Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Ferris
“You’re all set. It was nice to finally meet you.” The words were polite, and so was the tone, but I felt on edge. It was three weeks into official summer, and I was now discharged from my physical therapy at Quinn’s office.
Now, it was all down to the team staff.
Graduation was over. I’d walked the stage, my parents had hugged me tightly, and then they took me to dinner. I’d seen Quinn in the crowd, but he’d disappeared right after the ceremony was over, and he’d sent a text saying that his knee was hurting and he was going to be at home.
My mom was disappointed that he didn’t make it to dinner.
My dad gave me a look but said nothing except to ask if I was getting my apartment soon.
I had no word on that, but he didn’t push it.
They took me to one of the few curry shops in the city that made proper Pakistani food, and then they left me on Quinn’s doorstep with a hug and a promise to see me soon.
I didn’t know how true that would be. I knew they planned to come down for some of my games, but even if I was given clearance to play when preseason began, I doubted I’d be in the net very much.
I didn’t want them to keep turning their lives upside down for a maybe when it came to seeing me do anything for a while. I had time to worry about it, of course. Rookie camp wasn’t until September, and right now, the league was dealing with the draft.
But time and I were rarely friends. Time meant waiting, and waiting meant overthinking, and overthinking meant the risk of sabotaging everything good out of sheer anxiety that it was all going to go wrong.
The only saving grace was that Quinn was acting like nothing was wrong at all.
I was supposed to be meeting with someone today after my appointment with PT to talk about my living arrangements.
Most rookies did a roommate situation, and while that would have been ideal with Cosmo, since I knew him, he was still in school at the Kappa house.
I didn’t want to learn to live with someone else. All the new sounds, the new smells, the new routines?
It made me feel sick to my stomach. I knew it wasn’t a hard and fast rule, but if I said no, the only other option was being by myself, and that was almost as scary. I hadn’t been by myself…well, ever. Not once.
It might have sounded like the dream before, but now…
“You alright?”
I blinked, realizing that the therapist was talking to me, and I’d forgotten his name again. It was the third time. And his badge was backward, so that didn’t help. “I’m fine.”
He winced and pulled the face most people did when I spoke with almost no inflection.
They thought I was an asshole. They thought I was doing it on purpose.
I’d spent years trying to fix it, but even when I had my mask firmly on my face to hide who I really was, that always seeped out from the cracks.
“Um. Thank you,” I added. “I feel better.”
He laughed and waved me off. “You can thank your former PT. They did an amazing job.”
“Yeah.”
Quinn had done an amazing job. Of course, I’d been given better treatment than most patients.
I went to his office for my scheduled sessions, but every time we lounged on the couch together, he had my foot in his hand.
He’d pull and stretch and massage until I felt like liquid gelatine right before it formed into a solid.
The PT didn’t pat me the way Quinn did. He didn’t linger his touch and drag it away slowly. And I was grateful for it because that might have sent me spiraling.
Taking a deep breath, I slipped off the table and bent over to tighten my brace. I was beyond thrilled to be out of the boot and more than ready to stop having my foot strapped into anything at all. But I knew it was too soon.
Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I opened up the email of my schedule and squinted. “Do you know where I can find Andrea Baker’s office?”
The PT lifted a brow. “Uh, yeah. You have a meeting with her?”
“About…contact stuff,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “And getting an apartment.” Biting my lip, I put my phone back. “Is she nice?”
He burst into laughter. “No, but I’m biased.”
I had no idea what that meant. At all. I felt a little afraid suddenly. What if she wasn’t kind to me? Would she force me to pick a roommate, even though it wasn’t a requirement? Would she shame me until I agreed?
My heart began to pick up as the guy started to wipe down the bench.
“I’ll walk you over there. I have to bring her something anyway.”
Nodding, I pulled my phone back out and fired off a text to Quinn. He wouldn’t get it right away. I knew he had a full day of appointments, so he wouldn’t be able to answer me, but being able to just vent helped.
Me: I’m scared they’re going to bully me into getting a roommate. I don’t want to live with someone else.
Quinn: I know it’s been hard for you here.
My heart thudded in my chest at the immediate reply. I glanced up at the PT, but he was busy wiping down the chairs.
Me: No. You’re easy.
Me: I don’t mean that the way it sounds!
Quinn: LOL even though I AM easy for you?
Me: I just mean that living with you has been the best place besides the frat house. I don’t want to live with someone new. What if they threaten to throw me off the team if I don’t?
Quinn: I don’t mean this in a cruel way, sweetheart, but they don’t care about you that much.
All that matters is that you behave for pressers, avoid public controversy on social media, show up for practice, and do your best during games.
They won’t care if you want to live alone, or with Cosmo, or your parents… whatever you want.
But not him. He didn’t say him. My throat went tight.
Me: Ok.
I shoved my phone back into my pocket, even as I felt it buzzing, and I ignored it.
Two texts came through. Then it began the vibrating pattern telling me he was calling.
I couldn’t answer. I felt on the verge of melting down, and I didn’t want to make that worse.
The organization knew I was autistic. They knew that I needed things differently than most players did.
But I didn’t ever want them to see how difficult I could be. How bad it could get.
I breathed slowly. Carefully. The buzzing stopped, and I managed something like a smile at the PT guy when he stood up and swiped his hands on his scrubs.
“You ready?”
“Mm.”
He didn’t make much conversation as he led the way out of the training room and down the hall toward the elevators. All the admin offices were on the top floor, and while elevators made me antsy, I managed to keep that in check by toying with a ball of yarn in my pocket.
