36. Jamie
Chapter thirty-six
Jamie
The Captain Returns
It’s been a few days since I brought Annette to the penthouse.
Honestly, nothing has changed between us.
Well...almost nothing.
Apparently, discovering your boyfriend is secretly a billionaire means someone finally replaces the eighty-seven-dollar bra she's been stubbornly refusing to buy.
For the record, I enlisted Keisha to handle the shopping.
Also, for the record, the anonymous delivery lasted approximately four seconds before Annette called to tell me I am a terrible secret gift giver.
Worth it.
Everything else has settled into something wonderfully ordinary.
Morning coffee.
Late-night phone calls.
Plans for weekends.
Dreams that somehow feel a little closer now.
It's everything I've wanted.
But tonight I have a completely different focus.
Tonight I'm stepping back onto NHL ice for the first time since the hit that changed everything.
And we're facing one of the hardest-hitting teams in the league with a well-earned reputation for finishing every check they start.
My morning arrives long before the alarm has a chance to ring.
I open my eyes to the pale light creeping through the cabin windows and lie still for a moment, listening to the familiar sounds outside.
Somewhere across the lake, one of the ever-present loons calls into the quiet dawn.
A breeze stirs the pine branches, carrying with it the scent of spring and cold water.
For the first time in months, game day feels wonderfully ordinary.
That thought makes me smile.
There was a time when every game morning began with pressure. I would wake already thinking about line matchups, media interviews, community appearances, sponsorship commitments, and the thousand invisible responsibilities that seemed to come with wearing the captain's "C."
Today...
The first thing I think about is Annette.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand before I can reach for it.
Annette, of course.
Good luck today. Not that you'll need it.
A second message appears almost immediately.
Remember what your therapist said. Listen to your shoulder.
I laugh quietly and type back.
Fortunately for both of us...
I pause long enough to smile.
...my shoulder didn't get a vote.
Three dots appear almost instantly.
I'm still putting that in your permanent chart.
I shake my head.
I'm afraid there's no billing code for stubborn hockey captains.
Another pause.
Then...
There should be.
I slip the phone back onto the stand, still smiling.
Some habits, it seems, are worth keeping forever.
***
By the time I reach Frostholm Arena, the parking lot is already filling with early fans wearing navy and silver jerseys, some spreading out tailgate food and others heading inside to the shops and food vendors.
Children race toward the entrance carrying homemade signs.
One catches my attention as I walk toward the players' entrance.
WELCOME BACK, CAPTAIN!
His father notices me looking and nudges the boy gently.
The child turns, sees me, and his eyes widen.
"Captain Walker!"
He holds the sign up a little higher.
I walk over. "Did you make that?"
He nods enthusiastically. "My grandma helped with the letters."
"They're excellent letters."
He grins. "I told my mom you were coming back today."
"I'm glad I didn't disappoint you."
"You won't."
The certainty in his voice catches me off guard. Before I leave, I kneel just long enough to shake his hand. "Cheer loud."
He beams. "I always do."
Inside the arena, everything feels comfortably familiar.
The hallway echoes with the sounds of sharpening skates, equipment carts rolling over concrete, and trainers moving from room to room with practiced efficiency.
No one treats today like something extraordinary. Not because it isn't. Because this is what teammates do. They let normal become its own kind of welcome.
Liam falls into step beside me carrying two coffees.
"I bought yours."
I accept the cup suspiciously. "What do you want?"
"Nothing."
"I don't believe you."
He smiles. "I just figured your first game back deserved decent coffee."
I take a careful sip. "It's actually good."
"I know."
"You made it yourself?"
"I'm deeply offended."
"You should be."
He places one hand over his heart.
"I specifically walked three blocks so I wouldn't poison our captain with arena coffee."
"That..." I raise the cup slightly. "...might be the nicest thing you've ever done for me."
"Don't get used to it."
"I wasn't planning on it."
***
When we step into the locker room, conversation quiets almost imperceptibly.
Not awkwardly. Expectantly. Every stall is occupied except mine. My jersey hangs neatly above it, waiting exactly where it always has.
Number 19.
Captain.
I set the coffee down and reach for the jersey.
For just a second, my fingers rest against the embroidered "C."
Months ago, that letter felt like something I had to carry alone. Today it feels different.
It reminds me of every person who helped carry me.
Coach.
The team.
My parents.
Annette.
