“Oh yeah. I was actually with Dirks yesterday to help him practice, but yeah, two days in a row, and I’m not used to it.”
He chuckled, and I grabbed some stray pucks and headed off the rink toward the rest of our stuff.
“I gotta head back to the office and do paperwork. Did your mom tell you to pick up Evie?”
“Yeah. Mom said I didn’t need to be there until three-fifteen.”
Ledger smiled and gave me a pat on the shoulder. “We really appreciate the help.”
This was awkward. I never had a male figure growing up, and even though Ledger had been in my life for six years, I couldn’t really explain our relationship.
“Oh, uh,” I stammered, not sure where to start, but I needed to ask him about the insurance situation, knowing my mom wasn’t paying me enough to cover the costs. “I wanted to ask you something.”
“Anything.” Ledger started to grab the bag of extra pucks and sticks, and we walked in our skates down to the locker rooms.
“Um, so—” Why the fuck was this so hard? I needed to use or find my words and ask him. It was simple at its core, so why did I feel like I had to tread lightly?
Ledger, likely sensing my discomfort, shot me a quizzical look and sat on the benches. He started to unlace his skates. “Is everything okay?”
“No, yeah, everything’s fine.” I sighed and took a deep breath. “Listen. I wanted to talk to you about health insurance and stuff...”
This should’ve been a normal conversation to have with my employer. And Ledgerwasmy employer. So why was it so damn hard? With him and my mom, I always felt judged, like they still saw me as the kid who always messed things up. Did I screw things up with Nova? Abso-fucking-lutely. Did I throw away my career because of my addiction? Also, yes.
I spent years—notmonths, years—working to get better. And yet, when no one met me at the airport or filled me in on basic things, like whether I had insurance through the job, it reminded me there was still this wall between us. Like they weren’t sure if I was steady enough to count on.
“I need to figure out my health insurance stuff. I had an appointment with my doctor yesterday, and they gave me a three-month supply of my meds, but I need the insurance to kick in. Otherwise I won’t be able to get to my therapy without payingout of my ass.” I intentionally left out the part about what meds I was on.
Ledger shook his head and let out a sardonic laugh. “Dude.”
“Dude?” I repeated, tension rising in my chest.
Nothing about this was funny to me, so I didn’t understand why it seemed like a joke to him. I wasn’t catching any punchline.
“I thought it was clear this was a part-time job?” Ledger raised his eyebrow in question. “There’s no health insurance. We can’t offer that. Most of what we do is for families in need, and a lot of the coaches here are volunteers. I only offered to pay you because I knew your mom wanted you here, and we had a spot for a paid coach?—”
I sat down and ripped off my skates, swallowing the lump in my throat and fighting the burn in my eyes. The pressure in my chest was building, crawling up my neck. There wasnohealth insurance. Nobody told me any of this when they asked me to uproot my life and move here from California.
I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I couldn’t speak without feeling like I was choking on a boulder lodged in my throat.
“I... My mom’s,” I muttered, shoving my skates into my bag, desperate to get out of the room. It felt suffocatingly tight, and I couldn’t catch my breath.
“What happened with that?”
I shrugged, keeping my eyes on the floor. “I turned twenty-six and got kicked off.”
“You could pay for it out of pocket?”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, no. I don’t have any money left after everything that’s happened.”
Ledger stood and placed a hand on my shoulder, but I jerked away, refusing to let him see how close I was to breaking down.
“I... I need to go pick up Evie.” I grabbed my bag and headed for the door. Just before leaving, I paused, keeping my back to him. “See you at home, or maybe tomorrow at my part-time job.”
“Austin—”
I didn’t wait to hear what else he had to say. I didn’t care. I was alone in all this without therapy or medicine. It was just me, and I could barely trust myself still, even after all the hard work.
I couldn’t go back to therapy. My meds would run out. All I had was three months... and then nothing.
