Beyond the Jersey
Chapter thirteen
Jamie
For the first time since the injury, therapy doesn't hurt before it starts.
I notice the difference while walking from the parking lot, not because my shoulder suddenly feels normal.
It doesn't. There's still stiffness every morning.
Still that familiar pull whenever I reach too far.
Still the occasional reminder from my ribs that healing has its own schedule.
But today...today my body doesn't feel like it's bracing for a fight.
That's new.
Colby notices before we even reach the front doors. "You look different."
"I showered."
"That's not what I meant."
"I know."
He studies me for another second. "You aren't limping." I glance down. Sure enough...my stride feels almost even. "I hadn't noticed."
He smiles. "That's usually how progress works."
I laugh quietly. "Are you getting inspirational in your old age?"
"I'm twenty-nine."
"Ancient, according to Liam."
We step inside the rehabilitation center. The familiar warmth wraps around us, carrying the scent of fresh coffee and disinfectants. A month ago, walking through these doors felt like admitting defeat. Today, it feels like showing up for work. Different work. Still work.
Colby claps my good shoulder. "I'll be back in an hour. No heroics."
"I've heard that somewhere."
He heads back toward the parking lot. I watch him go for a second before turning toward the therapy gym.
Almost automatically my eyes begin searching.
Treatment tables.
Exercise bikes.
Parallel bars.
The cable station.
No Annette.
I frown slightly. Why am I looking for— The thought stops halfway through.
I know exactly why. I was hoping she'd be here.
Somewhere along the way, seeing Annette stopped feeling like part of the appointment. It started feeling like part of the day.
That's new.
Over the past several weeks, she's quietly become part of the rhythm of my recovery.
Therapy. Coffee. Conversation. Homework. Repeat.
Somewhere along the way, seeing Annette each week stopped feeling like part of the appointment. It started feeling like part of the day.
I shake my head once. Dangerous line of thinking. Not because she's my therapist. Because I've spent years teaching myself not to depend on anyone.
Depending on routines is one thing. Depending on people...that's another story entirely.
"Morning, Captain."
I look up. Elise walks toward me carrying a clipboard. "Morning."
She glances around theatrically. "Looking for someone?"
"No."
One eyebrow rises. "Really?"
"I'm looking for..."
I search for something believable.
"...the resistance bands."
"They're behind you."
I turn. Sure enough...they're exactly where they've always been.
When I look back, Elise is smiling.
"I'm having an off day."
"So, I see."
She checks the schedule. "Annette's finishing an evaluation in the sports performance gym."
I nod before I can stop myself. "Good."
Elise pretends to make another note on her clipboard.
"I'll be sure to document your obvious relief."
"I wasn't relieved."
"Mm-hmm."
"I wasn't."
"You hockey players are adorable."
"We're what?"
"Hopeless."
She laughs softly before changing the subject. "Let's see what that shoulder can do today."
***
The session begins the way they always do. Gentle mobility. Scapular control. Breathing. Then active motion.
Elise watches carefully as I lift my arm.
Higher. A little higher.
The familiar tightness appears near the top.
Not sharp pain anymore, just resistance.
Healing tissue is reminding me it still exists.
"Hold."
I hold.
"Five seconds."
Long enough for my shoulder to start shaking.
"And down."
I lower it slowly. She checks the angle. Smiles. "Again."
We repeat the movement. Then again.
By the sixth repetition, sweat trickles down my back despite the cool temperature of the gym.
"Excellent."
I lower my arm. "Really?"
She turns the goniometer so I can see it.
"You've gained another six degrees."
"Only six?"
She folds her arms. "I see Annette's optimism is wearing off on you."
I grin. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"You should."
The rest of the session passes in steady, ordinary work.
Resistance bands.
Wall slides.
Balance drills.
Things that would have seemed laughably easy six weeks ago.
Today...they feel like progress, real progress.
When we finish, Elise closes the chart.
"I'm happy."
"That's good."
"You know what I like best?"
"What?"
"You stop when I tell you to."
I laugh.
"High praise."
"You have no idea."
She points toward the hallway. "Go hydrate."
"Yes, ma'am."
"There may be hope for you yet."
I grab my water bottle and step into the corridor. Across the hall, the door to the sports performance gym opens.
Annette steps out carrying a tablet. She's reading something on the screen and doesn't notice me immediately.
A loose strand of auburn hair has escaped her ponytail. She absently tucks it behind one ear while continuing down the hallway.
Then she looks up. Our eyes meet and her entire expression softens into a smile.
"Good morning."
And for reasons I can't quite explain...my day suddenly gets a little better.
***
Annette glances toward the elevator. Then toward the hallway leading to the hospital café.
