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Out the corner of my eye, I can see Brooks’ pleased smile.
****
It doesn’t take me long to realize that being retired is boring. Like,reallyboring.
I spent the first few days at Brooks’ house, which I’ve yet to actually start calling home, puttering around and tying up loose ends. I’d had to call my agent, who put out a formal statement that I was retiring and withdrawing from the Olympic qualifiers. Apparently, I was already getting job offers from elite snowboard schools to coach, but after a conversation with Brooks and my brothers over dinner, I realized I really wanted a break.
The next morning, all my gear and four full bins of multicolored snow pants had vanished from the garage and Brooks told me he’d boxed it all up and put it in his storage unit for when I was ready.
My father has apparently been grilling Lake, correctly convinced he knows where I am, but Lake says he’s been informing him that I’ll reach out when I’m ready. If I’m ever ready.
The part of me that’s been desperate to make River Jacobs proud of me is itching to reach out to him and salvage whatever scraps are left of our relationship in the shattered wreckage of my career.
Another part, the part that’s backed by the unwavering support of my brothers and Brooks, doesn’t want to see or speak to him ever again. Removed from the crushing pressure I feltfrom Dad every day of my life, I realize that Bay was right when he said how messed up our family is.
I love snowboarding, I do, but Dad neveraskedif I wanted to do it eight hours a day. He never asked if I wanted to forgo high school or push through injuries against the advice of my doctors, stick to crazy dietary plans or be anything in the world other than a professional snowboarder.
If he had, I’m not sure what my answer would have been.
Would I have chosen this for myself?
As I lay flat on the exam table in Brooks’ office, gritting my teeth against the latest injection into my battered hip, somehow, I doubt it.
“Done.” Brooks says smoothly, and I hear the familiar sound of the needle falling into the red bin on the wall and Brooks snapping his gloves off. He’s back beside me almost instantly, taking my hand in his and gently massaging the injection site. “You did great, sweetheart. So good.”
I love it when he calls me that. I’ve never been“sweetheart”to anyone before. My Dad and brothers always called me DJ and to my grandparents, on the infrequent occasions they check in and risk incurring their son’s wrath, I’m Delta-Mae.
Forcing myself to breathe evenly, the pain begins to fade, and I open my eyes. Brooks is looking down at me, his expression tortured. “Hey, I’m okay.” I squeeze his hand reassuringly. “We’re old pros at this.”
He helps me sit up and diverts his eyes as I recover my lap with the paper sheet. “I’m supposed to be comfortingyou.” He grumbles, shaking his head as he busies himself clearing up the medical supplies on little metal table beside me.
“This is nothing compared to the surgery.” I remind him with a little laugh, even though it’s not really funny. We haven’t discussed scheduling the surgery he’s been hinting I need since before my accident. The qualifiers are in two weeks, and thereality that I’m not competing is finally starting to sink in. I’m not scared of Brooks cutting me open and fixing me anymore, on the contrary I’m almost excited. The pain I’ve been in feels like the last thing holding me back from moving on.
I could take art classes, get a normal job,date.
My heart flutters at the last one, imagining myself sitting across a table from Brooks, wearing a pretty dress, and he’s looking at me like hewants me.
Brooks shoulders stiffen when I mention the surgery through, and when he turns back to face me, I can see the internal battle waging inside him. “What?” I ask, a little alarmed. “Can I not get it now, or-“
He shakes his head immediately. “Of course, you can.You should.I just don’t think I should be the one to do it.”
I blink, trying to wrap my mind around what he just said. Brooks has been my doctor for three years, welive together, why wouldn’t he want to be the one? “But.” I say lamely. “I want it to be you.”
But Brooks won’t meet my eyes now. He’s fiddling with the computer in the corner, updating my chart, and the usual warmth between us is suddenly ice cold. Pain aside, this is the first time I’ve felt uncomfortable in this cold, clinical room.
Is he sick of having me around already? Is this his way of telling me he doesn’t want me in his house, in his practice? My throat tightens more and more the longer he takes to reply.
The paper on the table crinkles as I shift anxiously and it’s perhaps this sign of my discomfort that makes Brooks look up, his eyebrows pulling together at the look on my face.
“Delta.” He’s at my side again, looking stricken. “Sweetheart, this isn’t about you at all. It’s about me. My ability to be… impartial.”
“What do you mean?” I ask feebly, wrapping my arms around myself.
Brooks rakes a hand through his hair, making him look slightly more human in his white coat and pressed shirt. He’s always so put together here, even when he’s upset or grim, the talented Dr. Harrison doesn’t lose his composure for a second.
“We’ll talk about it another time.” He finally tells me after a pause. “You need to trust me on this, Delta. I’ll set up a consult with Dr. Walters. She’s excellent, I trust her completely to take good care of you.” His hand raises just a little, like he’s going to touch me, then falls back to his side just as fast.
“Alright.” I agree because what else am I supposed to say? “Are we still on for later?” He’s been teaching me to drive for weeks and with my test coming up, we’ve been practicing every spare moment. He even made me go to the DMV to get a permit before we started.
