Page 216 of Saving Forever with the Hockey Captain

“I’m not talking about the treatment plan.”

The room continues around us. Resistance bands stretch and release. A therapist counts softly near the parallel bars. Someone laughs from the hallway. Annette looks toward the quieter consultation room beside the gym and says: “Come with me.”

I follow her inside. She closes the door but leaves the blinds open, preserving the professional boundary even now. The small room contains two chairs, a desk and a wall chart of the human shoulder that I have seen often enough to draw from memory.

Annette remains standing.

I do too.

For several seconds, neither of us speaks.

I finally say, “You stopped having coffee with me.”

Her expression tightens. “Jamie.”

“You stopped asking about practice. You barely talk unless it’s about therapy. You look at the clock more than you look at me.”

“That isn’t fair.”

“Then tell me I’m wrong.”

She turns away and rests both hands on the edge of the desk. “You’re recovering.”

“I know.”

“You’re ahead of schedule.”

“I know that too.”

“You’ll be discharged soon.”

The words settle between us with more force than they should.

“That’s what this is about?”

She gives a small, helpless laugh. “What else would it be about?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

Annette folds her arms, not defensively, but as if she needs something to hold together. “Rehabilitation has an ending, Jamie. It is supposed to. You heal, you return to your life, and I move on to the next patient.”

The sentence is calm and sensible. It hurts anyway.

“So that’s what I am now? The patient you’re almost finished with?”

Her face changes instantly. “That is not what I said.”

“It’s what it sounded like.”

“I’m trying to be realistic.”

“About what?”

“About the fact that this cannot continue the way it has.”

The room goes still.

Coffee.