Chapter 21
Blake
The first thing I become aware of is the weight of my own body pressing strangely against the hospital mattress beneath me.
It’s not the sharpness of pain or the brightness of the lights overhead or even the quiet mechanical rhythm of the monitors somewhere near my bed.
It’s the unsettling sensation that my shoulder no longer belongs to the same map of movement my brain has trusted for most of my life.
As if something fundamental shifted while I wasn’t looking, and hasn’t yet decided whether it intends to shift back.
Then the pain arrives.
Not suddenly, not violently, but slowly and deliberately.
It spreads outward from my shoulder in deep, pulsing waves that feel heavier than ordinary injury pain ever does.
It’s the kind of ache that carries consequences with it, the kind that makes you understand immediately that something important has changed, whether you are ready to admit that yet or not.
I don’t open my eyes right away. I don’t need to. The smell alone tells me where I am.
Antiseptic. Clean sheets. Artificial air. Hospital. Surgery. Recovery.
And somewhere underneath all of it, the memory of Perth’s shoulder driving into mine with far too much precision to be accidental still lingers like unfinished business I haven’t figured out how to respond to yet.
The second thing I notice is her hand.
It’s warm and steady and wrapped around mine like she has been sitting there long enough to forget how long she has been sitting there.
Her fingers rest carefully against my palm as though she is afraid that letting go might somehow change the outcome of something neither of us can control right now.
That’s when I open my eyes.
Lisa is sitting beside my bed, her mascara smudged under her eyes in a way that tells me she stopped thinking about appearances hours ago. Her shoulders are slightly hunched forward as if she has been holding herself together by force alone while waiting for me to wake up.
“Hey,” I manage, my voice coming out rougher than I expected, like my throat forgot how to work while I was under anesthesia.
Her entire face shifts immediately. Relief first. Then worry. Then something softer than both of those things layered underneath them.
“Are you ok?” she asks, and the way she says it makes it sound like she has been asking herself that same question over and over again while sitting here waiting.
“I am now,” I tell her honestly. Because the moment I see her sitting there beside me, everything else about this room feels less important than it did a minute ago.
Holding her hand feels different tonight. Not unfamiliar. Not new.
Just heavier with meaning than it used to feel, like something quietly settled into place between us sometime during the game without either of us noticing exactly when it happened.
She tells me the surgery went well, or well enough.
Her words are careful but hopeful. The way she talks makes me suspect she is repeating something someone else told her rather than something she fully believes yet.
I don’t ask for details because I already know I’m not ready to hear what recovery actually looks like if the answer isn’t simple.
Instead, I ask her about Nashville. The confusion on her face is immediate and perfect.
“What do you mean?” she asks.
“We should take a trip,” I say slowly, because the idea has been sitting somewhere in the back of my mind longer than I realized. “You like Ella Langley.”
Her smile returns gradually, like she’s trying to decide whether I’m serious or not.
“You are something,” she says.
She’s right. I just didn’t realize what until recently.
“And besides,” she adds after a second, “weren’t you her biggest fan?”
“I’m not,” I answer quietly.
“You’re not?” she asks, surprised.
“I only listened to her because you like her,” I admit, because there isn’t any point pretending otherwise anymore.
Her laugh is soft and warm and exactly the kind of sound I didn’t realize I needed to hear until now.
“You’ve been listening to her for weeks,” she says.
I smirk. Worth it.
“My brain feels foggy,” I tell her after a moment, the medication still dragging at the edges of my concentration in a way that makes everything feel slightly slower than it should. “But we won, though, right?”
“We sure did,” she confirms immediately, squeezing my hand just slightly tighter.
“I wish I could remember the look on Perth’s face,” I say, and even half drugged, I mean it.
“You probably can find it on camera somewhere,” she replies.
Maybe. But I don’t need footage. I remember enough.
Then she says something that makes everything else in the room fade for a second.
“Our future.”
The words land carefully between us, like she doesn’t realize how large they are until after she says them.
“Our future?” I repeat.
“Well, yeah,” she says softly. “You know I’ve been falling for you. Besides, the doctor called me your girlfriend. This might be official now.”
Something inside my chest shifts permanently in that moment, settling into place with a certainty that doesn’t need explanation or confirmation.
“You’re just saying that because you feel bad for me,” I tease gently, because if I don’t lighten the moment, I might not be able to respond at all.
A tear slips down her cheek anyway.
“I’ve been falling harder,” I tell her quietly.
And that part isn’t a joke.
Not even a little.
“Don’t go,” I say when she shifts slightly in her chair like she’s about to stand.
“I’m staying,” she promises immediately.
Relief spreads through me before I can stop it.
“Zane’s here,” she continues. “Coach too. Gwen. Tess. Leo.”
“Did Coach seem angry?” I ask automatically, because I don’t yet know what losing time on the ice means for me.
“Not at all,” she says quickly. “He’s worried about you as a person.”
Good. Because right now, I don’t know who I am if hockey disappears. And that thought scares me more than the injury itself.
“Could you get Leo?” I ask after a moment.
She tilts her head slightly.
“There’s something I need to do.”
She nods without hesitation, her hand brushing my cheek briefly before she stands and leaves the room, and for a second I almost ask her to stay anyway.
But I don’t.
Because this matters.
By the time Leo walks in, the medication has already started dragging me back toward sleep again. My shoulder pulses in slow waves of pain that feel distant compared to the exhaustion settling into the rest of my body.
“You look terrible,” he says as he closes the door behind him.
“You should see the other guy,” I mutter.
He doesn’t laugh. Which tells me he already knows why I asked him to come in here.
“You know what this all meant,” I say.
It isn’t a question. He nods once.
“I do,” he says quietly.
“She’s going to talk to him, I just know it,” I continue slowly, forcing myself to stay awake long enough to finish what I need to say. “To Perth.”
His expression tightens immediately.
“She thinks this is her fault,” I add. “She thinks if she fixes something with him, it stops.”
“That’s not how Perth works,” Leo says quietly.
“I know,” I reply. “She doesn’t.”
He studies me carefully for a moment before speaking again.
“You want me to stop her?”
“I want you to keep an eye on her,” I correct, because the difference matters more than it sounds like it does. “If she talks to him alone, he’ll make her feel like she owes him something.”
Leo nods slowly.
“He won’t touch her again,” he says.
“I know,” I answer. “But he doesn’t need to touch her to mess with her.”
And that’s exactly what worries me.
“You love her,” Leo says after a moment.
It isn’t a question.
“Yes,” I answer simply.
Because there isn’t any reason to pretend otherwise anymore.
“Does Zane know?” he asks.
“No.”
Leo exhales slowly.
“That’s going to be interesting.”
“I didn’t want him finding out like this,” I admit.
“He won’t,” Leo says calmly. “You and Lisa will figure that out together.”
I nod. Because he’s right. We will.
By the time he leaves the room, the medication is already pulling me under again, the edges of the room softening as exhaustion settles heavier across my body.
The door opens quietly sometime later. Lisa comes back in. I don’t open my eyes. Not yet. Because I hear her before I see her.
“You’re going to be fine,” she whispers as her fingers wrap around mine again. “You have to be.” Her voice breaks slightly. “I’m sorry Perth went after you because of me.” Something tightens inside my chest even through the haze of anesthesia. “I swear I’ll talk to him.”
No. Absolutely not. But I can’t say that yet. Not tonight. Not like this.
“I’m sorry, Blake,” she whispers again.
I tighten my fingers around hers without opening my eyes. And even half asleep, I already know one thing with complete certainty. She’s not facing Perth alone again. Not ever.