“Yeah,” he says finally. “Being an athlete is not just about the wins and good moments. It’s about the years of training to get better, the pain and everything else people don’t see. It’s about pushing yourself when everything feels stacked against you.”
I know what he means, but I’m not ready to talk about Ice Cross yet. It isn’t the right moment to share my other passion in addition to nursing. Instead, I ask if he wants help with his socks. At his nod, I crouch carefully as he sits on the edge of the bed. He lifts one leg with visible effort, favoring his right side.
I catch a glimpse of another tattoo; a small, simple lightning bolt on his left ankle. It’s almost tucked away, like an afterthought, and it seems out of place among the bolder designs climbing up his calves. The contrast throws me for a second, but that’s not the only thing strange about the ink. I have the exact same tattoo on my body. Mine’s on my ribs on the left side, hidden and private.What are the odds?
“And the one on your ankle?” I ask, unable to keep the curiosity or the tremor in my voice out of the question.
Teddy glances down like he forgot it was there, his brows knitting briefly before smoothing out. “I wanted something to remind me that even in the hardest stretches, one spark can turn the whole game around.”
“It’s a reminder to keep fighting.” I manage, even if I’m stunned.
He smiles. “Exactly.”
“This might sound insane,” I blurt before I can stop myself, “but I have an almost identical design on my left side. I got it for a similar reason when I turned twenty-one. My mom has a matching one.”
His eyebrows shoot up, genuine surprise marking his face. “No way.”
“Way,” I breathe out, feeling dazed. “I’m freaking out.”
“Good freakout or bad freakout?”
“It remains to be seen,” I admit, pressing a hand to my ribs as if I can feel the ink burning beneath the skin. “But it certainly feels important.”
“It surely does.”
I hand him a shirt next, my attention on his naked upper body. The remaining bruises are faint and stand out more, sobering proof of what he’s endured. The Cup tattoo looks almost unreal against the mottled skin. And yet, despite the damage, Teddy stands tall.
“I admire your strength,” I say with care.
Teddy pulls the shirt over his head with a faint grunt. “Thanks,” he mutters, giving me a small smile. “I’m still trying to figure out how to handle this whole not-being-able-to-see thing, if I’m being honest.”
There’s a vulnerability in his voice, showing he’s no longer the confident hockey star, but a man struggling to make sense of a world he can’t fully perceive.
“I’m here to help for as long as you need.”
Teddy nods, his expression softening. Maybe, just maybe, he’s starting to let down his guard.
“Let’s move you to the chair while I change the sheets,” I suggest.
He doesn’t argue and I offer him my support. His hand finds my wrist again, gripping tight as we shuffle the short distance. When he lowers himself into the chair, the faint grunt tells me it still costs him more than he’ll admit. I ball the used sheets into the hamper in the corner. The sound of fresh linen snapping open fills the room as I shake out the clean set, tucking in corners with practiced motions.
“Alright,” I say over my shoulder, “now that you’re comfortable—how did you end up playing hockey in the first place?”
The dimple on his right side makes its appearance. “Oh, we can blame uncle Jake, my mom’s younger brother. He played in college and introduced me to the sport when I was three. He promised to pay for everything, so my parents didn’t exactly say no. They secretly hoped I’d choose tennis, water polo, or piano. Something showing class, you know?”
I make a sound of acknowledgement, thanking my stars that my parents are nothing like his.
“To their disappointment, hockey became my thing. I didn’t need my family name or bought connections to get to the level where I am at—was,” he corrects himself, the smile disappearing from his face. “It took sweat, grit, talent, and a dash of luck. Not every great player makes it to the League.”
I admire his resilience and the way he carved out his place in the world. “That’s incredible. You didn’t let anything stop you.”
Teddy meets my gaze unseen, and for a brief moment, something deeper flickers in his eyes. Maybe gratitude. Maybe something else. Whatever it is, it feels like it comes from a place he rarely lets anyone see.
“That’s what hockey taught me; never give up and always keep fighting. Too bad I’m struggling to remember that in my current state and can’t see the reminder tattooed on my body.”
“You have more fight left in you. I’m sure of it, Theodore.”
He offers another dimpled smile following the use of his full first name, though the heaviness of what he’s facing still hangs between us. I want to reach out, but all I can do is keep showing up, hoping he’ll start to believe it himself.
