Chapter 10 Brad
My pride had exactly thirty seconds to protest before Serena took complete control of the situation. She settled Finn with a movie and enough snacks to keep him occupied, then returned with an expression that brooked no argument.
"Couch. Now."
"I should put the groceries—"
"I'll handle it after I look at your knee. Couch."
Her teacher voice was surprisingly effective on grown men too. I limped to the couch, trying not to show how much each step hurt. She appeared with ice packs, pillows for elevation, and my own first aid supplies I didn't remember telling her about.
"Pants off," she said matter-of-factly.
"Excuse me?"
"I can't assess the damage through denim. Pants off, or I'm cutting them off."
"These are my favorite jeans."
"Then I suggest you remove them yourself."
I stared at her. She stared back, unflinching. Somehow, I'd gone from protecting her from a tree through her roof to being bossed around in my own living room by someone who barely came up to my shoulder.
With as much dignity as I could manage, I stood and unfastened my jeans, gritting my teeth as I pushed them down. The knee was already swollen, bruising spreading in ugly purple patterns.
"Jesus, Brad." Her clinical demeanor slipped. "This needs an X-ray."
"It's fine. Just torqued it wrong."
"Torqued it wrong?" She knelt beside the couch, her fingers gentle but firm as she examined the joint. "You mean when that asshole deliberately targeted your injured knee?"
"You noticed that?"
"I notice everything about—" She stopped, focusing intently on my knee. "It was almost healed from the MCL tear, wasn't it?"
"Yeah. It was almost healed."
" Was being the operative word." She positioned ice packs with practiced efficiency. "You have compression wraps?"
"Bathroom cabinet, top shelf."
While she was gone, I tried to adjust position and nearly blacked out from the pain. When she returned, she took one look at my face and her expression softened.
"Here." She handed me ibuprofen and water. "Anti-inflammatory. And don't tell me you're fine—you're white as a sheet."
Her hands were gentle as she wrapped the knee, the compression providing immediate relief. But the intimacy of her touch—her fingers on my skin—created a different kind of discomfort. It had been three years since anyone had taken care of me like this.
"You've done this before," I observed.
"Adaptive PE certification required sports medicine training. Lots of kids with various conditions need modified activities, which sometimes means injuries." She sat back on her heels, assessing her work. "This needs proper medical attention."
"After the roads clear—"
"Brad." Her eyes met mine. "Stop being stubborn. You're hurt."
"I've played through worse."
"This isn't a game. This is your mobility, your career, your ability to take care of Finn."
Finn. As if summoned, he appeared in the doorway, movie forgotten.
"Dad? Your knee looks really bad."
"It looks worse than it is, buddy. Come here."
He climbed carefully onto the couch beside me, avoiding the injured leg. "Those men hurt you because of me."
"What? No. Finn, no."
"We only went to the store because of my medicine."
"Hey." I pulled him against my side. "We went to the store because we needed supplies. Those men were just..." I searched for the right words. "Some people make bad choices when they're scared."
"Were you scared?"
I felt Serena watching us. "Yeah. I was scared they might hurt you or Miss Serena."
"But Miss Serena saved us," Finn said with satisfaction. "With the cart!" He looked up at me with sudden seriousness. "Maybe you don't have to worry so much anymore, Dad. Miss Serena's here now."
"She did protect us," I said, catching her eye over Finn's head. The look that passed between us held acknowledgment, gratitude, something deeper I wasn't ready to name. "Maybe you're right, buddy."
Serena's slight nod confirmed what we both felt—that something had shifted between us in that crowded store.
My phone's sharp ring cut through the moment. Theo's name flashed on the screen.
"Put me on speaker," he said when I answered. "I want to talk to both of you."
"How did you—"
"Maria called. Said Serena texted her about the store incident. Speaker. Now."
I complied, too tired to argue.
"First," Theo's voice filled the room, "Serena, thank you for protecting this stubborn asshole. Second, Brad, stop trying to be a hero and accept help. Third, how bad is the knee?"
"It's—"
"Bad," Serena interrupted. "He needs an X-ray."
"I'll call Patricia," Theo said. "She might be able to come by—"
"No," I said quickly. Too quickly, based on Serena's expression.
"Right," Theo drew out the word. "Because having the team doctor make a house call would be terrible."
"The roads—"
"Are clear enough for emergency medical personnel. Which this is. I'm calling her."
He hung up before I could protest further.
"Who's Patricia?" Serena asked casually, adjusting the ice packs.
"Team doctor."
"Ah."
That 'ah' contained volumes. Before I could explain, Finn had a coughing fit—not serious, but enough to shift focus. Serena helped him through it with calm efficiency while I watched, useless with my leg elevated.
That evening became an exercise in forced vulnerability. Serena managed dinner, Finn's homework, and my steady stream of work calls about whether I'd make next week's games (no), or the playoffs (hopefully).
She brought me dinner on the couch—actual food, not the protein bar massacre I'd been planning—and physically prevented me from crawling to the table.
"Eat. Like a human, not a wolverine."
"I don't eat like a—"
"Yesterday you ate a sandwich while doing push-ups."
"That was time management."
"That was deranged."
When Finn's evening breathing treatment ran long—his lungs reacting to the day's stress—she sat with him while I provided distraction through increasingly ridiculous hockey stories.
"So Theo decides he's going to impress this sports reporter," I said, watching the medication mist curl around Finn's small face. "Says he can do a triple axel. On hockey skates. During a game."
"Uncle Theo can't even spell axel," Finn wheezed through the mask.