I saw him glance at me a couple of times, and I knew I was probably being a little weird, but he didn’t say anything.
I took it for the reprieve it was and followed him out and down another hall that smelled like scented wall plugins. My eyes burned from it, and I fought the urge to sneeze as we passed several decorative tables lining the walls.
Above them were framed photos—mostly in black and white—of star players over the decades. Those men were nothing like me. Almost all of them were white. They looked older than I did. They were brave and personable. They weren’t autistic, probably.
They had spouses and families and hopes and dreams that didn’t give them raging anxiety because realizing those hopes and dreams came with huge change.
I turned my gaze away as he stopped in front of an office door with a gold-plated plaque that read Andrea Baker.
Without knocking, he pushed the door open, and from his profile, I could see his cheek lift into a wide grin.
“Oh my god, don’t you have anything better to do than stalk me?” a woman’s voice demanded.
My heart picked up. He was stalking her? Shit. I had to say something, right? I couldn’t just stand by and let her get harassed.
Maybe I should call Quinn back. He’d know how to handle this. He’d know how to—
Wait. They were…they were kissing? She had her hand on his face. It was chaste but slow and sweet.
Then she saw me out of the corner of her eye and shoved him back. “Jack! What the fuck is wrong with you?”
He burst into laughter but sobered when he saw my face. “Oh, Ferris. Dude, I’m so sorry. She’s my wife. I was just joking before. She’s not mean at all.”
Andrea shoved him to the side, and I saw her properly for the first time. She had dark brown skin and long braids that reached her waist, and she was wearing a flowy yellow shirt with flowers on it that my mom would have loved.
She extended her left hand toward me, and I noticed her long, sharply pointed nails that matched the shade of her outfit, and a big ring with a very shiny diamond on her finger. Her right hand was in a bulky brace, so I adjusted my instincts and reciprocated her gesture.
“Ignore him, honey,” she told me, shoving him—Jack—aside. “He’s always like this.”
Jack gave me a sheepish grin, then stole another quick kiss before hurrying off. Andrea led me into her office and gestured toward a chair. My knees felt wobbly.
“Ferris,” she said slowly as she took the seat behind her desk. “Are you alright? Did Jack upset you?”
I shook my head, froze, then nodded. “I thought he was stalking you.”
She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “No, honey. I just say that because he’s always in my business at work. I don’t actually mind it though. I like working with him for now.”
I raised a brow. “Oh. Are you leaving?” Damn it! I didn’t want to get to know new people again.
“Nah, he is. He’s decided to go back to school to pursue his MD. He’s supposed to be conducting callbacks for a new team physical therapist.”
My heart leapt. Quinn might want to—but no. No. It felt cruel to ask him to be part of a team for a game he loved and would never play again. At least, not the way he wanted. Not the way he should be playing.
“You know someone?” she asked. Shit. She must have caught my expression.
“My old physical therapist used to play in the NHL.” Her eyes widened. “Um.” I swallowed heavily. “Quinn Rhodes. He was in New York when, um…”
“The drunk driver,” she said quietly. “Yeah.” Sitting back, she tapped her nails on the desk. It made a sound I liked a lot. “Maybe I’ll shoot him a message if he’s in town.”
“Oh, I don’t—”
Her gaze shot up to mine.
Hunching my shoulders, I ducked my head. “Um. Maybe it’ll hurt his feelings to come around the team when he can’t play anymore.”
She said nothing. Her head tilted to the side as she considered my words, and then she leaned back in her chair and clicked on her mouse a few times.
“So. Ferris. You ready to talk about housing. I also have your rookie camp dates, and as soon as Jack signs off on it, I will have your start date for preseason.”
Quinn called me just as I was heading down to the PT locker room to grab my bag. Most of my equipment had already been set up in my dressing room stall, but I was taking my practice skates with me because we’d been going to the rink a few times a week now that I was discharged from his practice.
I debated about ignoring it again, but that didn’t seem kind or fair. I found a quiet corner in the lobby and answered just before the call went to voicemail.
“Hi.”
“Are you angry with me?”
I blinked in surprise. “Why would I be? That’s a strange question.”
He huffed softly. “You ghosted the chat, refused to pick up when I called you, didn’t answer my very obviously panicked texts—”
“I didn’t read them,” I told him. “I was feeling anxious and scared I was going to have a meltdown in front of Jack.”
“Who the fuck is Jack?” His voice sounded a little sharper than usual. Jealousy? Or fury?
“My physical therapist.”
He let out a soft breath. “Shit. I knew that. God, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I think I’m feeling a little insecure. Can I come pick you up?”
I pulled the phone away to look at the time. “You’re not done though.”
“Two cancellations,” he said.
Did he cancel, or did they? I didn’t want to encourage bad behavior just so he could spend time with me, but I also really wanted to see him.
“I can meet you at the end of the parking lot.”
He chuckled. “I have a pass, sweetness. I’ll pick you up at the back lot.”
That was far from where I was, but the walk sounded nice. Standing up, I flexed my toes and winced at the stinging pain from my still-healing ankle. “How long?”
“GPS says fifteen minutes, but I don’t trust traffic, so let’s make it twenty.”
I could move slowly then. “Do you want me to tell you what the meeting was like?”
He was quiet for a long beat, then said, “I don’t think so. Not until I have you with me.”
There was weight to that statement—some kind of meaning. I just didn’t understand what it was. But it was better not to ask, I knew. Not yet. Not now.
Not until I could look him in the eye and understand what was actually happening.