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A pang shot through my chest.

They knew I’d read all this. How should I reply? Saying sorry felt too small. Telling them I’d be back soon felt like a promise I couldn’t guarantee. Good luck would feel like I was already giving up on myself and them.

I set the phone down without sending anything.

A week or so of perfect compliance wouldn’t change that I’d already fucked up. That my team was going into battle without me because I couldn’t follow simple directions.

I needed to get home and ice my injury. I’d sit in my apartment. Rest. But sitting alone in my apartment while my team prepared for playoffs without me felt like exactly what I deserved.

When I got home, I did the stretches again. After, I grabbed an ice pack and sat on the couch, staring at the instruction sheet.

The smiley face was still there, right next to the frowny face she’d drawn first.

The change meant something.

It had to.

I pressed the ice pack harder against my hip, the cold burning through the thin fabric of my shorts.

A week of seeing her twice a day. Her hands would be on me, and I’d have to pretend it was just professional. During that time, I also needed to prove I wasn’t the asshole from the picnic.

With the timer set for twenty minutes, I closed my eyes.

A bit later, my phone buzzed with a text.

I found the coffee and donut, Ellie said. You didn’t have to do that.

I wanted to.

There was a long pause, long enough that I thought she wasn’t going to respond.

Thank you, she sent. See you at four.

I’ll be there.

Don’t be late. I’ll draw you a new smiley face.

I stared at that text until my screen went dark.

She’d take time out of her day to draw me another tiny, silly smiley face on a piece of paper that I’d probably have laminated if I could figure out how to do it without looking completely out of my mind.

This had to mean something.

Unless she drew smiley faces for everyone, and I was reading into it because I was desperate for any sign that she didn’t completely hate me.

I set the phone down and did my stretches again, even though I’d already done them twice today, because I needed to process the feeling building in my jaw that I didn’t have words for.

I could do this.

I had to.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

ELLIE

Three days later, I arrived at the therapy pool, my belly doing gymnastics I hadn’t authorized. I’d only been down here once during orientation, when Patty had speed-walked me through every treatment space.

The pool wasn’t large. Maybe fifteen feet across, chest-deep at its deepest point, with an underwater treadmill built into one end and resistance jets along the sides. Rails ran along the shallow steps for patients who needed extra support. The whole space smelled like chlorine and warm tile, but it felt clinical. Which was exactly what I needed.