Chapter 34
My eyelids feel like they are covered in a thick mud, and my attempts to open them are sluggish, as they barely open and close easily. The world comes into focus again with the soft ringing in my ears. That sound continues and only gets worse as my brain fully wakes up. I finally pry my eyes open and take in the muted colors and crisp white surroundings. I blink slowly, my vision swimming back into focus. I glance around, trying to get my bearings, and then it hits me–surgery’s done. It’s over, I made it through.
The first feeling my brain registers is the heaviness in my leg. The sharp and constant ache that was there before surgery has been sufficiently diminished by everything I’ve been given. I’m sure whenever my brain starts processing things at a regular speed, I'll be able to feel the full force of the pain, but until then, I’ll take it and thank the doctor for the painkillers later.
Once I've had a while to acclimate, and the anesthesia has worn off, waking up after surgery resembles what I imagine getting hit by a truck feels like. Aches that had eventually faded right after my injury are now back in full force. The pain in my knee is back to the status of sharp and constant, as the weight of bandages and blankets weighs down my entire bottom half. I try to sit up but am stopped in my tracks by an unpleasant wave of dizziness. Damn, this sucks. As much as I hate to admit it, I could already use a nap.
One long nap later, I feel about the same and time isn’t in a hurry. It’s moving at a snail's pace. The minutes turned into hours a while ago and now the hours are just dragging. When Dr. Lyons walks into the room, I'm even excited to see her.
“How are you feeling, Oren,” she says with her usual professional attitude; gone are the scrubs and back is her highly professional composure.
“Meh,” I say, shrugging, because what else am I supposed to say? I’m alive. Everything hurts. Is there a right or wrong answer? I’m not going to say ‘good’ because my life has been derailed by lying in this very bed.
She checks all the things, the machines, my leg, everything she’s supposed to, I guess. “Surgery went well,” she says, tapping some notes into her handy tablet. “But now the hard part begins.”
I grit my teeth. “How long until I’m back playing?”
Her eyes snap to mine, and I can immediately tell I’m not going to like her answer. “No. Everything depends on how you heal and your concussion.”
“No? What do you mean no?” I sit up too fast, ignoring the pain that shoots through my leg. “I need to know what I'm working toward here. Give me a date, and I’ll make it.”
She shuts me down quickly, shaking her head at me. “We aren’t going there today.”
Her tone is so final that all I can do is huff out a deep breath, lean back, and pout like a petulant child.
She gives me a hard look, lacking all sympathy for me. “You don’t get to just make a certain amount of time work. You’ll only be playing again when your body is ready. Without taking your recovery seriously, Oren, you’ll lose the ability to play hockey entirely. You aren't Superman.”
I gape at her, her highly educated and equally valid opinions hit harder than any punch I’ve ever gotten. It’s definitely a truth I'm not ready to accept. “I just need to get back on the ice. It’s the only thing I know how to do.”
Dr. Lyons steps closer toward the bed, and her tone starts softening for the first time. “I understand that, but you have to let yourself heal first. From what I've gathered, you’ve been fast and loose this season, and that’s dangerous. If you don’t approach the game differently going forward, you’re going to be dealing with problems different from the ones you started with.”
Her words sting, but she’s right, and I hate it. Sure, I’ve been pushing myself beyond my limits. Maybe I've been reckless, but why? I’m pissed? I don’t know how to regulate my feelings. I can’t even explain why, other than it felt like my only option at the time. And now I’m left here, stuck in a hospital bed, with no choice but to deal with the consequences.
Dr. Lyons looks at me like she’s reading my thoughts right out of my head. “You need to choose your future wisely, Oren.”
She leaves after our little discussion, but her words stick to me. I’m angry at everything. At myself, at the situation, at the fact that I can’t just push this problem aside, how I usually like to handle things. And it pisses me the fuck off. So I submit to the only option that I have at the moment and throw my head back against the pillow, closing my eyes, hoping the anger dissipates.
I nap for most of the afternoon, too exhausted to stay awake and too bitter to care. Despite the extra sleep, I’m still in a bad mood when I wake up, my irritation lingering like a dark cloud. Rachel shows up after work with Lily in tow, as promised. Lily smiles brightly at me from Rachel’s arms, trying to get into my lap. I try to smile, I really do. But it’s not enough. Not today.
