Jade’s mouth tightens, but she nods. “We can do normal.”
Blakely squeezes my arm gently. “And when you can’t do normal, we’ll do the rest.”
My chest cracks again, a little deeper this time.
I nod once, because if I speak, the sob will come.
Jade clears her throat harshly like she’s angry at the world. “Also,” she says, wiping at her face like it’s an inconvenience, “you’re sending me those trial links. Tonight. I’m not asking. I’ll help you look through them.”
A laugh slips out of me, small and broken.
“Okay,” I manage.
Blakely exhales and leans her forehead briefly against mine, a quiet gesture that feels like shelter. “We’ve got you,” she whispers.
I close my eyes for one second, letting myself believe it.
Then I open them again and pick up my bag.
Because practice is over, and the world expects me to keep moving.
And I will.
I’ll go home. I’ll open my laptop. I’ll search until my eyes ache. I’ll chase anything that looks like hope.
Because if I stop?—
I’ll hear the wordmonthsagain.
I will hear that I don’t have the one person who is my everything anymore.
I’ll picture having to do anything without him.
And I don’t know what I’ll do if I hear it in the quiet.
11
LOGAN
Jason is the kind of guy who smiles like pain is a hobby.
Not in a cruel way. In an “I know exactly what you’re capable of, and I’m not letting you hide from it” way.
The PT gym smells like rubber and disinfectant and effort. There are mirrors everywhere, which feels like a personal attack. I don’t want to watch myself limp. I don’t want to watch my leg shake. I don’t want to watch my face when it hurts.
But Jason does.
He watches everything.
“All right,” he says, clapping his hands once. “One week later. How we feeling?”
“Like I got hit by a truck.”
Jason grins. “Great. Means you’re alive.”
I glare at him as I shift my weight in the parallel bars. My brace is different today—adjusted, unlocked slightly, giving me more range. More freedom.
More responsibility.
