Page 73 of Saving Forever with the Hockey Captain

Life has already moved into the space he left behind. I should find that reassuring. Instead, I feel the strangest little ache. Get a grip, Annette. I whisper.

The elevator doors open. Outside, the late-afternoon air is sharp enough to sting my cheeks. Snow has started again, fine white flakes drifting beneath the parking lot lights.

I pull my coat tighter and head toward my car. Halfway there, my phone feels heavy in my pocket. I tell myself I am checking the time.

I am not. Jamie’s contact information is still in my phone from discharge coordination. I open it before I can talk myself out of it.

Jamie Walker. A phone number. Nothing else. My thumb hovers over the message icon. I could ask whether the flight went well, if his pain is manageable, whether he remembered his breathing exercises.

All perfectly reasonable questions. All questions someone else on his official care team can ask.

I open the message box.

Type, How was the flight?

Stare at it.

Delete it.

“He was a patient,” I remind the empty parking lot.

The words sound sensible. Professional. Safe.

I slide the phone back into my pocket and unlock the car. Somewhere between the hospital and Frostholm, Jamie Walker is probably arguing with Coach, ignoring at least one instruction and pretending he is not worried about the team.

The thought brings a small smile before I can stop it.

I hope Walker Rehabilitation assigns him to me.

Chapter nine

Jamie

No Captain Left Behind

Nobody tells you how loud silence becomes after hockey.

The cabin isn't empty not really. The refrigerator hums, the old furnace clicks on every few minutes, and wind rattles softly through the pines outside.

Normal sounds.

Ordinary sounds.

The problem is... they're not locker-room sounds.

No sticks bouncing against concrete. No laughter echoing through the hallway. No skates carving circles across fresh ice. No Liam singing off-key because he knows it annoys everybody. No Toby arguing with the equipment manager about tape. And no Coach pretending not to hear any of it.

Just...quiet.

I've tried watching hockey. Lasted four minutes. Long enough to see the opening faceoff.

Not long enough to keep the television on. Now it sits dark across the room.

My coffee has gone cold again. Apparently, that's becoming a habit. I pick up the mug.

Take one sip anyway.

Still terrible.