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We enter the suite and while it’s pretty full, one of the wives nudges her kids who’ve claimed the seats in front, and they scamper. We take their places, and I look down over the ice from a different perspective than usual.
“Does it feel weird?” Petal asks, tugging on my hand.
“Yeah,” I say, taking it all in.
I’m looking at the fans and players from this bird’s eye view, when heads start turning in my direction and people start pointing.
“Look!” Petal says. “You’re on the jumbotron.”
The crowd starts to cheer as they spot me in the suite. I’m so taken aback by the greeting that Petal has to nudge me to wave.
Now the team has figured out I’m up here too, and they’re waving with thumbs up and shaking fists.
Jesus. To think only an hour ago I was at home sulking, wallowing in self-pity like my life was over. This shit is humbling, and my eyes fill with tears.
I wave one last time and I wonder when I got so lucky.
And then I realize I have been, all along.
60
RAKE
“You’re good to go.Cleared. I’ll get the paperwork started and the staff will work with you to return to training.”
I look at the team physician and feel like he’s telling me I won the lottery. I guess in some respects, I have.
My world, which has been on hold, starts to feel normal again, even though I’m still sitting on an exam table and Petal’s standing across the room with her arms crossed, one hip against the wall. She’s wearing a small smile and I know when we get outside she’s going to tell me she knew all along things would be fine.
And just like that, my life is back on track. Like hitting the play button on a music app, the song starts up like it never even stopped.
To say relief is washing over me is an understatement. Sure, I’ve known for some time I was on the path to recovery, but every athlete knows not to take that for granted. Shit happens, and then your career is over.
In addition to relief, I’m feeling gratitude—to myself, yes, for following my treatment plan like I was born to—but especially to this woman smirking at me from across the room, who is so damned sexy in her rolled-up jeans, red Converse high tops, and T-shirt that says ‘Women Who Read Are Dangerous.’
The red Chucks are new. When I saw her old ones had a hole in the bottom, I threw them out and ordered her a new pair. She griped about having to break them in, but I told her no wife of mine is going to run around San Francisco with holes in her shoes. She said no husband of hers is going to tell her what to wear, so I guess we’re even.
She blows my mind. Here’s a woman who can have any number of shoes she wants, and yet she wears holey sneakers.
She’s been my rock through this whole thing. The nights I laid in bed, sleepless, she’d stay up with me, sometimes reading to me from her romance novels. I am not kidding.
I’ve gotten to where I kind of like it. I can always pick out the ‘grand gesture’ now.
Her solid optimism has become a kind of fuel for me, kicking my ass through painful physical therapy sessions, pushing me through the fear that comes with an injury.
The team doctor drones on about how to ease back into play, to not overdo it, yada, yada. I’m honestly dying to lace on some skates and fly around the rink to feel the cool air on my face, but I know I have to wait a little longer before I can go gonzo on all that. Getting sidelined will show a guy he’s not invincible. I have to listen to the professionals.
Petal and I are quiet as we return to the car with our forefingers locked together instead of full-on holding hands. But as soon as we’re out in the sunshine, I pull her to me, and we hold each other.
“Baby,” I say into her hair, “no one’s ever done for me what you have. I’m sorry for every time I was a difficult asshole. I’ll never do that again, no matter what kind of injury I’m facing.”
She pulls back to look at me. “I know you won’t.”
Of course she says that.
“You did it,” she adds.
“Mmmm, no.Wedid it.” I get behind the wheel of my Range Rover, happy to be driving again after being chauffeured around for weeks.