“Hi,” Rachel says softly, standing next to me. She reaches for my hand, giving it a squeeze, and I give her a half-hearted squeeze back, “How are you feeling?”
I shrug, unable to hide the frustration from my face. “Like shit.”
She frowns, but I can tell she’s trying to stay upbeat. “You’ll feel better soon, Oren. I know it.”
I nod, but it’s stiff, wanting to keep my distance from everyone when I'm feeling shitty like this. Rachel sets Lily on the bed next to me, settling her into the spot beside me. Lily starts giggling, trying to play while I talk to her, and though I want nothing more than to spend time with her, this doesn’t lift my mood.
Rachel attempts to make me feel better, but everything bounces right off me. I can’t shake the heaviness, the dark cloud that lingers. I feel full of frustration and helplessness. I’ve never felt this powerless, and I hate it. I hate it so much.
Eventually, Rachel sighs, realizing that I’m somewhat of a lost cause and that nothing she does or says is going to change how I feel. “I’ll give you some space,” she says softly, picking Lily up and heading to the door. “But I’m only a phone call away.”
I nod again, but don’t say anything. I want to beg her to stop, ask for them to stay, but instead, I just watch the door close behind them. Needing something to distract myself, I grab my phone to check in with Ma. It’s about time I give her the full recap and why not do it while trapped here? After a couple of rings, her familiar, melodic voice comes through, with the unmistakable elegance she’s never without.
“Oren, enfin! Comment s'est passée l'opération, mon fils? How are you feeling?” There’s no panic, no over-the-top dramatics, just that no-nonsense tone that I’ve gotten from her my entire life. Like she’s ready to handle whatever I tell her.
“Tout va bien,” I say, trying not to sound too tired. “It went well, I guess. I'm out for the rest of the season, obviously, but the rest is in the ‘to be determined’ category.”
She clicks her tongue, the sound full of subtle disapproval, just enough to let me know she isn’t thrilled. “You need to rest, Oren. You’re not proving anything by rushing. Just listen to your doctors.”
“I am resting,” I reply, irritated by being told to rest so many times already. “Anyway, I wanted to let you know I’m okay.”
“When are you cleared to go back to Arizona?” she asks, lightly but still precise. She is simply asking the question out of curiosity, not knowing it's a loaded question.
I take a deep breath, already anticipating her reaction. “I’m not. At least not right away.”
“What do you mean, not? ” Her voice sharpens, her curiosity edged with concern, and then insistence. “Explain.”
“I’m spending this time here—with my daughter,” I state, might as well rip the bandaid off.
She goes completely still for a beat. I have no idea what she is thinking or what she might say next, so I wait. “ Your daughter? Oren, what are you talking about?”
“I have a child, Mom. Her name’s Lily,” I explain, a small smile spreads onto my face. “She’s eight months old, and she’s amazing. Beautiful, smart, curious, and is just like her mother. You’re going to love her. I can’t wait for you to meet her.”
There’s a pause, and then a sharp intake of breath. “ Mon Dieu! I can’t believe you have a daughter, and I’m just finding out? Like this? Now, after she is months old? ” She clicks her tongue a few more times. Still no hysteria, only a sternness that demands explanation, layered with unmistakable amazement. Her voice softens just slightly. “Tell me more about her . ”
“She’s perfect,” I say, my voice quiet but steady. “She’s the best thing I’ve ever done. I only found out about her four months ago. But I’m here now, and going to make up for lost time and be in her life for the rest of mine.”
There’s a long pause, and when she speaks again, her voice is calm but laced with deep emotion. “Oren, I know there is more to the story there, but that is a talk for another day. You have surprised me more times in my lifetime than I can count. But this…” Her tone turns tender, proud. “I am so proud of you. Taking this in stride, putting this new family first—it’s a good choice. The right choice. Well, after healing from surgery, that is.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I say, swallowing hard. “I have a long way to go to prove to Rachel that I can be what she and Lily need. I can’t wait for you to meet Lily, just not yet. Soon, hopefully.”
That is not at all what she wants to hear. I can tell she doesn’t like it, but she doesn’t argue either. “This Rachel,” she says after a pause, the name carefully enunciated. “Tell me about her.”
