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Nervousness oozes from her pores, but why would she feel that way?
The first thing that catches my eye as I start reading the article is her name. Luz Maria Rodriguez. Twelve years old at the time of the accident. Just a child when she took an illegal hit during a game that caused a nonpenetrating spinal cord injury. I’m not entirely sure what that means until farther down in the article. The swelling meant she’d lost her ability to move and even control of her bowel and bladder.
An experimental treatment developed by our very own St. Cloud scientists, involving the injection of her own stem cells into the damaged area, was only partially responsible for her recovery. The biggest miracle, as explicitly mentioned in the article, came from her own willpower and the grueling physical therapy sessions she endured for more than two years.
And look at her now. Captain of the very first class of the women’s hockey team at St. Cloud. There should be more articles about this. Heck, there should be a whole book and a movie.
I turn my attention back to her. Luz hides the lower half of her face behind the sleeves of her hoodie. “Yeah, real sexy, huh? Couldn’t even hold my pee in.”
“Luz.” Her name comes out sharper than I’d like, but it does clamp her jaw shut. “Do you even understand how incredible you are?”
“I—what?”
I regret having pulled my hand to hold her laptop and scroll through the article at the same time. Instead, I wish I were hugging her.
“You’re amazing. What you’ve overcome is… wow. I have no words.” I huff, angry that I don’t have a better capacity to communicate what I feel right now. Awe. Admiration. My chest swells, as if her victory over terrible adversity was mine. But that’s ridiculous. She went through this six years ago. She probably still suffers the consequences. And yet she still fights.
“You’re not grossed out? Or pity me?”
My eyes bulge. “Why the hell would I?”
“That’s usually how guys react. Especially when my chronic pain flares up, and suddenly, I’m not so fun anymore.” She bites her lip.
My whole face scrunches up. “You just tell me where those dipshits are, and I’ll bash their noses in. No. You wanna know how I really feel right now?”
“How?”
The fact that her voice comes out in a little thread makes me angrier at whomever caused her to feel insecure about this. Is it because of the level of detail the articles go into about her ordeal? Or because they don’t wanna accommodate her? Because anyone who meets her should only ever feel?—
“I’m proud. Of you. Of how you pulled through something so terrifying I can’t even comprehend it. I’m blown away that someone as amazing as you would give me the time of the day.”
For the first time since the topic came up, her lips curve into the tiniest smile. “Well, I didn’t do it all on my own. My medical team was amazing—professionals from all over the world. And because the treatment was experimental, the hospital bankrolled it all. Obviously, my family supported me too. They were there every step of the way. But it was my PT who really made a difference. She never gave up, even when I felt like quitting.”
“Ah, so that’s why.”
“Yes.” Light has returned to her eyes. I love to see it there. “Because of this, the injury and the chronic pain, my hockey career will be over sooner rather than later. So after that, I want to help people like she helped me. The unique selling point of my PT center will be that I also want to help the patients’ families. I want to train them so they can continue helping their injured loved ones even after they can no longer afford my services.”
“So that’s why you want it to be a non-profit organization in a marginalized community.”
“Exactly!”
If I were rich, I’d pour all my money into it just to see her smile like this forever.
“Did I already say you’re amazing?”
Tinker Bell takes her laptop back. “Stop. You’re gonna make me blush.”
“You’ve been blushing all afternoon, for the record.”
“What’s this?”
We both jump as a new voice joins us.
Somehow, without either of us noticing, Nate and Conor have approached. Their eyes bounce from Tinker Bell to me, back and forth.
I put on my poker face, even though my heart’s working as fast as a rabbit’s.
“Hey, guys. What’s up?”
