“Walk with me,” she says.
We move toward the side yard, away from the others. She reaches into her apron pocket and hands me a folded printout.
“What’s this?” I ask, though a part of me already knows.
“The trial I told you about. The regenerative nerve study. Your father’s therapist says that they are seeing improvements with people coming out of the program.”
I smooth the paper open.
Medical terms. The number of their successful patients so far. A ten-year waitlist. The kind of price tag that makes my stomach twist, but it’s nothing I can’t afford, but I know they would have to sell the house to scrape up enough.
There’s something else not listed here that’s the most important of anything.
It’s hope… a chance.
“You want him to apply,” I say.
“I do,” she admits softly. “But he won’t. He’s convinced it’s selfish. We’d have to pull all the equity out of the house, and then our mortgage would be stifling. He doesn’t want to leave me with this kind of debt if something happens to him.”
I close my eyes briefly.
Dad. Always refusing help, always choosing pride over comfort. And more importantly, choosing my mom over his needs.
“I’ll look into it,” I say. “Talk to the doctors, see what the process actually requires to apply. And I’ll cover the cost. I told you last night when I handed you that check. I wouldn’t be who I am or where I am without the sacrifices you made. Hockey isn’t a cheap sport.”
“Yes, but we never wanted you to worry about that. You loved it, and we just wanted you to be happy.”
“I know, but now I see the kind of parents I could have had,” I say, glancing back at Katerina on the porch, hugging my younger sisters goodbye, “…and this is something I can do in return. If this could give him a chance, then it’s worth it. I can’t promise I can get him in, but I’m going to try.”
Her eyes shine as her hand trembles a little.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
When we walk back toward the truck, Katerina is waiting by the passenger door, watching me, like she knows something shifted but won’t push until I offer it.
Once we’re on the road, I tell her the basics.
Her hand finds my forearm on the middle console. “I hope he gets in,” she says, and I know she means it.
I swallow hard. “Yeah. Me too.”
Chapter Fifteen
KATERINA
It’s been three days since we got back from Montana, and still nothing from the Pacific Northwest Ballet company, but that doesn’t stop me from checking every five seconds.
I walk out of my bedroom, knowing that Scottie has already left this morning, headed to the stadium. There’s a home gametonight, and it’s my first time watching Scottie and my brother skate in the Hawkeyes stadium in person.
I pull the long strap of my purse and crisscross it over my chest as I head towards the door to meet the girls at Serendipity's for coffee and to discuss new events and tonight's game.
As I head for the door, I see a bouquet of pink tulips that weren’t there last night and there, on the kitchen island—folded with surprising care for a man as large and chaotic as Scottie—is a Hawkeyes jersey.
It’s not Luka’s.
It’s Scottie’s. And in my size.
My heart thumps a little harder at the sight of it. He did this for me.
