Chapter 21 Marnie #2
“You do.” But there’s no heat in it. “I’m not dying today, Marnie. You need to go back to work.”
“I am working. I took the morning—”
“You took two days off. That’s enough.” She looks at Roman. “Take her back to the facility. Make her focus on something that’s not me dying.”
“Mom—”
“I mean it. I’m tired. I’m going to sleep. And I don’t need you sitting here watching me do it.”
Roman stands. “Come on. I bet we can find Almardon and Rodriguez being idiots somewhere.”
“They’re always idiots,” I say.
“Exactly. Very predictable. A good distraction.”
Mom’s already settling back, closing her eyes. “Go. Both of you.”
At the door, I look back. She’s getting smaller every day. Fading.
“She’s right,” Roman says quietly in the hallway. “You need to work.”
“I know.” I don’t move. “What if—”
“They’ll call.” His hand finds mine briefly. “Come on. Let’s go find those idiots.”
The facility feels wrong. Too normal. Too bright. Like the world didn’t just shift.
Roman walks in with me, and I’m aware of people noticing. The staff. A few players lingering in the hallway. Roman Varga doesn’t usually show up mid-afternoon on a practice day.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah. Just strange being back.”
“Want me to stay or—”
“You can go. I’m fine.”
He studies my face for a moment, then nods. “Text me later.”
“I will.”
He leaves and I stand there in the empty hallway for a moment, trying to remember how to be Dr. Walker instead of a daughter whose mom is dying.
I find Rodriguez and Almardon in the gym where they’re supposed to be doing cooldown stretches. Instead they’re both at the window.
Rodriguez lets out a low whistle as a figure passes by outside.
“There goes the ice queen,” Rodriguez says, still watching where the woman disappeared.
“Who?”
“That figure skater. Juliette something.” He turns, sees me, grins. “She’s been practicing here the last few weeks.”
“And you’re calling her the ice queen because...?”
“Because she’s cold, Doc. Ice cold.” He flops onto a mat. “I tried talking to her last week. Very polite. Very charming. Asked about her skating.”
“And?”
“And she looked at me like I was something stuck to her shoe and walked away.”
Almardon snorts. “You asked if she could do a triple axel.”
“That’s a legitimate skating question!”
“You don’t know what a triple axel is.”
“I know it’s impressive. That’s enough.” Rodriguez looks at me. “Have you met her?”
“No. Should I have?”
“Probably. She’s been using the PT room for her ankle. Usually when Jake’s here.” He’s still got that grin, but there’s something else underneath it. Not just attraction—actual interest. “She’s really pretty. And she knows it.”
“So naturally you had to hit on her.”
“I didn’t hit on her. I made conversation. There’s a difference.”
“There really isn’t,” Almardon says.
“There is! I was being friendly.” He tosses a foam roller at Almardon. “We share a facility. It’s called being polite.”
“It’s called shooting your shot and missing,” Almardon corrects. “Badly.”
I watch them bicker and can’t help but laugh. Three days of sitting in that hospice room watching Mom fade, and here’s Rodriguez getting rejected by a figure skater and Almardon giving him shit about it.
It’s stupid. Meaningless. Exactly what I need.
“Both of you, finish your stretches. Actual stretches, not whatever you were doing by the window.”
“We were stretching our necks,” Rodriguez protests. “Very important for hockey.”
“Stretching your necks to watch a figure skater walk by.”
“Multitasking.”
They finish their cooldowns and I watch them, cataloging without meaning to. Rodriguez’s movement is clean—no favoring, no compensating. Good. Almardon’s still got some tightness in his hip but it’s improving.
When they’re done, Rodriguez hesitates.
“Hey Doc? Your mom. How’s she doing?”
Nobody at work has asked directly. They’ve been careful, giving me space, not pushing. But Rodriguez just asks.
“She’s okay. For now.”
“That sucks,” Almardon says. Simple. Direct. “My grandma died last year. It was really bad.”
“Yeah.”
They’re both staring at the floor, awkward as hell, trying to figure out what to say or how to help. There’s no good answer and they know it.
“If you need anything—” Rodriguez stops. “I don’t know what you’d need. But we’d help.”
“I know. Thanks.”
“Also Cap’s been less murdery lately,” Rodriguez adds. “Like, still murdery. But targeted murdery. We figured you probably needed that.”
“He threatened to make me run suicides yesterday for using my water bottle wrong,” Almardon points out.
“Yeah, but you do drink water super annoyingly. He’s been good to the rest of us.” Rodriguez looks at me. “We just mean he’s trying. To make things easier. We all are.”
My throat is tight but I manage, “You’re doing fine.”
They leave and I sit in the quiet gym trying to process the past three days.
Mom in hospice. Roman visiting her without me asking. These two idiots offering help in their completely inadequate but genuine way.
Everyone just kept going while I was gone. Adjusted. Made space for me to fall apart.
The thought should be comforting. Instead it just makes me aware of how much I’ve been holding at arm’s length. Work. The team. Roman.
All of it kept at a careful distance because getting close means it can hurt.
Mom’s voice in my head: You’ve been scared since your father died.
She’s not wrong.
My phone buzzes.
Roman
You good?
Yeah. Found the idiots. You were right.
Roman
Always am. What were they doing?
Watching some figure skater walk by. Rodriguez is calling her the ice queen.
Roman
That’ll end well.
He asked her what the equivalent of a hat trick is in figure skating.
Roman
Jesus. Poor girl.
Dinner tonight? Your place?
Roman
I’ll cook
You don’t cook
Roman
I’ll order food and call it cooking
I smile at my phone.
Dinner. Normal. Like we’re just together. Like this is what we do.
When did that happen? When did Roman become the person I have dinner with, who visits my dying mother, who texts to make sure I’m okay?
When did I let him get that close?
The answer is I don’t know. It just happened. Somewhere between me resetting his shoulder and him edging me on that road trip, he just became part of my life.
The thought should terrify me. After Dad. After years of keeping people at a distance.
But mostly I’m just tired of being scared.
See you tonight.
Roman
See you.
I set the phone down and look around the gym. The mats where Rodriguez and Almardon were stretching. The window where Rodriguez was watching Juliette walk by. The foam rollers they actually used this time.
Normal. All of it completely, beautifully normal.
Mom was right. I needed this. Not just the work, but the reminder that life is still happening. That Rodriguez is still striking out with figure skaters. That Almardon is still giving him shit. That Roman is still texting to check on me.
That I’m still here. Still capable of showing up and doing my job and having dinner plans.
I can do this. Both things at once. The grief and the living. The fear and the letting people close anyway.
It’s not much. But right now, it feels like enough.