. “We should start your session.”

“Not until you tell me what changed.” Her eyes lift to mine. For the first time in days, the professional calm slips enough for me to see the emotion beneath it.

“Nothing changed.”

“That isn’t true.”

“Your treatment plan is progressing exactly as expected.”