Chapter Ten
SIDNEY
I hold the team doctor’s handwritten instructions like they’re ancient scrolls containing the secrets of the universe. They honestly could be. I’m having trouble deciphering what he’s written.
Okay, I say, clearing my throat and trying to look authoritative as I squint down at the note. Dr. Patel says lots of fluids, lots of rest, and absolutely no going to work for at least forty-eight hours. Minimum.
Eddie, lying on the couch, propped up on pillows and wrapped in two layers of blankets, stares at me like I’ve just announced she’s being sentenced to federal prison.
I’m not sure if the grouchy look she’s casting my way is because of what I just said or because of how she’s feeling, but it’s adorable.
I can’t take two days off, she rasps, snuggling deeper into her blankets.
Yes, you can, I counter. You’ll probably have to take more off, too, if you avoid your meds and pretend like you’re not sick.
No, I can’t. She glares at me through watery eyes. I have scheduled shifts. And patients. And bills.
You also have walking pneumonia, I remind her, handing over the next sticky note like I’m presenting evidence in court. Which, according to Dr. Patel, means you need to stop pretending you’re indestructible. Rest. Fluids. Easy-peasy, right?
She opens her mouth, probably to argue, but another coughing fit hits her hard enough that Joey flinches from his spot at the breakfast bar.
See? I say when she finishes hacking up half a lung. Immortal people don’t make that noise.
Beside me, Joey is nodding his head so aggressively the kid looks like a bobblehead doll.
I’d listen to him, Mom. You sound like a zombie. He pauses for a second, a slow grin taking over his face. And you kind of look like one too. The walking dead.
So full of compliments, my son, she mumbles mostly to herself.
Lots of fluids, Mom. Lots.
I try, I really do, to hide my smile at how snarky Joey is with his stubborn mom. You can tell they’re two peas in a pod, but when they really get going, Joey has moments of being a mini Eddie. It’s hilarious.
Exactly, I say, heading over to the boiling kettle and pouring the hot water into a mug with a tea bag. On my way back to Eddie, I give Joey a fist bump with my free hand, letting him know I appreciate his help getting through to her. Speaking of fluids, I joke as I hand over the mug. Here you go.
She takes the mug with reverence, handling it carefully and closing her eyes at the first hot sip.
I’m stunned she’s not letting it cool a little more, but her throat may be hurting her that much.
Okay, I say with a bit of disappointment in my voice.
I need to head out to team practice. You have everything you need?
I direct that question at Joey. You’re going to help out and be responsible, right?
Yeah, Joey says, not thrilled with my directive but still holding true to his word of helping out. I’ll keep an eye on everything until you get back. I have no doubt he will, but I also wonder if I should hide his Xbox too. Might be crossing a line there.
And you have everything you need? I ask Eddie this time. She looks miserable but lucid, the fever haze lifting slightly, thanks to the meds I was able to pick up yesterday.
Wait. You’re coming back? she asks, ignoring my question.
That’s the plan, I say. And listen, after my morning practice and meetings, I’ll check in on you guys.
Eddie’s brows pull together. Sidney, you don’t have to do that.
It’s just a wellness check. For me, I tell her with all seriousness. For my peace of mind, I need to know that you’re doing okay. Or I’ll worry, and that worry will just fester in my brain.
You have practice. You have a life. You have… She waves a hand vaguely toward the universe. Stuff.
I do, I agree. And checking on you falls under that ‘stuff.’
She stares at me, clearly unconvinced.
Before she can find another argument to throw at me, I add, There are only two more practices before the home opener. I can juggle my schedule and make sure you don’t die in your bed from stubbornness, Eddie. Promise.
Just agree, Mom. He’s not gonna change his mind, Joey advises from across the room, head down and looking at his phone.
He’s right. You’re not going to change my mind about checking in on you, I say quickly.
Eddie looks between the two of us, Joey’s wide, worried eyes and my raised eyebrow, then sighs dramatically. Fine. Yes. Rest. Fluids. Whatever the doctor said.
I stand, grabbing my jacket from the armchair. Good. Now, both of you listen. If you need anything, anything at all, you call me. Got it?
Yeah, Joey says instantly, his attention back in our direction. But Eddie hesitates. I roll my eyes at her, silently asking if we have to go through the whole song and dance again.
That’s…you’ve already done— She blinks, coughing again. You’ve done too much. Really.
I don’t look away. I take care of the people who matter to me.
Her lips part slightly, eyes searching mine.
You matter to me, Eddie.
Silence falls between us. Not awkward, just charged. Her cheeks darken. Not fever-flushed—something else. Something that makes my chest tighten in a way I have no business enjoying as much as I do.
I grab my keys, sling my bag over my shoulder, and give her one last slow smile.
I’ll check in later.
Joey gives me a thumbs-up. Eddie still hasn’t formulated a good argument, so she’s stewing on the couch, glaring at me. I wave as I head out the door. The cold air hits me, making me hurry down the front steps. By the time I get to the car, I’m grinning like an idiot.
My first time at Eddie’s place didn’t go as I had imagined. When I thought about taking that next step toward intimacy, it was more along the lines of us sharing a bed…not sharing germs. Yet I can’t help but smile at how great the night was—even with Eddie ill.
There’s a deeper understanding between us now. An intimacy and trust that isn’t easily won or often developed so early in a relationship.
I take that joyful energy and put it in my game that morning. Practice goes fantastic. I feel good on the ice, confident and sharp. I’m dialled in like someone had flipped a switch and pumped confidence straight into my bloodstream.
I haven’t had a feeling like this before a season start in a long time. Maybe ever.
This is going to be my season. I can feel it.