“She’s a wonderful woman,” I admit, my innermost truth’s tumbling out easier than expected. “Brilliant, tough, patient, loving. She doesn’t take any of my shit. She’s been raising Lily on her own, and while I wish I knew earlier, she has done an amazing job with Lily. She’s an amazing woman, stronger than anyone I’ve ever met.”
A knowing chuckle interrupts my train of thought. “You really like this girl, don’t you?” Her tone isn’t a question, but not accusing either. There is teasing and fondness in what she says. “Oren Samuels, I never thought I’d see the day.”
“Yeah, well,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck. “Me, either.”
“Don’t make me wait too long to meet my granddaughter. I am patient but my patience only goes so far,” she replies with that same poised elegance. “And Oren? Remember, you are part of what she needs. So take care of yourself.”
We wrap up the call, but her words linger beyond. Once I’m alone, I turn on the Chicago Cyclones hockey game that's on. I hope it’ll distract me, but it only makes things worse. Watching those players out there on the ice just twists the knife into my gut. Every goal scored, each hit against the boards, it's a painful reminder of what I'm missing. A perfect view of where I could be if I wasn’t stuck in this damn hospital bed, broken and useless.
I grab the remote and throw it across the room, hitting the wall with a satisfying crack, and the batteries clatter to the ground. But it doesn’t make me feel any better, nothing does. It just makes me feel like an even bigger asshole than normal. I lie back against the pillow, seething with anger, and close my eyes, hoping sleep will take me out of my misery.
The next morning, I wake up groggy, still in a shit mood but feeling physically a little better than yesterday. Staff flurry in and out of my room, running tests, checking on me, all while I stare at the ceiling, wishing I was anywhere else, making this nothing but a distant memory. Dr. Lyons comes in midday, telling me I’ll be discharged this afternoon, and the only silver lining is that I get to leave this place, which is the first thing that starts to lift my spirits.
Rachel gets here right on time, ready to break me free and take me to my new home. As much as I want to be out of the hospital, I’m still carrying this gnawing frustration that I can’t get rid of. Home. Rachel’s home. The invasion of her personal space. I should feel lucky because I’m incredibly lucky, but all I’m feeling is nervousness. What if my staying with her ruins all the progress we’ve made? I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize how far we have come.
The trip from my hospital bed to the car and from the hospital back to Rachel’s place is quiet, neither of us rushing to speak. I steal secret glances at her, her focus fully on the road, so she doesn’t catch me creeping on her. The way her hands move gracefully over the steering wheel as if she is perfectly at ease helps to ease my mind the smallest bit. We stop at the Italian place she already ordered takeout from on the way home. She runs in to grab the food while I lean back in the seat, closing my eyes for a moment, my mind never resting. Intruding into Rachel’s everyday life is not ideal, but there’s no other option right now. I have to recover in town, and she offered. Still, I can’t help but feel like I’m nothing but a complication in her life. She gets back in the car, and the smell of pasta fills the car. My stomach grumbles, but I don’t say anything. We remain silent the rest of the way there.
I’ve never been so happy to see elevators. It’s too soon for me to tackle the stairs with these damn crutches. Rachel helps any time she can, but I wave her off as soon as I know I’m not in jeopardy of falling on my ass. The last thing I want is to feel more helpless and difficult than I already am. Rachel sets me up on the couch, turning the TV on, probably hoping it’ll distract me. I don’t even look over at it; I focus my attention out of the window. My mind’s elsewhere on the end of the season, the games I’m missing, the concept of cohabitating with Rachel, what recovering from surgery will be like. But my biggest worry of all is forcing her to juggle taking care of me and Lily.
Rachel disappears, but I can still hear her talking to Heidi, their voices low. I can still hear her ask how Lily did today. I know she’s trying to make sure I rest, that I'm not bothered, but I still want to know these types of things. I sit there, not wanting to be a problem or a burden, knowing the best thing I can do is help keep things running smoothly and make this transition as easy as possible. I keep listening as she asks Heidi if she can come in tomorrow morning while she runs an errand. It’s too soon to leave me alone, she says. I grit my teeth at that. I’m not an invalid. But I bite my tongue—I will not be a burden who also causes a scene.
As Heidi leaves, Rachel sets up Lily in her high chair to start eating. She starts to bring me a plate to the couch but I stop her. I won’t just hide on the couch, making her wait on me hand and foot. I push myself up, grimacing as I shift to balance on my crutches, but I don’t back down.
