Chapter 26
Lisa
“Blake is done,” I tell Anna as we are finishing up our chat. I’ve been waiting for Blake to finish therapy, and I gave her to catch up.
“Tell him I say hi,” Anna tells me, and I smile. I can’t wait for her to meet him soon.
“Tell Jason I say hi as well,” I chuckle, and Anna agrees.
I know something is different the moment Blake walks toward me across the rehab corridor with that specific expression.
It’s the look he gets when he is trying very hard not to smile too early, because Blake is not subtle about good news, even when he pretends to be.
His shoulders sit a little higher than they have in weeks, and the way his steps look lighter rather than careful tells me immediately that whatever the doctor just said to him is something he has already decided he wants to share before he even reaches me.
“Well,” he says, stopping in front of me like he’s trying to stretch out the moment longer than necessary, “I have an update.”
The tone of his voice only confirms my suspicion further.
“That is the least dramatic delivery I’ve ever heard in my life,” I tell him. I fold my arms even though I am already smiling. “You either tell me immediately, or I assume the worst.”
“It’s not the worst.”
“Then why are you standing there like a suspense trailer?”
“Because I like suspense trailers.”
“Blake.”
He laughs.
“They think I might play again.”
The words land inside me so suddenly that for a second, I don’t even react.
My brain has spent the last two weeks preparing for every version of the future except the one where this sentence exists.
It takes me a moment longer than it should to understand what he actually said before the relief hits me all at once.
“You might?” I repeat.
“They want to see how the strength comes back over the next couple of weeks,” he explains. “But structurally everything looks good, and they think the nerve response is normal, and if rehab keeps going the way it is right now…”
I don’t let him finish the sentence.
I just throw my arms around him.
Carefully. Very carefully.
Because even though the news is good, the memory of the hospital hallway is still too close to ignore completely.
“Oh my god,” I breathe against his shoulder. “Blake.”
He laughs softly into my hair.
“I know.”
For a few seconds, neither of us moves. Not because we don’t want to.
Because the weight of what almost happened is still sitting somewhere between us even now.
Relief like this doesn’t arrive quietly after something like that, it arrives loudly and all at once and leaves you standing in the middle of it trying to figure out what to do with your hands.
“I told you,” he says eventually.
“You absolutely did not tell me this would happen,” I reply immediately.
“I told you I wasn’t done yet.”
He steps back just enough to look at me properly again.
“So,” he says suspiciously, “I figured we should celebrate.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
“I thought so too.”
“How are we celebrating?” I ask.
“With a trip.”
“A trip where?”
He tilts his head slightly.
“You’re going to like this.”
“I already don’t trust that sentence.”
“We’re going to Nashville,” he says.
I blink.
“Nashville.”
“Yes.”
“As in Tennessee.”
“Yes.”
“As in country music Nashville.”
“Yes.”
“As in Ella Langley Nashville.”
He grins.
“Yes.”
For a second, I just stare at him.
“You are joking.”
“I am not joking.”
“You’re serious.”
“I bought tickets two days ago,” he says proudly. “I was waiting for the doctor to confirm before telling you.”
“You bought tickets before you knew if you could go?”
“You know I’m optimistic.”
“You’re insane.”
“I’m romantic.”
“That’s not romantic,” I tell him, already laughing. “That’s reckless planning.”
“It worked.”
“It absolutely worked.”
The realization settles slowly and then all at once.
“You remembered,” I say.
“Of course I remembered.”
“You said this in the hospital.”
“I say a lot of things in hospitals.”
“You said this one seriously.”
“I meant this one seriously.”
I don’t even realize how wide I’m smiling until he points at me.
“There it is,” he says.
“What?”
“The Nashville face.”
“I don’t have a Nashville face.”
“You do.”
The next two hours pass in a blur that feels unreal in the best possible way.
Suddenly, I am packing a bag instead of sitting beside a hospital bed, counting his breaths.
Suddenly, I am choosing shoes instead of worrying about the outcomes of surgery.
Suddenly, the future looks like something we are walking toward together instead of something fragile we are trying not to break by moving too quickly.
“You only need one jacket,” Blake says from the doorway of my apartment.
“I need options.”
“You don’t need options.”
“I always need options.”
“Are you moving out?” Zane asks as he walks into the apartment, making Blake laugh. “You are packing like we’re moving there.”
“You don’t know what Nashville requires.”
“We have to leave in five minutes,” Zane informs me while I throw the last of my things in the suitcase. Blake asked him to drop us off at the airport, something I never thought would happen if you had asked me six months ago.
“I’m done!” I yell as I throw another pair of shoes in my suitcase and quickly close it.
When we get to the car, it’s starting to hit me. Blake and I are going on our first trip. It’s small, but it’s a lot for me. I suddenly feel giddy.
“Ready?” Zane asks as we buckle up.
“Let’s do this,” I smile.
Blake and Zane talk about a strategy they call the 1-2-2 forecheck. Blake has been dreaming of playing again, and I am so happy for him.
“Have fun, sis,” Zane says as he hugs me goodbye.
At the airport, he insists on carrying my bag even though I remind him three separate times that he is still technically recovering from shoulder surgery and should not be lifting anything heavier than a grocery bag.
Blake ignores me the same way he always does when he decides something counts as a gentleman's rule instead of a medical rule.
“This is not medically approved,” I tell him while we walk through security.
“This is emotionally approved,” he replies.
“That’s not how recovery works.”
“That’s how dating works.”
Somewhere between the gate and boarding, he reaches for my hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“You excited?” he asks.
“I am trying not to be too excited.”
“That’s impossible. It’s Nashville,” he reminds me.
“That’s fair.”
On the plane, he falls asleep almost immediately after takeoff.
It’s not surprising considering how much rehab he has been pushing himself through the last two weeks.
It makes something soften quietly inside me because even asleep, he reaches for my hand again without waking up fully, like some part of him has already decided that is where it belongs now.
“You’re very clingy,” I whisper.
He doesn’t wake up. Just tightens his fingers slightly.
Somewhere over Kentucky, he wakes again and immediately looks out the window, as if he expects Nashville to appear beneath us if he checks often enough.
“How much longer?” he asks.
“You’re worse than me.”
“I like road trips.”
“This is not a road trip.”
“This is an air trip.”
By the time the plane starts descending, the sky outside has turned that soft golden color that only exists right before evening settles properly over a city.
The thought that we are actually here, not planning this trip, not talking about this trip, but living inside it, feels bigger than I expected it to feel.
“Ready?” he asks as we stand up in the aisle.
“No,” I answer honestly.
“Good.”
“Why good?”
“Because the best trips start when you’re not ready.”
The Nashville airport smells like coffee, music, and humidity the second we step outside the terminal doors. Before I can even say anything, Blake reaches for my hand again like this whole trip has already decided what it wants to be before either of us fully understands it yet.
“Welcome to Nashville,” he says.
And just like that… we’re here.