Chapter 37
It’s been a week since the surgery, and I’m back at Dr. Lyons' office for my first follow-up appointment. Rachel said she’d be here for me, and I knew what she meant when she said it. She has kept her word and more because she’s been my constant companion. Even today, she’s walking along beside my unstable ass, hobbling along on crutches, pretending that she isn’t positioned specifically to make sure I don’t fall. I’m still walking like I’ve got a two-ton anchor attached to my leg. The upside is that it’s at least not as agonizing as before. There’s still a lot of pain, though. Part of me feels like the dull throb might never go away.
We get settled into the sterile smelling-exam room. Rachel glances at me, concerned. “You nervous?”
I shrug, trying to play it cool. “Nah. Just ready to hear I’m ready to get back on the ice next week.” I don’t even believe what I’m saying.
She gives me a stern look. “Oren…”
“I know,” I mutter, running a hand over the strands of my grown out bleached hair. “I know, it’s just— It’s killing me, Rachel, just sitting around all day.”
Before she can respond, Dr. Lyons knocks on the door and enters quickly, looking as put together as ever. In general, she looks way too fancy at any given point to be dealing with a bunch of hockey players like me.
“Hey there, Dr. Lyons,” I say, with a sigh.
“Hi Oren. Hi Rachel.” She gives us both a small smile before pulling up my file on her computer.
"How’s the pain?" she asks, her tone professional but still warm.
Straight to the point, alright, let’s do this. I shrug, trying not to grimace. "Manageable. But still there."
She nods, removes my bandages, and examines my leg with careful precision. Her fingers prod gently around the incision, the stitches, and the surrounding knee area. “There’s still a lot of swelling,” she says, her brows knitting together. “I was hoping it would’ve gone down more by now.”
I tense at her words. “What does that mean?”
“It means you’re not healing as quickly as I’d like,” she says, her eyes meeting mine. “ You need to spend more time resting with it elevated. And ice, much more time spent icing it. It also means no rehab yet. I want you to rest for one more week before we even think about scheduling.”
Another week? What the fuck! I start to let my anger get the better of me, but Rachel places her hand on my forearm. I bite my tongue, and she gently squeezes my forearm, offering silent support.
Dr. Lyons gives me a firm look. “I know you’re eager to get back, but if you rush this, you could do permanent damage. You need to be smart about this, Oren.”
I nod, though it makes my stomach drop. “Yeah, I get it.”
She wraps up the appointment, and Rachel and I head to the parking lot. Rachel helps me into the car, and the drive back to her apartment is silent. I can’t help but feel this surge of dread, knowing that the already too long timeline just got even longer. Rachel keeps glancing at me like she wants to say something but doesn’t. Maybe she can sense that I need to process all of this on my own.
Back at the apartment, I retreat to the bedroom, closing the door behind me and leaving the sounds of life on the other side. If I were back in Arizona, I’d handle my nights and the chaos in my head differently. I’d drown myself in distractions, a few drinks, meaningless sex, enough of both to numb everything until the next morning when everything felt a little easier to navigate. But here? Now? That won’t happen. That’s not how I need to solve my problems anymore. Even if I still wanted to, it wouldn’t work. Too much has changed.
I sit on the edge of the bed, forcing myself to look inward. To process my feelings and attempt to untangle the chaos. Ever since Rachel brought Lily into my life, my thoughts have been scattered, emotions all over the place, and post-surgery has only been worse. At first, my mind circles around the fears that make me insecure, my past, the fights, the injury. Everything I’ve fought to move past but never fully escaped. But my thoughts start to shift, my focus turning toward the future.
My future now includes Lily, forever. I never expected myself capable of the fierce love that I’ve found in becoming her father. I love her with more of my being than I even knew I had. But there’s something deeper stirring beneath it all, a feeling I’ve avoided acknowledging. This love that I’m feeling is about more than just Lily—it’s about Rachel too. My feelings for her run deeper than I want them to. Rachel’s made it clear where we stand. Just co-parents and friends, if I’m lucky. Nothing more.
I remind myself of that, over and over, but despite the lines that I’ve drawn, my thoughts continue to betray me in ways I can’t ignore. It’s all so damn confusing. The one thing I am certain of is that I’m not the same person I was before. And even though Rachel doesn’t want anything more, I can’t help but wonder if there’s still a chance. Someday.
A couple of days later, I get a call from Elliot and Bryce Cole. They want me to do a stint of episodes of Hit Behind the Net. A guest co-host, if you will—Bryce’s words, not mine. With me being out of commission and quite literally nothing to do outside of Rachel’s apartment, they figured I’ve got plenty of free time, and they’re not wrong. It would be two or three shows at first, but Bryce hints that if I’m interested, there are more opportunities in the future. Gordie Whitfield, the show’s creator and current co-host, is looking to take a step back in a few years, or sooner, if they can start transitioning someone new in.
The idea catches me off guard. I’ve never thought beyond hockey. I’ve lived and breathed hockey; my life has revolved around the game. But now, with this injury, I’m starting to wonder if having a backup plan is a smart idea. Create something more for myself, by necessity if nothing else, though none of it will be the same as being on the ice. But if it gives me something to fall back on, maybe it's worth it.
Of course, I’m down to do the shows, on the principle of being bored alone. The episodes I recorded in the past went well, better than I expected, actually. Bryce and Elliot's banter between each other is better than doing nothing at all. Maybe the distraction of recording the podcast will help me forget about all the bullshit that’s plaguing my thoughts.
Every night since I got to Rachel’s, I’ve been fighting her over taking a shower by myself. Each night, I almost fall to my death, trying before she swoops in with the annoying shower chair. Tonight, I’m trying things a little differently. So rather than being stubborn, I'll ask her for help from the beginning. No fronting, no macho bullshit, no debates, just a simple ask. One I hope she says yes to.
