“He still gets tired easily,” I start, reaching for a discarded sweater to tidy up and then search for a few more pairs of underwear and my lounging-around socks. “It annoys him to have the same bedtime as Natalia, but I think him falling asleep with her has helped ease her nightmares. He usually wakes up a couple of hours later and can leave her to come to bed. His physical exams show no lasting weakness or damage, and he’s eager to get back into his garage gym tomorrow. He’s had a few calls with his physical therapist to set up a program through the team staff to ease him into things. The doctors have reassured him he can play again if he wants.”
“Is he thinking about not coming back?” Violet asks. I walk back to the bag, shoving the clothes into its depths, and sit down beside it. I sigh, staring up at the tray ceiling, and close my eyes.
“Honestly? I don’t know.” I let the concern I’ve been holding at bay bleed into my words. “Most of the time, I see a man who is happy to be home—alive, healthy—and focused on a long-term goal of getting back on the ice. His fatigue is waning, and he is getting stronger. He’s followed through on every single recommendation and care instruction from the doctor to the letter.”
“And the rest of the time?”
I rise from the bed, restlessness and uncertainty flooding my body, the way it has for the last few days. I make for the ensuite, rifling through the bathroom drawers for any other necessities hiding there, desperate to give myself another task. As I push a drawer in, I consider whether I should say anything, but quickly realize I’m talking to my best friend, and I really need to talk to someone.
“The rest of the time, I see him staring off into space,” I catch my reflection in the mirror as if I’m looking at Nicky. I focus on my face as I describe what I see to Violet. “There’s this…hollowness to his eyes. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, or if he’s remembering. Then he blinks and it’s gone.”
“I’m not an expert, but I think that makes sense,” Violet says.
“It does,” I acknowledge. I press my hands flat on the counter, letting the marble accept some of the weight I’ve felt lately. “But he’s avoiding calls. From the team.”
“Really?” The surprise is evident in Violet’s voice. “Dad and Crosby haven’t said anything.”
“Nicky’s talking tothem,” I reassure her. “It’s some of the other staff; strength and conditioning, for example. He’s leaving all that communication to happen between his medical team and them. And Trinity left me a voice message earlier, saying Nicky hasn’t returned any of her calls or emails regarding the documentary crew. That’s not like him.”
“It’s not,” Violet agrees. “Even when he hated doing videos for me last season, he answered every message or summons from the office. Nicky’s a team player through and through. But Trinity can be a little pushy.”
Silence blooms between us; Violet processing and considering as I close my eyes to rid myself of the mental image of Nicky sitting at the kitchen island this morning, with that haunted look on his face.
“He has his first session with the therapist today,” I finally tell her.
“That’s good!” my best friend says enthusiastically. “Crosby told me once how much therapy meant to him, not just personally. It really helped him stay in love with the game. It kept him on the ice after his dad died.”
Crosby’s dad was killed in a car accident on the way to Crosby’s high school championship game when he was eighteen. He struggled to deal with his grief while also moving into professional hockey. It almost cost him his future when he pulled out of the draft that spring.
“That’s reassuring.” I open my eyes, letting the positive mindset fill me. After a breath, I reach for the top drawer. “All right, I need a distraction. Help me think about something else.”
“How about why you haven’t told Nicky you love him?”
I freeze, a near-empty tube of lip gloss in one hand, and let out a groan. I pitch the depleted gloss into the nearby trash can, making a mental note to take out the trash before I leave today. Violet’s knowing hum comes through the earbud and I turn around to lean against the bathroom counter.
“Straight for the jugular with that one,” I heave out in a dramatic sigh to Violet’s soft laugh. “I haven’tnotwanted to say it.” The excuse sounds flimsy as I say it. Violet scoffs in agreement. My hands grip the countertop as I think back over the night Nicky came home. The night he told me he loved me and asked me to stay. A lot changed in a short amount of time, and while I wasn’t afraid of it, it was still a huge shift. “I thought watching his heart stop was the most overwhelming thing in the world. But since he handed it to me for safekeeping? I–I don’t know what to do, Petal.”
“It’s not like there’s a checklist or a how-to guide,” she starts gently. “You either feel it, or you don’t—andeveryoneknows youdo, so let’s not pretend this is an actual choice. You just have to tell him.”
“What if this is just a trauma response? The man technicallydied, that has a way of, I don’t know, changing things for people. They act out or get impulsive because of time suddenly being crushingly real.” I squeeze the edge of the counter, letting the stone bite into my palms as I spill the biggest discomfort fluttering in my chest. “What if he talks to this shrink and recognizes that it’s not love…it’s just gratitude? And I’ve been too wrapped up in having something that isn’t real to do the right thing and walk away?”
There’s a beat of silence through the line, and then a thumping sound has me clutching my ear. “What the hell?” I gasp, but the thumps continue before Violet breaks in, her voice pitched to rise over the noise.
“If I were standing next to you, I’d be hittingyou! But since I’m not, the phone is taking the brunt of it!” Violet ceases the slaps and lets out an annoyed huff. “Beatrice Farrow, you are one of the most brilliant people I’ve ever met. There’s nothing I haven’t witnessed you tackle head-on. No problem is unsolvable. But you are being thedumbestbitch on the planet right now.”
My mouth pops open, and a noise gurgles up in protest, but my best friend cuts me off.
“No. Listen to me, okay? You listening?”
“I’m listening,” I reply.
“Gratitudeis not why he trusted you with his child.Gratitudeis not why he basically asked you to move in.Gratitudeis not why he told you he loved you.” Each sentence makes tears well in my eyes, the words a balm to my frazzled soul. “Youare why he loves you. Why his child loves you.You, Bea.Stop looking for a reason for this not to be real. Stop looking for a reason you don’t deserve it.”
“I want it to be real,” I tell her, the tears falling silently to the tiled floor, but my chest warming with affection. “I want it so badly.”
“Then embrace it, babe.” Violet’s voice hitches a little, emotion clogging her throat. I nod before remembering she can’t see me.
“I will,” I vow. I brush my face with both hands and dry them on a hand towel. With the heaviness of the moment over, I return to the task of packing. I snag a package of makeup sponges and a bottle of face toner from another drawer before walking back to the bed.
