Chapter 22
Lisa
Sleeping in a hospital chair turns out to be exactly as uncomfortable as I expected.
Somehow, it is also worse in ways I hadn’t anticipated.
It isn’t just my neck that aches or my back that feels twisted into unfamiliar angles by morning; it’s the strange awareness that every time I drift too far into sleep, my body wakes itself again, just to make sure Blake is still breathing beside me.
At some point during the night, I must have slept properly for a little while, because when I open my eyes again, the hallway outside the room is quieter than before, and the soft grey light filtering through the window tells me morning has already started without asking whether I was ready for it or not.
My shoulders protest the moment I try to sit up straighter. My neck feels stiff. My lower back feels like I spent the night on a wooden bench instead of in a chair that technically counts as hospital furniture.
And still, the first thing I do isn’t to stretch, move, or even stand up. The first thing I do is look at Blake. He’s still asleep.
His hair looks messier than usual, his face paler than I’ve ever seen it before yesterday, and his right shoulder is wrapped so carefully in bandages and support that the reality of how serious the injury was settles over me all over again, even though I already lived through the moment they told me about it.
For a few seconds, I just watch him breathe. Slow. Steady.
At some point during the night, I must have fallen asleep with my hand wrapped around his, because when I try to shift in the chair, my fingers are still loosely curled around his palm. I don’t want to let go, so instead, I adjust my grip carefully without waking him.
“I hope you’re not planning to make a habit out of this,” I whisper, even though I know he can’t hear me yet. “Because I am definitely not built for hospital chairs.”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t wake. Just breathes.
I don’t realize how long I sit there watching him until the door opens softly behind me and a nurse steps inside to check his monitors. She’s offering me a small sympathetic smile that suggests she has seen people like me sitting beside hospital beds many times before.
“You stayed all night?” she asks quietly while checking his chart.
“Yes,” I answer automatically.
“That’s a good thing,” she says gently.
“For him?”
“For both of you,” she replies before leaving again.
The words stay with me longer than I expect them to.
When Blake finally wakes up, it happens slowly enough that I notice the change before he actually opens his eyes. His fingers tighten slightly around mine like his body remembered I was there before his mind caught up.
“Morning,” I say softly.
He squints at me. Then at the chair. Then back at me again.
“I didn’t think our first night sleeping next to each other would go like this,” he says hoarsely.
I stare at him for half a second. Then I laugh before I can stop myself.
“You are unbelievable,” I tell him, leaning forward slightly so I can see whether the movement hurts him. “Most people wake up from surgery and say something dramatic or romantic. You make jokes about hospital furniture.”
“I’m romantic,” he protests weakly. “This is a bonding experience.”
“This is not a bonding experience,” I reply. “This is a spinal alignment disaster.”
“I liked it,” he says.
“You weren’t the one sleeping in the chair.”
“I was the one getting surgery,” he reminds me.
“That’s fair,” I admit.
He shifts slightly, then immediately regrets it. I see the tension move through his shoulder before he even says anything.
“Don’t move,” I say quickly.
“I wasn’t planning on it,” he answers.
“You were.”
“Ok, maybe a little.”
For a few seconds, neither of us speaks. Not because there’s nothing to say. Because there’s too much, I reach forward and adjust the blanket, which has slipped slightly off his arm.
“How does it feel?” I ask quietly.
“Like someone replaced my shoulder with a brick,” he replies.
“That sounds medically concerning.”
“They said I should avoid lifting heavy objects,” he adds.
“You mean like hockey sticks?”
“Exactly like hockey sticks.”
The joke lands softly between us, but underneath it, I can still hear the question neither of us wants to ask out loud yet.
Will he play again? Will things go back to normal? Will this change everything?
“Tell me something you want,” Blake asks, and I tilt my head.
“Like what?” I ask, confused.
“Do you want to go bungee jumping? Travel and see the world? Go to a psychic and get a reading?” he suggests.
“That all sounds good,” I laugh.
“You can only pick one thing. What’s next for you?” Blake asks again, and I think about it.
“I know what I want,” I smile as it hits me. “I want to get my tattoo,” I tell Blake, and his eyes widen.
“You think you’re ready for it?” he asks, and I nod.
“Definitely,” I tell him. “There is one more thing I want, though,” I say nervously, and Blake looks concerned. “I want to tell Zane,” I say after a moment, because the thought has been sitting in my chest since last night and refusing to leave.
Blake looks at me immediately.
“Yeah,” he says quietly.
“He’s coming this morning,” I continue. “He said he wanted to check on you again.”
“That makes sense.”
“He doesn’t know yet,” I add, even though he already knows that part.
“I figured.”
“I don’t want him finding out from someone else,” I say. “Or guessing. Or hearing it from Leo. Or Coach. Or anyone except us.”
Blake nods slowly.
“I don’t want him thinking I hid it from him because I didn’t trust him,” I continue, my voice softer now. “I just didn’t want it to feel complicated.”
“It was complicated,” Blake says gently.
“It still is,” I admit.
He studies me for a second longer than usual.
“You nervous?” he asks.
“Yes,” I answer immediately.
“About him?”
“Yes.”
“About us?”
I hesitate. Then…
“No.”
That part surprises even me. Blake smiles slightly.
“He’s not going to be mad,” he says.
“He’s absolutely going to be mad,” I reply.
“At me,” he corrects.
“Probably at both of us.”
“Worth it,” he says simply.
I laugh quietly despite myself.
“You’re very confident for someone stuck in a hospital bed.”
“I’m strategic,” he replies.
“You’re stubborn.”
“That too.”
I lean forward slightly so our hands stay touching as he shifts again.
“You scared me yesterday,” I admit quietly.
“I know,” he says.
“I thought…” I stop myself.
“I’m still here,” he finishes for me.
“I know.”
We sit like that for a moment longer, the morning light growing brighter around us while the hallway outside slowly fills with footsteps and quiet voices again.
The hospital is waking up in the same ordinary way it always does, even though everything about the last twenty-four hours still feels unreal to me.
“Ok,” I say finally, taking a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “When Zane gets here, we'll tell him.”
Blake nods.
And even though my stomach flips nervously at the thought of what that conversation is going to look like, something inside me settles anyway.
Because for the first time since all of this started, it doesn’t feel like something I’m facing alone.