“Can’t feel a goddamn thing.” He lifts his sandwich to his mouth.
“I guess that’s good,” I say as I unravel my sandwich as well. “What are they saying about play time?” I know it’s probably the last thing he wants to talk about, but I need to know. I need to know if he can play or if he’s done for the season. How much did I mess up the Agitators season?
He wipes his mouth with a napkin he plucks off my leg. “Grace thinks I’ll be good to go in two weeks and when she says good to go, she means heavily taped up and stabilized with everything I do, even walking around when I’m not on the ice.”
“Wait . . . two weeks, that’s it?”
He nods. “She said it’s rolled, but not that bad. There will be a plan to follow consistently when I’m home and I’ll have to come in here every day, but other than that, she thinks I’ll be good to go in two weeks, which isn’t ideal, but that’s only six games. I think the boys can hold out for that.”
“Okay . . .” I look down at my sandwich, my tears forming again. This time, they don’t fall as Halsey places his hand on my leg and pulls my attention back to his eyes.
“Hey, like I said, it’s all good. Okay? We apologized and we’re moving forward, right?”
I nod and sniff back my tears. “Right.”
“And if you’re up for it, I’m going to need some help.”
“Help?” I perk up. “I can do that. What do you need help with? I’m your girl, anything you need.”
There’s a soft smile to his lips but nothing that reaches his rare, full-capacity smile. “Well, I injured my driving foot, so I won’t be able to drive back and forth to the arena. I could hire a car service—”
“No, I can drive you. I can drive you anywhere you need. I planned on emailing my manager today and letting her know the circumstances that I might need to work from home for a little bit and just come in on game days. I’m sure she won’t mind, especially if she knows I’m helping you out.”
“If she says no, it’s no big deal.”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll make it work. What else will you need?”
“Just some help around the apartment. I have to do a lot of exercises and ice and elevation.”
“Got it. I can help with that. Will you need help showering? I can wash with my eyes closed.”
He chuckles. “I think I can handle that.”
“Yeah, probably don’t want a stranger rubbing you down with their eyes closed.”
He pauses for a moment and says, “I don’t think you’re a stranger at this point.”
“I guess not. I did straddle your mattress tonight, which . . . oh God, I have to get that back into place.”
“I texted Posey and Silas. They’re working on it, don’t worry.”
“They are? Oh God, did you tell them what happened? Do they hate me?”
“They don’t hate you and they know accidents happen. They were actually impressed with your ability to lift the mattress on your own. Posey and I struggled when we moved it to your room before you moved in.”
“I struggled a lot,” I say, handing him a fork for the potato salad and popping the lid. Together, we each scoop a forkful. “Ialmost knocked Sherman over, and you can imagine the heart attack that ensued.”
His brows lift. “Almost knocked over Sherman. Not sure I’d have forgiven you for that.”
“If I did, you wouldn’t have ever seen my face ever again.”
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t . . . for multiple reasons.” He directs his attention at the potato salad and for a moment, my body heats from that response.
For multiple reasons . . .
Is he implying he would be sad if he didn’t see my face again?
Doubtful.
