Chapter 20
20
T he rehab center’s exercise room buzzed with movement and determination. The rhythmic clank of weight machines, the steady hum of treadmills, and the occasional groan of effort filled the air, mingling with the faint scent of antiseptic and sweat. Capri gripped the padded handles of her crutches, her palms slick despite the controlled temperature of the room.
If she could manage a full lap around the therapy room today—steady, balanced, and without Jenna having to grab her—she’d be cleared for discharge.
And she was ready. More than ready.
Jenna stood close, watchful but hands-off as Capri adjusted her stance, shifting carefully to avoid putting too much weight on her injured leg. “Slow and steady,” Jenna reminded. “Keep your core engaged.”
“I know,” Capri muttered, more to herself than Jenna. She exhaled, steadying her breath as she took the first step forward. The crutches bore most of her weight, but she still felt the strain, the deep ache in her thigh a reminder that she wasn’t as invincible as she once believed.
She just wanted to go home. Back to her cabin, back to some semblance of normal life.
Back toJake.
A hand hovered near her elbow—Jenna always within reach but never interfering unless necessary. “You can do this, Capri. Stay in control.”
“I’ve got it,” Capri muttered, determination threading through her voice. She forced her knee to bend, to cooperate, to do the job it was meant to do.
This was just another rapid to navigate. One step. Then another.
To escape the pain, she let her mind fill with thoughts of Jake.
Jake, at her bedside, his quiet strength unwavering. Jake, bringing her coffee exactly the way she liked it, the small gesture speaking louder than words. Jake, sitting with her in the quiet moments, making her feel less alone than she had in years.
After Dick died, after her mother remarried and moved away, Capri had feared there would be no one left. That she would have to face everything alone. The result was a string of bad decisions. Frankly, she’d grown sick of her inner child.
Her fingers tightened on the crutches. She held her breath and planted her leg on the stiff, scuff-marked vinyl, willing another step forward.
Once in a blue moon, people could surprise you, and once in a while, people might even take your breath away.
Despite her fears, Jake had become more than just a steady presence—he was the foundation she hadn’t realized she needed. Even beyond her lifelong girlfriends. Through the long, painful days of recovery, he had been there, never wavering, never making a show of his devotion but proving it in a hundred quiet ways.
He anticipated what she needed before she could ask, offering comfort without crowding her, strength without demanding anything in return. He had slipped into her life so seamlessly that she hadn’t noticed just how much she relied on him—until now.
The idea of waking up without knowing he’d be there, of facing the world without his calm, unwavering presence, sent a pang of unease through her. She had spent so long believing she was meant to go it alone, but Jake had changed that. She couldn’t imagine going back to a life without him in it.
The realization sent a shiver down her spine, equal parts sobering and comforting. For the first time, she could picture herself…getting married.
The notion hit her like an unexpected gust of wind, knocking her off balance—not physically, but in a way that rattled her more.
Marriage had never been on her radar. Too much risk. Too much potential for loss.
And yet, when she thought of Jake—his patience, his quiet humor, the way he saw her, really saw her—the idea didn’t feel suffocating. It felt… solid. Steady.
Like Jake himself.
Her foot landed firmly on the last mark on the floor. Jenna’s hand pressed lightly on her back in encouragement. “You did it.”
Capri exhaled sharply, her grip easing. She had done it. She was going home.
And for the first time, she knew exactly who she wanted waiting for her when she got there.
Capri folded the last of her clothes into the suitcase, then turned to the wall, carefully pulling down the collection of get-well cards taped beside the window. She ran her fingers over a few of them—notes of encouragement, inside jokes, words from friends who had checked in even when she tried to keep them at arm’s length. One by one, she tucked them into the suitcase, pausing only to glance at the clock.
She was early. Jake wouldn’t be here for another hour.
With a sigh, she sat on the edge of the bed, rolling a small stress ball between her palms. Just as she was about to stand and double-check that she hadn’t forgotten anything, a timid knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” she called, expecting Jenna or one of the nurses.