“Rachel, will you help me take a real shower?” I ask her, keeping my face neutral. Slightly embarrassed that I even have to ask, the question sounding like a kid asking for help.
Rachel doesn't hesitate. She heads to the bathroom while I hobble along behind her. At this point, I’ve mastered getting undressed while standing on one leg without too much drama. But I stop when I see that damn shower chair sitting there.
“No, I meant without the chair,” I tell her as she turns around to face me.
Rachel's eyes linger on me, and there’s something different about the way she’s studying me tonight. Something about her is softer, maybe. Still exceptionally beautiful. Or maybe it's just that we’ve been spending so much time together, that I've come to learn a different side of her.
She shakes her head, “Oren, that’s a really bad idea.”
Using a crutch, I push the shower chair to the far corner. Out of my way but close enough to lean on if I need to. “It will be fine. Plus, that’s why you agreed to help me. You won’t let me fall, will you, Rachel?”
I watch her inhale a deep breath, as she shifts to under my shoulder, supporting me into the shower. She makes sure I’m stable while staying just out of the spray of the shower. Something in the small, steam filled bathroom shifts after she helps. There’s a spark left over from where she touched me, the kind that sizzles just below the surface, waiting to ignite. Months without sex already have me feeling like a live wire ready to go off at the smallest spark, and this particular situation isn’t helping. Rachel, she’s all sparks tonight.
She laughs softly at something I say, and in my distracted state, I start to slip on the tiles. Rachel moves in a flash, her body supporting mine as she pulls the chair closer and eases me into it. In her effort to help me, she’s now soaked from head to toe. She steps out of the direct stream of water, her back to me as she pulls the clinging fabric of her pajamas off. Leaving her in nothing but her underwear.
"I swear, you’re clumsier these days," she teases, her laughter dying when she turns around and sees the look in my eyes.
I can’t stop staring at her. The way the dim light catches on her skin, the curve of her body, the shape of her nipples pushing into the thin, wet fabric of the bra she’s still wearing. Seeing her like this is too much, and all the blood flow in my body jolts straight to my dick. The hunger I’ve been holding, now unrestrained, is back in full force. My erection is as evident as ever— there’s no hiding how much I want her—and I know she sees it.
She moves away, attempting to get out of the shower but I grab her wrist, stopping her. My action only brings her closer to me, drawn like a moth to a flame. I let go of her wrist as she moves toward me, her eyes locking onto mine briefly before they drop to the evidence of how badly I want her. Slowly, her gaze travels up my body, dragging the air from my lungs with every second that passes.
“We need to talk about this,” she says, in a steady whisper. “About the reality of…this situation.”
I raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. There are only so many directions that this can go, and I just hope it goes in the direction that I know both of us want.
“I know who you are, Oren,” she says, her eyes flickering to my chest and then back to my face. “I know you…have needs. And I’m not going to get in your way, but there’s one rule. You keep the women you sleep with away from Lily. She doesn’t need to be around that.”
I stare at her, surprised. She’s talking about sex with someone other than her. About me sleeping with other women. It is definitely not the conversation I expected, especially tonight. Maybe not ever. But she thinks she knows what I want, who I am, but I was changed a long time ago.
"I haven’t been with anyone since the night I found out about Lily," I say, my voice husky but firm.
“What?” Her eyes widen, her shock evident. But beneath the shock is relief, maybe even desire. I can't tell. But the words are out now, and I think she likes it, so I don’t stop. "Honestly? I haven’t wanted anyone else since the last time we were together," I admit, the truth spilling out before I can stop myself.
Rachel gasps softly, her breath catching as she takes in my words. She reaches out, her fingers brushing my arm, the touch sending electricity through me. The sexual charge grows thicker between us, her touch becoming more deliberate. I wrap my fingers back along her wrist, pulling her toward me. She moves fluidly so that she comes to stand between my legs. I pull her wrist toward me, pressing her flattened palm to my chest, the other gently resting on my thigh. Leaving her to feel my heartbeat hammering in my chest as she watches me, gauging my reaction, like she’s just as caught up in this as I am.
I can’t help it. I slide my hand into the space between our bodies, gripping my dick, desperately needing some kind of release. The way her gaze burns into me, it’s enough to drive me mad. She slowly drops down to her knees, the hand on my chest sliding down my abs, our eye contact never broken. I move my hand up and down my length, my eyes searching hers, as I grip myself tighter. But Rachel halts my movements when her whispering touch settles over my hand gripping my dick, her fingers wrapping around mine, and I let out a low groan.
Her touch is deliberate, slow, teasing, at first. She pushes my hand out of her way as she takes control and applies the pressure. I lean my head back against the cold tile of the shower wall, eyes closed, losing myself in the feeling of me in her hand.
“Rachel…” I whisper, my voice rough with need.
She doesn’t respond with words, just moves her hand faster, her grip tighter. I lean forward, tangling my fingers into her hair, pulling her forehead to mine. I leave enough space for her hand to work but keep her close, our breath mingling as mine becomes erratic. I twist my head slightly, capturing her mouth with mine, my tongue pressing for entry, seeking to taste what I’ve been craving. She responds immediately, letting me deepen the kiss, as the raw, urgent need for her takes over. I can’t hold back any longer as every muscle coils tight.
With one final stroke of her hand, I’m gone, my white hot release shooting onto both of us, our kiss unbroken. We stay like this for a moment, her hand still around my length, slow, sensual kisses that neither of us wants to stop. Rachel pulls back from me; her eyes are dark with a need in them that tells me there is no going back now.