Page 55 of Saving Forever with the Hockey Captain

A timid young woman stands in the hallway. Mid-thirties. Tired eyes.

A little boy wheeling a walker peeks around her leg. Maybe eight years old, dark curls and hospital pajamas far too big for his thin frame.

He clutches an old hockey stick across the handles. The tape around the blade is peeling away.

The mother looks embarrassed. "I'm sorry."

She immediately starts backing away. "We don't want to bother you."

Jamie looks up from his book. "You aren't."

She hesitates. "My son..."

The little boy hides behind her again. "He recognized you from his room down the hall."

Jamie smiles. "Did he?"

The mother nods. "We can come back another time."

"You already came." Jamie closes his book and lays it beside him. "I'd call that perfect timing. And what’s your name?" he turns to the little boy.

She gently nudges her son forward. The boy takes two uncertain steps, then stops and says that his name is Robbie.

His eyes never leave Jamie. "Were you really on TV?"

Jamie nods. "A few times."

"I watched your playoff game."

"I remember that one."

"You scored."

"I got lucky."

The boy studies him for another second. Then his gaze drops to Jamie's sling. "Does it hurt?"

The room grows very quiet. Jamie looks at his shoulder. Then back at the boy. "Sometimes."

The boy nods slowly. "So does mine."

Annette's eyes shift instinctively toward the mother who quietly tells her.

Spinal surgery.

Three days ago.

Walker.

Short distances only.

Fear of standing.

Jamie doesn't ask about the diagnosis. He doesn't need to. He simply smiles. "I guess we're teammates."

The little boy blinks. "We are?"

"We're both learning something difficult."