“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it, Beaumont. You’re supposed to be leadership material. Leaders don’t hide injuries. Leaders don’t put personal glory ahead of team welfare.”
“I’m benching you for the rest of the season,” Coach continues. “Medical leave. No practice, no games, no team activities until you’re cleared by an orthopedic surgeon.”
“Coach—”
“I’m also recommending you to the scouts anyway.”
I freeze. “What?”
“You heard me. I’m sending footage of you from early season, before you were playing hurt. I’m writing a letter explaining the injury, the recovery timeline, your leadership qualities. I’m making sure they know you’re worth drafting despite the setback.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Beaumont, you’re one of the most talented players I’ve ever coached. But talent means nothing if you destroy yourself before you make it to the pros. I’d rather have you healthy and drafted in the second round than broken and not drafted at all.”
“But the Beaumont legacy?—”
“Fuck the Beaumont legacy. You’re not your father. You’re not your brother. You’re Ryder Beaumont, and you’re allowed to be your own person with your own timeline.”
The words crack something open in my chest.
“Thank you,” I manage.
“Don’t thank me. Just heal. Actually heal and when you come back, come back stronger and smarter.”
“I will. I promise.”
I leave his office feeling lighter than I have in months. The season’s over for me, but my career isn’t. The legacy continues, but on my terms.
Maya’s waiting in the corridor.
“How did it go?”
“Better than expected. He’s supporting me. Actually supporting me.”
She grins. “Told you the truth works.”
“You’re annoyingly right about things.”
“Get used to it.”
I kiss her, right there in the empty corridor, not caring who sees. Because I’m done hiding. Done pretending. Done destroying myself for expectations that were never mine to carry.
Epilogue Maya
Three months later.
Spring has arrived at Thornhill, one day everything is gray and cold, the next the quad is covered in flowers and students are sprawled on the grass pretending winter never happened.
Ryder’s shoulder is healing. Slowly,, but healing. The orthopedic surgeon cleared him for light practice two weeks ago, and I’ve never seen anyone so happy to do basic skating drills. He does his PT exercises religiously now, doesn’t push too hard, actually listens to his body.
It’s strange watching him be gentle with himself. Strange and beautiful and sometimes hard because it reminds me how far I still have to go in my own recovery.
But I’m trying. That’s what Dr. Williams says matters most, not that I’m healed, but that I’m trying.
The nightmares are less frequent now. Not gone, maybe they’ll never be gone, but I’ve gone three nights in a row without waking up in the bathtub. That’s progress. Small progress, but Dr. Williams says all progress counts.