I pull the jersey over my head and smooth the front instinctively.
It fits exactly the way it always has. Only now...I finally understand what it means.
Coach walks across the room and stops beside my stall.
He doesn't make a speech.
He doesn't have to.
He reaches out, straightens the collar with the quiet precision of a father adjusting a son's tie before a wedding, then steps back to look at me.
"There."
I smile. "There what?"
"Now you're ready."
Our eyes meet. For a long moment, neither of us says anything.
Finally, he nods once. "Welcome back, Captain."
The words land deeper than I expect. Not because they're about hockey. Because they're about trust. I nod back.
"It's good to be home."
***
The final minutes before warm-ups pass with the familiar rhythm every hockey player knows by heart.
Tape.
Stretch.
Retape one glove that doesn't actually need it.
Check the skate laces one more time.
The routine hasn't changed in years. Only the men moving through it have.
I finish tightening my right skate and glance around the room.
Nobody is watching me.
Toby is arguing with Liam about whether pineapple belongs on pizza.
"It absolutely does."
"It absolutely doesn't."
"It's fruit."
"Exactly."
Coach looks up from the game board. "If either of you brings fruit into this locker room, you're both skating extras."
Liam points triumphantly. "I've been saying Coach hates vitamins for years."
Coach doesn't even look up. "I heard that."
Caleb quietly chuckles while finishing the tape on his stick.
For the first time since the injury, I realize something unexpected. They’re treating me exactly the same. Not carefully. Not cautiously. Normally.
It's the greatest gift they could have given me.
***
Coach gathers us around the whiteboard. His pregame talks are legendary mostly because they're never very long. He believes preparation happens during the week. Games are simply where preparation gets tested.
He looks around the circle until every player meets his eyes.
"We know who we are."
Nobody speaks.
"We defend."
Another pause.
"We outwork people."
His gaze settles on me for just a heartbeat before moving around the room again.
"And we trust each other."
The words land differently today.
Months ago, I would have heard them as a challenge. Today they sound like permission.
Coach caps the marker. "Let's go play hockey."
No speeches. No dramatic finish. Just truth.
***
The tunnel leading toward the ice glows softly beneath the arena lights. One by one we gather near the entrance while the public-address announcer begins introducing the visiting lineup.
The roar filtering through the concrete walls grows steadily louder.
Liam leans toward me.
"Nervous?"
I think about the question. Then shake my head. "No."
"Really?"
"I'm grateful."
He studies me for a second before nodding. "Yeah."
His voice grows unusually sincere. "I think that's better."
The anthem singer steps onto the ice. The arena settles into respectful silence.
We remove our helmets. As the first notes echo through the building, I close my eyes for a brief moment. Not to pray for a win. Not to ask for one more chance.
Simply to say thank you.
For healing.
For second chances.
For coaches who refuse to let players quit.
For parents who taught me what mattered.
For teammates who carried the captain until he could carry himself again.
And...for one stubborn sports medicine therapist who somehow convinced me that asking for help wasn't weakness.
***
When I open my eyes again, I look through the opening of the tunnel toward the stands.
It takes only a second to find them in the seats my folks always occupy. Mom sits beside Dad; her hands folded quietly in her lap.
Coach's wife smiles warmly as she notices me looking their way.
Beside them...Annette. She catches my eye immediately.
She isn't wearing clinic scrubs. She isn't carrying a chart. She's wearing my navy Blizzards jersey over a cream sweater, her hair falling softly around her shoulders.
When our eyes meet, she doesn't wave.
She simply smiles. Then she places one hand lightly over her heart. The gesture lasts only a second.
Long enough for me to understand exactly what she's saying. I'm here.
I smile back before the lights dim.
The announcer's voice fills the arena. "Ladies and gentlemen..."
The crowd begins clapping even before the introductions start.
Each player skates onto the ice to a burst of applause. The building grows louder with every name.
Finally, the announcer pauses. His voice carries an unmistakable note of anticipation.
"And now..." The applause begins before he even finishes. "Returning to the Frostholm Blizzards lineup..."
The tunnel vibrates beneath the sound. Coach steps beside me. He doesn't say anything.
He simply reaches over and brushes one thumb across the embroidered "C" on my jersey.
Then he gives me the smallest nod. Go.
I push off. The tunnel opens onto eighteen thousand people rising to their feet. The standing ovation crashes over me like a wave.