“Felt fine. No pain at all.” One of the only lingering issues with my hand after reconstructive surgery is that when I bend my wrist a certain wayandput pressure on it, it aches. So we’ve been doing different exercises over the past week and a half to rebuild my strength and get my hand ready for the force I’ll need to exert on my stick.
Given how extensive the injuries were to my bones, I was incredibly lucky that there was no nerve or tissue damage in my hand. I certainly learned my lesson about trying to break up someone else’s drunken fight in a crowded bar.
Maybe that’s why AJ asking me to serve as the other alternate captain rubs me the wrong way—last time I tried to do the right thing, I got a year on IR.
“That’s great,” Jared says, glancing around the empty training room. It was packed earlier, but we’re the last ones here. “You ready to be back on the ice tomorrow?”
“Beyond ready.” I’ve skated more this past summer than any summer before. I worked on my stick handling skills and practiced shooting until I felt as confident as ever, and did skating drills until I thought my legs would give out under me.
Yet I haven’t gone up against other players, because that was considered too dangerous to my recovery—one wrong hit to my hand before I was done rehabbing it would have ensured I was out another season. So facing off with my teammates at training camp tomorrow will be the true test of whether I’m as ready for my return as I told AJ I was.
“Good. Leave that kinesiology tape on it overnight to keep it stable. Then see me first thing tomorrow morning and I’ll retape it for practice.”
We decide on a time to meet, and I turn to head out of the room so I can go shower, only to find Morgan standing in the door to the hallway. She’s wearing a dress that hits just below her knees. It’s a deep green that plays off the golden streaks in her hair, which hangs in loose waves around her shoulders, except for the pieces of hair above her ears that are braided and pulled back behind her head. She’s gorgeous standing there looking fancier than I’d expect for work, but incredibly pissed off, too.
Jared gives her a nod and heads into the office off the training room, shutting the door behind him. I run my palm up my forehead and push my hair off my face because the sweat is starting to drip into my eyes.
“Why do I feel like I’m in trouble?” I joke. It’s been nearly two weeks since I last saw her, despite looking for her every time I’m here. The less I see of her, the more I’m thinking of her.
Morgan rolls her eyes. “Shouldyou be in trouble?”
“I usually am. And you just look so... pissed off?”Well, this is awkward.
“Go ahead, tell me to smile,” she says, lifting her chin. “It’s been a while since I had a reason to punch anyone.”
“Someone’s feisty today.” My chuckle does not seem to relax her.
“I don’t have time for this right now. I need a quick video of you to add to theRenaud Returnscompilation we’re posting tomorrow.” Morgan emphasizesRenaud Returnslike it’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard. “Can you just... pretend to be working out, or something?”
I lift an eyebrow at her. “What’s really going on here?”
“Nothing. Is a girl not allowed to be in a bad mood?” Her tone is flippant and I have to bite back a smile because she’s adorable when she’s pissy like this.
“AmIthe cause of your bad mood?”
“No.” She takes a deep breath like she’s grounding herself. Then she shakes her head slightly, lets out her breath, and admits, “I agreed to have dinner with my mom tonight.”
“Is she here with Max?” I met him for coffee yesterday morning before his conference started, but he didn’t mention Anne being here too. Then again, I didn’t mention working with Morgan, either. It was a very quick visit and he was mostly peppering me with questions about how I’m settling back into my place in the city, how my hand is doing now that I’m training more intensely, and whether I’m looking forward to being back on the ice.
“Yeah, for that conference.”
“Why did you agree to dinner with her if you didn’t want to go?”
She sighs and says, “Because she’s making an effort to see me.”
I cross my arms over my chest and note the way her eyes track the length of one bicep, along my folded forearms, and up the other bicep.
I think of all the ways I saw Morgan trying to be a good daughter in Bermuda, when Anne was so clearly not being a good mother. “I’ve seen theeffortyour mom makes and how she treats you.”
Her laugh is humorless. “You should see how she acts when it’s just the two of us.”
“Morgan. Why do you keep doing this to yourself?” I try to keep my tone from sounding patronizing, but really... why?
She reaches into the pocket of her dress and pulls out a package of Nerds Gummy Clusters. She shakes the bumpy rainbow-colored candies into her cupped hand and holds it out to me. “Want some?”
I generally try to avoid things that are artificially flavored and colored, but our nutritionist isn’t around to reprimand me, so I reach out and take a few, popping them in my mouth and trying not to make a face at the overbearing sweetness. “Haven’t had Nerds since I was a kid.”
“These are like little stress relief pills for me. Not the healthiest choice, but better than some other alternatives, I guess. So, anyway, can you go and pretend to lift some weights or something so I can snap a few photos to send off to Natalie for tomorrow’s post?”