The door eased open, and to her surprise, Camille stepped hesitantly into the room. The girl’s brown eyes flickered with uncertainty as she hovered just inside the doorway, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sweater.
“Hey, Camille,” Capri said, straightening. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
Camille gave a small, nervous smile. “I hope I’m not interrupting. I just…wanted to drop off something.”
She hesitated, then stepped forward, extending a small, wrapped box. Capri took it, the weight of it solid in her hands. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Camille shrugged. “I wanted to.”
Capri peeled away the paper, lifting the lid to find a small compass nestled in a bed of tissue paper. The brass casing gleamed under the fluorescent lights, the needle inside pointing steadily north.
Capri turned it over in her palm, a lump forming in her throat. A compass. A way forward. A reminder that no matter how lost she felt, she could always find her way.
“This is…” she cleared her throat, running her thumb over the smooth metal. “It’s perfect. Thank you, Camille.”
Camille gave another small shrug, but her expression was shadowed, as if she were carrying something heavier than words. Capri didn’t notice it at first, but when Camille shifted, the baggy fabric of her sweater pulled tight across her stomach.
Camille immediately saw Capri looking and folded her arms over her belly, her face turning a deep shade of red. “It’s not—I mean, I know it’s obvious,” she stammered, eyes darting to the floor. “I wasn’t sure if Mom told you.”
Capri’s voice was gentle as she nodded. “Why are you hiding it?”
Camille’s throat bobbed with a hard swallow. “Because I—” She exhaled, shaking her head. “I know I’ve let a lot of people down.”
Shame.
Capri knew that weight, the way it curled around your ribs and made you feel like you were sinking. But looking at Camille—young, scared, already bracing for judgment—she felt something else stir. Compassion. Fierce and unwavering. Because if Capri had learned anything, it was that mistakes didn’t define a person—how they chose to move forward did.
Capri took a slow breath, setting the compass aside before leaning forward. “Camille, listen to me. No matter how we break the rules we make for ourselves, no matter how many times we stumble, we keep moving forward. We throw tantrums when things don’t go our way. We whisper secrets with our best friends in the dark. We look for comfort where we can find it. And sometimes, against all logic, against all experience, we fight it.”
Camille’s eyes shone with unshed tears. Capri held her gaze, steady and sure.
“You fight it. You fall. And it’s scary as hell.” She paused, letting the weight of those words settle. “But you know what? There’s an upside to free-falling—it’s the chance you give your friends to catch you.”
Camille swiped at her cheek. “I don’t know if I deserve that.”
Capri smiled softly. “You do. You always will.”
For a long moment, Camille stood there, as if letting the words soak in. Then, with a shaky breath, she nodded.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Capri squeezed her hand. “Anytime, kid.”
Capri exhaled, letting Camille’s words settle between them before tilting her head. “So… what’s it like? Being pregnant?”
Camille blinked at her, surprised by the question. “Oh. Uh…weird.” She let out a small laugh. “I mean, I’m sick all the time, and smells that never bothered me before suddenly make me want to hurl. But…” She hesitated, a shy smile forming. “It’s kind of exciting, too. Like, there’s this little person growing inside me, and no matter how scared I am, I already love them.”
Capri studied her for a beat, then smiled. “Got a name picked out yet?”
Camille shook her head. “Not yet. I don’t even know the gender.” She hesitated before adding, “But if it’s a girl, I’ve been thinking about Ella. And if it’s a boy…maybe Aaron.” She paused, her eyes filling with emotion. “After my dad.”
Capri nodded, considering. “Good names. Strong names.” Then she grinned mischievously. “Or maybe you’ll have twins.”
Camille groaned, eyes widening in horror. “Don’t even say that.”
Capri chuckled and reached for her suitcase again. “Fine, fine. But just know that if it happens, I get full ‘I told you so’ rights.”
Camille rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, if that happens, I’m handing one over to you.”
Capri froze mid-zip, then turned to Camille, dead serious. “I take it back. You’ll have one perfect, singular baby.”