She doesn't ask. She simply starts walking. Three steps later, I change direction without thinking.
She notices me beside her a moment later. The corner of her mouth lifts. "I thought you were heading to the parking lot."
"So did I."
"Interesting."
"It surprised me too."
She laughs softly. "I was hoping you'd say yes."
I blink. "To what?"
"Coffee."
I grin. "You didn't ask."
"I didn't have to."
I suppose she's right. Somewhere over the past month, coffee has stopped being something we plan. It has become what happens after therapy. No discussion. No invitation. Just...part of Tuesdays.
The hospital café is quieter than usual. The lunch rush hasn't started yet. A handful of nurses occupy one corner. Two therapists compare notes over sandwiches. And someone is working on a laptop near the windows overlooking the snow-covered courtyard.
Annette orders tea. I order black coffee.
The cashier smiles. "The usual."
I pause. Apparently, I have a usual. Annette notices my expression.
"Congratulations."
"On what?"
"You're becoming predictable."
"I don't know how I feel about that."
"I think you'll survive."
We carry our drinks toward the same small table we've claimed every week without ever discussing it. Near the windows. Away from the crowd.
I set my coffee down. Annette wraps both hands around her tea before taking the first sip.
She closes her eyes for half a second. "Perfect."
"That good?"
"I haven't had a hot drink stay hot all morning."
"Occupational hazard?"
"Definitely."
I nod. "I can relate."
"You can?"
"I've burned three pots of coffee this month."
She smiles. "I believe that."
"I forget it's brewing."
"What distracts you?"
I think about it. "Exercises. The notebook. The weather. The flamingo."
Her eyebrows lift. "The flamingo?"
I sigh. "Liam."
"Ah."
"He's convinced it needs a name."
"And?"
"I'm refusing to participate."
"I give you another week."
"I'll never name a lawn ornament."
She takes another sip of tea. "We'll see."
A comfortable silence settles between us.
Not empty. Just...easy.
Outside, fresh snow drifts past the windows in lazy circles. People hurry across the courtyard with collars turned up against the cold. I take a sip of coffee, then remember something. "I finally managed breakfast."
She looks over. "Should I be worried?"
"No."
"You sound proud."
"I buttered toast."
She blinks. "Congratulations?"
"One-handed."
A laugh escapes before she can stop it.
"I'm serious."
"I know you are."
"It took me three tries."
She laughs harder. "I shouldn't be laughing."
"But you are."
"I am."
She sets her tea down carefully. "Tell me everything."
"There isn't much to tell."
"I disagree."
"I dropped the knife."
"Reasonable."
"I chased it across the counter."
She nods solemnly.
"A dangerous pursuit."
"The toast slid onto the floor."
"Oh no."
"The dog got there first."
She covers her mouth.
"Lucky?"
"No."
"Moose."
She shakes her head. "Of course it was Moose."
"He looked very pleased with himself."
"I'm sure he did."
"I ate cereal."
She finally gives up trying not to laugh. "I'm sorry."
"No, you're not."
"I'm a little sorry."
"Not enough."
She smiles over the rim of her cup. "Probably not."
I find myself laughing too. Not because the story is particularly funny. Because hearing her laugh somehow makes the whole disaster seem worth it.
The conversation drifts naturally after that. Favorite breakfasts. Favorite coffee.
Whether pancakes count as acceptable weekday food.
"They absolutely do," Annette insists.
"They're dessert."
"They're breakfast."
"They have syrup."
"So?"
"So does ice cream."
"I've never put syrup on ice cream."
"Don't." She points a finger at me. "That's not the point."
"It might be."
She shakes her head, smiling. "I refuse to discuss breakfast with someone who thinks pancakes are dessert."
"They're cake."
"They're pancakes."
"They have cake in the name."
"They also have pan in the name."
"I don't think that's helping your argument."
"It isn't."
We both laugh. The sound surprises me. Not because we're laughing. But because it feels...normal.
For a little while I'm not Captain Walker. I'm not recovering from surgery. I'm not counting degrees of shoulder motion or wondering when I'll skate again. I'm just sharing coffee with someone whose company I've quietly started looking forward to.
The realization slips in so naturally I almost miss it. It isn't the coffee. It never has been. It's the conversation. It’s her.
Annette glances toward the clock on the wall. "I should probably get back."
"Yeah."
Neither of us moves right away.
She notices.
"So..."
"So..."
She smiles. "We're both procrastinating."
"A little."
She stands, gathering her empty cup. "I'll see you next Tuesday."
I nod. Then catch myself. "Actually..."
She waits.
"You're working Monday too, aren't you?" Her eyebrows rise slightly. "I am."
I try to sound casual. "I thought I remembered seeing it on the schedule."