Lisa
“Blake is done,” I tell Anna as we are finishing up our chat. I’ve been waiting for Blake to finish therapy, and I gave her to catch up.
“Tell him I say hi,” Anna tells me, and I smile. I can’t wait for her to meet him soon.
“Tell Jason I say hi as well,” I chuckle, and Anna agrees.
I know something is different the moment Blake walks toward me across the rehab corridor with that specific expression. It’s the look he gets when he is trying very hard not to smile too early, because Blake is not subtle about good news, even when he pretends to be. His shoulders sit a little higher than they have in weeks, and the way his steps look lighter rather than careful tells me immediately that whatever the doctor just said to him is something he has already decided he wants to share before he even reaches me.
“Well,” he says, stopping in front of me like he’s trying to stretch out the moment longer than necessary,“I have an update.”
The tone of his voice only confirms my suspicion further.
“That is the least dramatic delivery I’ve ever heard in my life,” I tell him. I fold my arms even though I am already smiling.“You either tell me immediately, or I assume the worst.”
“It’s not the worst.”
“Then why are you standing there like a suspense trailer?”
“Because I like suspense trailers.”
“Blake.”
He laughs.
“They think I might play again.”
The words land inside me so suddenly that for a second, I don’t even react. My brain has spent the last two weeks preparing for every version of the future except the one where this sentence exists. It takes me a moment longer than it should to understand what he actually said before the relief hits me all at once.
“You might?” I repeat.
“They want to see how the strength comes back over the next couple of weeks,” he explains.“But structurally everything looks good, and they think the nerve response is normal, and if rehab keeps going the way it is right now…”
I don’t let him finish the sentence.
I just throw my arms around him.
Carefully. Very carefully.
Because even though the news is good, the memory of the hospital hallway is still too close to ignore completely.
“Oh my god,” I breathe against his shoulder.“Blake.”
He laughs softly into my hair.
“I know.”
For a few seconds, neither of us moves. Not because we don’t want to. Because the weight of what almost happened is still sitting somewhere between us even now. Relief like this doesn’t arrive quietly after something like that, it arrives loudly and all at once and leaves you standing in the middle of it trying to figure out what to do with your hands.
“I told you,” he says eventually.
“You absolutely did not tell me this would happen,” I reply immediately.
“I told you I wasn’t done yet.”
He steps back just enough to look at me properly again.
“So,” he says suspiciously,“I figured we should celebrate.”
