Page 39 of Saving Forever with the Hockey Captain

That feels infinitely harder to explain.

Notes

Chapter five

Jamie

The Man Behind the Captain

For the first time since the collision, I wake up before the pain does. Not by much.

The ache settles across my shoulder a heartbeat later, followed by the familiar complaint from my ribs every time I breathe too deeply.

Still... I'll take aching over agony. Progress.

Morning sunlight spills across the foot of the bed, turning the polished floor almost gold. I lie there for another minute, listening to the hospital wake up around me. Funny, hospitals have their own rhythm.

A week ago, I would've hated sitting still long enough to notice it.

Now...I know exactly which floorboard outside my room squeaks. I push the blankets aside and sit up slowly. Better today Not easy. But better. Small victories.

Annette would probably appreciate that phrase. The thought catches me off guard.

When did I start narrating my recovery in Annette's voice?

I shake my head. The chair in the corner holds yesterday's clothes, neatly folded after she'd helped me wrestle my T-shirt over the sling. I can manage that today now that I know the injured arm goes in first. At least...I think I can.

Getting dressed takes longer than I'd like to admit, but this time I’ll make it without asking for help.

The shirt still requires a few creative contortions and language that would've earned me a penalty in Sunday school, but eventually the fabric settles where it's supposed to.

Victory. Tiny. Still counts.

I glance around the room. The bed looks like it lost a fight. The breakfast tray from earlier still sits untouched near the window. A blanket has slipped onto the floor. I frown. Nobody should have to clean up after me like that

Using my good hand, I tug the blanket back onto the bed and smooth it into something that vaguely resembles order. Not perfect, but good enough.

The breakfast tray is next. It's only a few steps. I lift it carefully. My ribs immediately object. "I heard you the first time," I mutter.

One slow step. Another. I reach the counter without dropping anything.

See? Perfectly manageable. The room tilts just enough to remind me I'm not quite as recovered as I'd convinced myself. The tray wobbles. Before gravity can make the decision for me, another pair of hands steadies it. "I was wondering how long you'd last."

I look up. Annette. Travel mug in one hand. The other keeps my breakfast from decorating the floor.

"I almost made it."

"I noticed."

Together we lower the tray onto the bedside table. She doesn't take it away. She doesn't sigh dramatically. She simply waits until I'm sitting again before speaking.

"You know..." Her voice carries the faintest hint of amusement. "...recovering isn't a competition."

I lean back against the pillows. "You've clearly never met a hockey player."

For one perfect second...she tries not to laugh.

She loses.