“I’m coming over,” I tell her, full-blooded stubbornness at its finest. She watches me struggle for a moment, her face a mix of amusement and irritation. But she lets me do it without helping me and doesn’t argue. I appreciate that instead of her sympathy, she is giving her finest eye roll. That makes me feel better. I slowly make my way to the table, and she sets my plate down and pulls my chair out. That’s the only help I'll accept at this point in time, so I give her a thank you nod and heave myself down at the table across from her and Lily.
Once again, we are bathed in silence. I’m sure the food’s good, but I barely taste it. My mind’s stuck somewhere, unable to break back into reality. After dinner, Rachel refuses to let me hobble back to the couch on my own, knowing that I’m fading. I settle into the concrete-like couch, knee elevated on multiple pillows, to watch the Red Wolves game. I really should buy her a new couch as a thank you gift. It’s torture watching them play without me, but I force myself to sit through it. I can’t hide from it, no matter how much it pisses me off. Just because I’m out, doesn’t mean I don’t want them to succeed and make it into the playoffs. We are so close, and I refuse to turn my back on them. The pain I get from watching is my burden to bear, and I’ll deal with it.
While I’m glued to the game, Rachel puts Lily to bed, and I hear the soft murmur of her voice as she reads Lily’s stories. The occasional giggle softens the sharp razor-like edges of my nerves. Observing them like this is a reminder that while everything about this situation royally sucks, if I was back out there on the ice, I would be missing this time with them. I would miss every moment with Lily. All because we live two separate lives. And now that I’m here, I’m not going to be an outsider looking in.
After Lily is asleep, Rachel sits down next to me on the couch. She looks tired as if she has the full weight of the world on her shoulders and no one there to help her. In this case, there really is no one to help her, and that’s my fault. She takes a deep breath, and I can tell she’s working through a conversation we both know we need to talk about but haven’t addressed yet.
“We need to go over a few things,” she starts, her voice level. “I know you’re going to be here for a while, and I want to make sure we both have boundaries in place.”
“Sure, of course,” I say quickly, willing to do whatever necessary to make her feel best about this situation, and there are things that I can do and say that might help. “But I want you to know—I’m going to pay my way while I’m here. I don’t want you to have to worry about anything more. I’ve already made things harder by staying here, burdening you.”
She looks at me, a distant look of hurt flashes across her features, but it’s fleeting. Her eyes soften as she studies me. “Oren, you’re not a burden.”
I shake my head, cutting her off. “I’m serious, Rachel. I’m not freeloading. I will be a contributing member of this household, any way I can. I don’t care what it takes.”
She doesn’t argue with me, probably because she is tired. “That’s fine. I’m not worried about that,” she says frustratedly. “But we do have to figure out how this is going to work.”
I nod, waiting for her to continue.
“It’s not realistic for either of us to sleep on the couch for 4 to 6 weeks or longer,” she says, glancing toward the hallway. “We are both adults and capable of being mature and sleeping in the same bed. But that won’t start tonight. I’ll sleep on the couch so that you have a full uninterrupted night of sleep and then tomorrow, we will figure out a way to share the bedroom space.”
I open my mouth to argue, tell her I'm perfectly fine on the couch, but she cuts me off before I even can. “Don’t fight me on this, Oren. You’re not sleeping on the couch your first night out of the hospital.”
I frown, but reluctantly agree. “Fine. Tonight only. After that, the couch is fine.” I don’t know what I expected but this is much, much worse than I had anticipated.
She stands, rubbing the back of her neck, clearly exhausted. “I’ll get everything set up for you.”
“Fine,” I mutter, watching her back disappear into her bedroom to get it ready for me. I don’t want to come across as ungrateful because I’m very grateful. But I would rather sleep on the couch with a busted knee than displace Rachel. I don’t like the idea of her being uncomfortable, but she won’t budge.
I hobble back to her bedroom, standing awkwardly until she hands me my pills for the night, leaving water on the bedside before shutting the door behind her. I prop the crutches on the table and sit on the edge of the bed. After swallowing the handful of pills in one gulp, I rip my shirt over my head with one hand and lean back. I try to get comfortable, but sleep doesn’t come easily. All I can focus on is the smell of her on the sheets, and the painful ache in my knee, and even the pain meds can’t stop my mind from racing. I’ve never felt so out of control.