“Didn’t you text me that he slept over last night?”
“Okay, fair. But this isn’t a change in our arrangement. He’s just as busy as I am. Troy is only helping me out extra because of my injury, and I know he’s still unavailable for anything more.”
“Have you told him that you want something more?”
Of course I want something more. I want as much Troy as I can get, but I’m so used to all of these boundaries and rules, I haven’t truly considered telling him that.
Before I can answer, the loud buzz of the door interrupts our conversation. When I go to check, I see on the little video screen that it’s Troy and buzz him up.
“It’s him. He’s stopping by because my physical therapist is going to be here soon. Sorry. I’m still getting used to these schedules.”
Stace shrugs. “At this point, we might as well meet.”
I wait at the door until I hear his heavy footsteps. When I pull it open, he’s wearing trousers and an old gray sweatshirt, and he’s got the sleeves pushed up past his elbows.
“Hi, Stace is here,” I say.
Stace stands by the couch. “Hello,” she says. “I’m Stace.”
Troy looks caught off-guard, but quickly pulls his professional face back together. “Of course. Hell of a trainer, from what I hear.”
Stace smiles. “Thanks for looking out for our guy,” she says.
Troy rubs his beard, and I can tell he’s trying to not look pleased by that. “It’s nothing. You know. I’m his agent.”
Stace grabs her bag, smiling at Troy. “Sure. I should get to campus anyway. I’ve got a new gym to check out tonight. You boys make sure to behave yourselves.”
Troy grinds his jaw, but the glint in his eyes tells me that a part of him might like the teasing. We’re never around anyone who knows our secret, and it’s fun to see him squirm a little.
“Enjoy the gym,” Troy manages and grunts when she’s out the door.
He reaches into the back pocket of his pants and pulls out some folded papers, which he tosses to me on the couch.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Relaxing podcasts,” he says. “Something you can listen to with your eyes closed so you don’t lose patience and do something rash.”
I look at the papers. “Is this a list printed from the internet?”
“Most relaxing podcasts,” he says, pointing down. “There’s some good sports history podcasts, too, that I could recommend. But I thought they might be too stimulating.”
I laugh. “I can’t believe you printed out a website.”
“Why?”
I hold up the paper. “I don’t know. It’s very…” I wave my hand at him. “Your generation.”
He frowns. “I’d text you a link, but I don’t want you looking at your phone.”
I glance down at the list.Stories for Sleep and Rest. Ocean Murmurs. The Calm of Nature.
Never in my normal life would I consider listening to a podcast like that, and I’m certain that Troy wouldn’t, either. But he’s thinking about me and trying to help, and that means more than whether his media recommendation makes sense.
“Cool. I’ll give one of these a try.”
“Let me know,” he says gruffly. “I’ll download it for you.”
Instead of objecting, I let Troy finish worrying over me. He sets me up with some healthy snacks, asks me questions about my recovery, and opens a window to get me fresh air through the half-closed blinds.
