I let his laughter trail after me, carrying the warmth of it as I get to my next task. It feels like proof that he’s moving forward, one step at a time.
10
TEDDY
DECEMBER 10
“Room service,” a voice calls from the doorway. I’d recognize it in my sleep.
My mouth tips up before I can stop it. “Get in here already.”
Footsteps cross the floor in long, confident strides. I picture Jasper without even trying—that stupid signature grin plastered across his face, the one that used to drive me nuts when he beat me at anything off-ice. He’s definitely wearing his purple Peacocks hoodie like he was born to play for them. The image is sharp in my mind. My brain fills in the missing pieces because that’s what it does these days, reaching for the familiar in the middle of all the uncertainty.
“I’d hug you,” he says when he stops beside the bed and his voice softens, “but I don’t want to break you.”
I force a grin, though my body already aches in warning. “I’ll risk it. Unless you’ve gone soft playing for the Peacocks and can’t hug worth a damn anymore.”
I don’t actually care if it hurts. I just need my best friend right now. I need a physical touch that isn’t part of my care.
Arms close around me, strong but careful. The pressure tugs against sore muscles in my chest and ribs, making me wince, but I hold on tighter anyway. For a blissful moment, I forget about the hospital, the IV drip at my side, and the void that never leaves.
It’s me and Jasper, like it’s always been. Two close friends like brothers.
When he finally lets go, I’m breathless. Not from the force of his grip, but from everything the embrace meant. “I needed that.”
“Me too,” Jasper admits in a whisper, his voice breaking. “I missed you so much, brother. I thought…fuck, I thought the worst for a moment there.”
I press the heels of my hands against my eyes, useless as the gesture is. But it gives me something to do with the rush of emotion clawing at my insides. “Yeah,” I rasp out. “I didn’t know if I’d get to see you again.”
My friend coughs to clear his throat. “I’m so glad you’re still here with us.”
“Same,” I agree with a smile.
“Glad we can agree on one thing.”
A loud thud hits the dresser following his statement. I turn to the sound. “What was that?”
“A gift basket from the guys. They pooled together to send it. There’s snacks and a couple things I shouldn’t spoil until you open it.”
“They didn’t have to do that.”
“Yeah, they did. You’re still their, well,ourguy.”
I nod and swallow hard, forcing the lump down. Damn, I’m an emotional mess lately, and that isnotmy normal setting. “I’ll open it later.”
“Not sure the nurses would approve of half the contents, though, so you better be careful who you ask to help.”
That earns a genuine chuckle from me. “Bet you never thought you’d visit me here.”
“I always figured if you landed in the hospital, it’d be because you tried to fight a vending machine that ate your dollar or something just as stupid.” His following laugh rumbles deep in his chest. “But it’s good to see you’re getting back on your feet. How’s the recovery going? Don’t even try to sugarcoat or bullshit me. I know you too well.”
The question digs deeper than he probably means it to. “My body doesn’t know what the hell it’s doing, and I’m learning everything from scratch.”
“That’s how it was when you learned to skate, too, wasn’t it? It took some time, but you figured it out. You always do, no matter what.”
His faith in me is as irritating as it is comforting. “Yeah, we’ll see. I started physio yesterday.”
My mind flashes back to the session with Rosemary, one of the physiotherapists. The feel of the different canes in my hand, the hollow tap of the one I picked against the mat, her steady voice coaching me to take one more step.Just one more.The rhythm of it comes back—tap, step, breathe—and with it, the frustration of stumbling forward like a toddler learning towalk. I hated every second of the exercise, hated how unsteady my body felt and how much I missed the certainty of skates under my feet.
