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I opened my mouth, but she was right. This woman was always right.

Coach grunted. “How’s he look overall, Doc?”

Ellie didn’t take her eyes off me. “He’s progressing well. He’s where he should be at this stage.”

“Will he be ready for game three?”

“If he doesn’t overdo it, yes.”

Coach Beecham pushed out a breath. “Good work, Kedish.”

The coaches left, and it was only me and Ellie at the boards.

“Don’t rush this,” she said.

“I wasn’t.”

“Not for playoffs or for your ego. And definitely not because you’re scared of disappearing.”

“We’ve lost one game and won the other. Four losses, and we’re out for the season.” The pressure was building inside me. “I’m not scared of disappearing anymore.”

She lowered her tablet. “What changed?”

The overhead lights hummed. Somewhere, a Zamboni door clanged shut.

I could tell her I wasn’t scared because I’d proven I could heal. That I’d followed her plan, and it had worked.

But that would be a lie.

“You did,” I said. “You changed it.”

Her grip tightened on her tablet. For a second, I thought she might drop it.

She swallowed, her throat working hard. “I’ll be signing off on you before you know it.”

“I’m counting the days.”

We walked out to the parking lot together that evening. The sun was setting, turning everything soft, and the breeze held the scent of flowers. We stopped between our vehicles.

“Are you nervous about playing again?” she asked.

“No.” I was nervous, but not about the game.

“Liar.”

“Maybe a little.”

“You’re going to be great.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m very good at my job, and if I say you’re ready, you are.”

I almost smiled at that. “I won’t argue with you, then. Will you be at the game?”

“Medical staff is usually there.”

“That’s not what I meant.”