"Correct. He ended up somehow inverted in the goal, skates tangled in the net like a bat. A very angry, swearing bat." I demonstrated with my hands. "The ref had to call a timeout while maintenance cut him free with bolt cutters."
Finn's laugh turned into a cough, then back to a laugh. Serena's eyes found mine—the quick check-in of experienced catastrophe management. I gave her the tiny head shake: normal, not scary.
After Finn was in bed—insisting Serena tuck him in since I couldn't navigate stairs easily—she returned with tea for herself and fresh ice for me.
"Thank you," I said quietly. "For everything today."
"You already thanked me."
"Not enough." I shifted, trying to ease the ache. "You could have panicked when those men—"
"They threatened Finn." Her voice went hard. "They hurt you. Panic wasn't an option."
"Most people would have frozen."
"I'm not most people."
"No," I agreed. "You're not."
She curled into the chair across from me, looking small in my sweatshirt. "Tell me about Sarah."
The request should have hurt. Instead, it felt like permission.
"Sarah was..." I let my head fall back, words coming easier with pharmaceutical assistance. "You know those people who seem too bright for the world? Like they're burning at a different frequency?"
"Yeah."
"That was Sarah. First time I saw her, she was chained to our team bus."
"Excuse me?"
"Environmental protest. Something about carbon emissions and moral bankruptcy.
She had a giant banner that said 'PUCKS BEFORE PLANET?
' with my face on it." I smiled at the memory.
"I was so offended, I marched over to argue.
She destroyed me. Cited statistics I didn't know existed.
Used words I had to look up online later.
Then asked if I wanted to grab fair-trade coffee and discuss why I was wrong about everything. "
"And you fell in love with a woman who chained herself to your bus?"
"Fell like a piano from a building." The pain meds were definitely working now. "She came to every home game with increasingly elaborate protest signs. 'WILDER ABOUT WASTE.' 'brAD IDEA: RECYCLE.' The team actually went carbon neutral just to stop the puns."
Serena laughed, bright and unexpected. "She sounds incredible."
"She was chaos in human form. Beautiful, brilliant chaos." I focused on the ceiling, words flowing without my usual filters. "She would have loved you."
"Yeah?"
"You don't let me get away with anything either."
The fire crackled. Outside, snow continued falling. The pain medication was making me loose-tongued, saying things I normally kept locked down.
"Marcus was an idiot," I said suddenly.
"You mentioned that."
"Worth repeating. Any man who couldn't see your value..." I shook my head. "His loss."
"Careful," she said softly. "That sounds dangerously close to a compliment."
"Statement of fact."
"Brad..."
"You're extraordinary with Finn." The words kept coming despite my better judgment. "The way you see him—not his condition, not his limitations. Just him."
"He makes it easy."
"No, he doesn't. Most people see the medical equipment first, the restrictions second, the kid third if at all. You've never done that."
She was quiet for a moment. "My younger brother had severe asthma growing up. Different from Finn's, but similar enough. I remember how people would treat him like glass, like he might shatter if they breathed wrong. It made him feel broken."
"Is he okay now?"
"Grew out of the worst of it by high school. Plays soccer for UT Austin now." She smiled. "But those early years shaped both of us."
"Finn and I are lucky to have you in our lives."
"So am I," she said softly. "Lucky, I mean."
The words hung between us, weighted with meaning neither of us was ready to unpack.
A knock at the door broke the spell—Patricia, arriving despite the weather because Theo had insisted. She swept in bringing cold air and designer perfume, her medical bag slung over one shoulder.
"Well, well," she said, pulling off her coat to reveal a fitted sweater that was decidedly un-medical. "The team captain needs a house call? I should charge extra for hazard pay in this weather." She smiled at me, touching my shoulder lightly. "Though for you, I might make an exception."
Serena stood abruptly. "I'll go clean the kitchen."
After she disappeared into the kitchen, Patricia knelt beside my leg, her hands warm on my knee. "So, injured yourself being heroic again? Let me guess—saving someone from the storm?" Her fingers pressed gently, professionally, but lingered a beat longer than necessary.
"Something like that," I managed, hyperaware of Serena aggressively reorganizing dishes in the kitchen.
Patricia examined my knee with professional thoroughness, though she maintained unnecessary contact with her free hand on my thigh "for stability." "You really did a number on this. When's the last time we were alone together? That charity event?"
A cabinet door closed with slightly too much force in the kitchen.
"That was two years ago," I said. "With Sarah."
"Right. Of course." Patricia had the grace to look embarrassed. She refocused on the exam, all business now. "Definitely reaggravated. You need an MRI, but I'm guessing significant tissue damage. Minimum two weeks off the ice, probably four."
"The playoffs—"
"Will happen with or without you. Don't make this worse by pushing too soon." She packed her medical bag slowly. "I could check on you personally later this week. Make sure you're following orders."
"That's not necessary," Serena said crisply from the kitchen. "I'm familiar with the recovery protocols."
Patricia's smile was knowing. "I'm sure you are. Well, I'll leave you in your friend's capable hands. She seems very... attentive."
After she left, Serena busied herself with unnecessary kitchen cleaning.
"Hey," I called. "You okay?"
"Fine. Just tidying up."
"Serena."
She paused, back to me. "She's very pretty."
"She's the team doctor."
"And very pretty."
"And completely irrelevant to anything important in my life."
She turned then, something vulnerable in her expression. "I have no right to feel..."
"Feel what?"
"Nothing. It's nothing." She grabbed the ice pack. "This needs refreshing."
She disappeared into the kitchen, leaving me alone with the realization that her jealousy—because that's what it was—didn't bother me at all.
In fact, it made something warm unfold in my chest that had nothing to do with pain medication.