Page 95 of Saving Forever with the Hockey Captain

Neither of us speaks for a minute. The quiet isn't awkward anymore. Just comfortable. She hands me a bottle of water. I accept it with my right hand.

Progress. Small. But progress.

She waits until I've taken a drink. "Rough morning?"

I stare at the bottle. "What makes you think that?"

"You've apologized four times."

"I have?"

She nods. "You also keep clenching your jaw every time something hurts."

I hadn't realized. "I guess I'm not hiding it very well."

"No." She smiles gently. "You usually do."

I look out the window. Snowflakes drift lazily across the parking lot. A father helps a little girl zip her bright red coat before lifting her into the back seat of a car. Simple. Ordinary. For some reason, it makes my chest ache.

"We drove past the arena."

The words come quietly, almost before I know I'm speaking.

Annette doesn't interrupt.

"They were heading in for morning skate."

I laugh once. Without humor. "I was heading here."

"You were."

"It felt..." I search for the word. "Wrong."

She lets the silence settle. Not trying to fix it. Not trying to convince me I'm wrong. Just listening.

"I keep thinking they're moving on without me."

"They are." I look over. She meets my eyes steadily. "They have to."

The honesty catches me off guard. "So do you." Another silence. Longer this time.

"I'm trying."

"I know."

"I don't feel like I'm getting anywhere."

She glances at my chart. Then she closes it, not because she's finished, but because the numbers suddenly don't matter.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Last week..."

She folds her hands loosely in her lap.

"...could you lift your arm high enough to take a coffee mug out of a cabinet?"