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“Holy shit,” I say. “You’re Wells Montgomery.”
“Hey, man,” he says, and then I’m shaking hands with him, which is fucking surreal. He’s a bit of a legend in the making. He used to play for the Bruins, and he was good. Really good. I was in seventh grade when he was drafted. I had his poster on my wall. Only then he lost his leg in a freak car accident and had to retire. Instead of letting that hold him back, though, he started doing triathlons. He’s a Paralympic gold medalist now. A world champion. The man runs fucking marathons.
“Hi,” I say, and I don’t even bother hiding that I’m more than a little star struck right now.
“Oh look,” Coach says. “I forgot something in my office.”
And then he’s gone.
Wells looks after him with an amused smirk on his face before he turns his attention to me. “The guy’s still emotionally constipated, I see.”
“We got him a birthday present last year,” I say. “I don’t think he’s ever forgiven us for making him give a thank you speech.”
Wells laughs. “Some things never change.” His eyes sweep across the ice, and he takes a deep breath. “Man, I haven’t been back here in years. Is my jersey still up in the hallway?”
“Yeah. Still there.”
“Nice.” He grins before his eyes move down to my leg, then up to my face again. “I’m supposed to be a real-life example that things could be so much worse, if you couldn’t tell.”
“You don’t seem like somebody whose life is going that badly.”
“I’m not. Things are pretty fucking awesome, if I’m honest.” He gestures at the rink. “I’ve made my peace with this. Am I inspiring you to keep fighting yet?”
I choke out a laugh, and he nods at my leg.
“Femur, huh?”
I look down at my leg too, and nod. “A clean break. It’s supposedly a good thing.”
“I wouldn’t know, but I trust the professionals.” He blows out a breath. “Pep talks aren’t really my area of expertise. I’m usually geared toward tough love, so if you’re not into that I’d let me know right about now.” He sends me an expectant look.
When I don’t say anything, he shrugs. “I thought my life was over when I lost my leg and my career in one fell swoop. I spent a year moping in my father’s house. Figured I’d lost everything. You,” he says pointedly, “haven’t lost anything yet. So you do everything you can to get back out there. You give it your all and see what happens. And even if it isn’t what you always planned… Well, take it from somebody who’s living life the way they never planned—that new road might also turn out to be pretty fucking spectacular.”
After that, we’re both quiet for a long time. Wells breathes in and out deeply, a small smile on his face, and I mull over what he said.
“That was actually a decent pep talk,” I say eventually. “You sold yourself short.”
“My husband’s a terrible influence.”
I blink slowly. I know he’s out. But it hits differently right now. It feels more personal.
I could be, too. Out. One day.
“Thanks,” I say slowly.
“Don’t mention it.” He pauses for a moment. “Unless you win the Stanley Cup one of these days. In that case, credit me as your mentor and greatest influence in every interview.”
I laugh and reach out my hand to shake on it.
“Done.”
Hayes and Soren drop me off at home after I’ve treated the whole team and Wells Montgomery to pizza. It’s fucking surreal how life changes from one moment to the next. I almost feel dizzy with the whiplash of going from the lows of the last few weeks to the highs of these last few days. Even the crutches and the slow pace I move at don’t annoy me too much right now. I mean, it’s still fucking annoying, but I’m in a good enough mood that I can ignore it.
I unlock the door and head inside.
Lake is on the bed, leaning against the headboard with one leg crossed over the other, reading through a bunch of notes, and eating an apple.
I climb on the bed, lie on my back, and put my head in his lap. My leg throbs, but I can ignore it for now. I pluck the apple away from him and take a bite.
