Page 63 of Saving Forever with the Hockey Captain

I look up. "You will?"

“I'm heading to Frostholm next week.”

I look at her. “Frostholm?”

“My next rotation. Sports rehabilitation.”

“At the center?”

“Maybe.” She lifts one shoulder. “I know where I'm assigned. I don't know who I'll be working with yet.”

Something in my chest loosens that has nothing to do with broken ribs.

The drive to the airport passes mostly in silence.

Not awkward silence. Comfortable silence. The kind that only exists between people who have spent years riding buses, planes, and snowy highways together.

Coach finally glances over.

"Pain?"

"Manageable."

He nods once. "Good."

Nothing more needs saying.

When we pull through the private entrance to the airport, I expect another SUV.

Maybe an executive sedan.

Instead, the Frostholm Blizzards team jet waits quietly on the tarmac in front of us.

Its blue-and-silver logo gleams against the white fuselage.

I stop walking. Coach notices.

"What?"

"I forgot."

"What?"

"That this isn't normal."

He smiles.

"No, it isn't."

Ground crew members greet us with familiar nods.

Nobody makes a fuss. No photographs. No reporters. Just another injured player going home.

It’s exactly the way it should be.

The cabin door closes behind us with a gentle hiss.

The engines haven't started yet as Coach settles into the seat across the aisle and I carefully lower myself into mine.