Page 60 of Saving Forever with the Hockey Captain

The sentence stalls. I hate that. I hate not knowing how to finish it.

As usual, Annette doesn’t rush in to help. She lets the quiet sit between us.

My chest feels tight, and for once it has nothing to do with ribs or lungs.

“At home,” I finally say, “I’m supposed to know what to do.”

Her face doesn’t change.

That’s one of the things I’ve started respecting most about her. She doesn’t flinch when truth walks into the room.

“You still will,” she says.

“Will I?”

“Yes.”

A pause.

“You’ll do the next right thing.”

I give her a dry look. “That sounds suspiciously like medical advice disguised as life advice.”

“It can be both.”

I look back at the papers.

“Do the exercises.”

“Yes.”

“Take the meds.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t be an idiot.” A pause…“That one isn’t printed, but strongly implied.”

That earns another laugh from me. Softer this time. Careful.

She smiles, then slides the final form toward me. “Orthopedics will be in soon to review the formal restrictions. After that, transport comes. Coach said everything is arranged.”

“Coach has been saying that since yesterday.”

“He means it.”

“I know.” And I do. Coach will have the ride handled. The flight handled. The timing handled. The bag, the medication pickup, the wheelchair. I’m absolutely going to hate all of it.

For once, I don’t have to arrange anything. That should feel like relief, but it doesn’t.

Annette clicks her pen closed. “You don’t have to manage every detail today.”

I look at her. “You say that like it’s easy.”

“No.” Her smile is small. “I say that like it’s necessary.”

I don’t answer. Mostly because she’s right. And because I’m starting to learn that when Annette is right, arguing only wastes energy I apparently need for clock exercises and not being an idiot.

She stands and gathers the extra paperwork. “I’ll give you a few minutes before the surgeon comes in.”