Page 72 of Saving Forever with the Hockey Captain

“Then you don’t have to decide that either.”

I look at her hand, then at her face. Keisha’s expression is gentle now. No teasing. No knowing smile. Just friendship, the kind that tells the truth without demanding an answer.

“I don’t want to be foolish,” I admit.

“Thinking about someone isn’t foolish.”

“It can become foolish.”

“So can trying too hard not to.”

A call light sounds down the hall. Keisha glances toward the door and stands. “That’ll be Mr. I-Can-Put-On-My-Own-Socks.”

“I should get back too.”

She tosses her yogurt container into the trash. “For the record, I liked him.”

“You spoke to him twice.”

“Three times. And he thanked me every time I helped him.”

“He apologizes too much.”

“Maybe. But men who notice the people taking care of them are rare.”

I do not answer. Keisha opens the door, then looks back at me.

“And Annette?”

“Yes?”

“Your face does that little soft thing every time you say his name.”

“My face does not do a thing.”

“It really does.” She disappears into the hall before I can defend myself.

I remain in the break room for another few seconds.

Jamie.

I say his name silently just to prove Keisha wrong, then catch my reflection in the dark microwave door. My expression is softer.

“Traitor,” I mutter to my own face.

By the end of the shift, Room 312 is no longer empty.

A new patient arrives shortly after lunch. Older man. Hip replacement. Anxious wife. Three grown children who all speak at once and ask the same questions in slightly different ways.

The room fills quickly.

A suitcase lands in the chair where Coach sat. Flowers appear on the windowsill. The television plays a little too loudly. Someone asks for another blanket.

The hospital moves forward because that is what hospitals do. Beds fill. Charts change. Names disappear from the board and are replaced by new ones.

By six o’clock, there is no visible sign Jamie Walker was ever there. I pause outside the doorway on my way to the elevator. Only for a second.

The new patient’s wife is helping him adjust his tray table. One of the daughters is arguing with the parking app on her phone. A nurse I barely know is explaining the pain schedule.