Page 88 of Saving Forever with the Hockey Captain

He turns. “Nobody skates a full game with one stride.”

For a second, he just looks at me. Then the corner of his mouth lifts.

“You make those up as you go?”

“Sometimes.”

“I knew it.”

“I also know hockey players.”

“That part is becoming obvious.”

His first real smile of the day appears. Small. Tired.

But real.

The tension eases from the room. Elise looks between us with the kind of expression that says she is filing away more than clinical information.

I pretend not to notice.

Jamie sits again, careful and slow.

This time, when Elise says we’re done, he doesn’t argue.

He only nods.

That nod may be the biggest victory of the morning.

Chapter eleven

Jamie

The Things We Can’t Do Alone

The first thing I notice is the silence.

I lie still beneath the blankets, staring at the ceiling while yesterday’s therapy introduces itself one aching muscle at a time.

My shoulder feels locked in place and my ribs aren’t much happier. Even my fingers seem stiff.

Wonderful.

I turn my head toward the clock. 5:12 a.m.

Too early to be awake, too late to fall back asleep.

I close my eyes anyway.

Nothing changes.

The soreness has settled deeper overnight, a slow burn that makes every movement feel less like progress and more like punishment.

Yesterday had gone well. At least, that’s what everyone said. A little more motion, a little less guarding, a little more control.

Apparently, my body missed the meeting. I push the blankets aside and sit up slowly. The movement takes longer than it should. Everything does now.

Tasks I used to complete without thinking have turned into careful negotiations between pain, patience, and whatever dignity I still have left before breakfast.