Chapter 4
Ethan
I ordered pizza.
I know I shouldn't. Lilly gave me a meal plan that's taped to my refrigerator, full of lean proteins, vegetables, and complex carbohydrates. Everything measured and optimized for recovery. I'm supposed to be eating grilled chicken, quinoa, and steamed broccoli.
Instead, I ordered a large pepperoni with extra cheese and a side of garlic bread.
The team nutritionist would have a heart attack if she knew. But it's Saturday, I have no sessions until three, and I don't care. My knee hurts, my mood is foul, and I want pizza.
I try calling my mother for the third time today. It rings and rings and goes to voicemail. Again.
That's not like her. My mother always answers her phone. She's the kind of mother who keeps her ringer on full volume and her phone within arm's reach at all times, just in case one of her kids needs her.
Something is wrong.
I call Bella instead.
She picks up on the second ring. “Hey, big brother.”
“Where's Mom? I've been trying to reach her all morning.”
There's a pause that makes my stomach clench.
“She's at the hospital with Dad.”
I sit upright, my heart in my throat. The quick movement sends a flare of pain through my knee, but I ignore it. No matter how many times it happens, the fear never gets easier. “What happened?”
“It's a flare-up. He started having trouble with his vision on Thursday, and then his legs got weak. Mom took him to the ER this morning.”
“Why the hell didn't anyone tell me?”
“Because Mom said not to.” Bella's voice is calm. My younger sister is always calm no matter the emergency. That’s what makes her a good nurse, though right now it’s infuriating. “She didn't want to add to your stress. You've got enough on your plate with the rehab.”
“That's not her decision to make,” I ground out. “He's my father.”
“I know. That's why I'm telling you now.” She sighs. “He's stable, Ethan. They're managing the inflammation with steroids, and he's responding well. The doctor thinks he'll be discharged tomorrow or Monday.”
I sink onto my couch and press my free hand against my eyes. A thousand miles away, my father is in a hospital bed, and I can't do a damn thing about it.
I should be on the next flight to Wisconsin, sitting in that hospital room, making sure he's okay. But I can't. I'm stuck in New York with a knee that barely works and crutches that make traveling impossible.
The team doctors would never clear me to fly, and even if they did, what would I do when I got there? Hobble around the hospital, getting in everyone's way, adding another person for my mother to worry about?
I'm useless. Completely useless.
“He's okay, Ethan. I promise.” Bella's voice is gentle now. “Lucy and I are taking shifts so Mom can rest. We've got it covered.”
“Keep me updated. I mean it, Bella. Every few hours.”
“I will.”
“And tell Mom to call me when she gets a chance. I don't care what time it is.”
“I'll tell her.” She pauses. “How are you doing? How's the knee?”
“Fine.” I don’t want to talk about my knee. It’s all anyone wants to talk to me about these days, and I’m over it.
“Ethan.”
“It's fine. I'm working on it.”
She leaves it at that, which I appreciate. We say our goodbyes, and I hang up.
I sit there in the silence for a long moment. The TV is on, muted, playing highlights from last season. I see myself on the screen, skating hard, blocking a shot, celebrating a goal with my teammates. A different version of me. One with two working legs and a future that made sense.
If that goes away, Dad’s insurance goes away.
I can’t let that happen. I have to get better and get back on the ice.
Thank God for the medical insurance. It covers specialists, experimental treatments, and hospital stays without bankrupting us.
I pay for it out of my own pocket because the standard coverage isn't enough for a disease like Multiple Sclerosis.
It costs a small fortune every month, but it's worth it.
The pizza arrives twenty minutes later. I take the box from the delivery guy and set it on the counter. The smell that was so appealing an hour ago now turns my stomach. I can't eat.
I need to get my contract renewed for one more season. That's all I need. One more season with a healthy salary and I can set my family up for life. Pay off everything, establish a trust for my father's ongoing care, and make sure my mother never has to worry about money again.
But that only happens if I can play. And I can only play if my knee heals. And my knee only heals if I cooperate with the woman who's been assigned to fix me.
I have to make this work for my family.
A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts.
I grab my crutches and make my way over, assuming the pizza guy forgot something. But when I open the door, it's not the delivery guy.
It's Natalie.
She's standing in the hallway holding a glass container of food. Her hair is down around her shoulders, and she's wearing yoga pants and a cropped top that shows a strip of her stomach. I force my eyes back to her face.
“I saw the pizza delivery guy,” she says.
“So?”
“So that's not on your meal plan.”
“Are you spying on me?”
“I live down the hall. It's not spying, it's observation.” She holds up the container. “I made too much chicken stir-fry. Thought you might want some actual nutrition.”
“I'm fine.”
“You're eating pizza and garlic bread two weeks into your recovery. That's not fine.” She doesn't wait for an invitation. She ducks under my arm and walks into my apartment. “You have plates, right?”
I stand at the open door, momentarily stunned. “Did I say you could come in?”
“You didn't say I couldn't.” She's already in my kitchen, opening cabinets. “Plates. Where?”
I roll my eyes, surrendering. “Above the stove.”
I should tell her to leave. This is my apartment, my Saturday, and my terrible dietary choices. But she's moving around my kitchen like she belongs there, pulling out plates and utensils, and I find myself closing the door and following her.
“Sit down,” she says. “You shouldn't be standing more than you have to.”
“I'm aware of my own limitations.”
“Then act like it.”
She portions out the stir-fry onto two plates and carries them to my small dining table. The food looks good. Colorful vegetables, sliced chicken, and what smells like ginger and garlic. My stomach growls.
We sit across from each other. It's strange having someone in my space. I don't invite people over. Even my teammates rarely come by.
“You didn't have to do this,” I say.
“I know.” She takes a bite. “Eat. It's getting cold.”
I eat. The food is good. Better than good. I didn't realize how hungry I was until I started.
“So what's the deal with the pizza?” she asks after a few bites. “Does the team not provide meals for players in recovery?”
“They do. I have a chef who comes in once a week and prepares everything. He portions it out and freezes it. All I have to do is defrost and heat.”
She arches a brow. “But you ordered pizza instead.”
I shrug. “Didn't feel like defrosting.”
She gives me a look that says she doesn't believe that's the whole story, but she doesn't push. “Well, now you have stir-fry. No defrosting required.”
We eat in silence for a few minutes. It's not uncomfortable, which surprises me. I expected her to fill the quiet with chatter, the way she does during our sessions. But she seems content to just sit and eat.
My phone rings.
I glance at the screen, and my chest tightens. Mom.
I answer immediately. “Mom. How is he?”
“He's resting, sweetheart. The doctor just came by. They're pleased with how he's responding to the steroids.”
“Bella said he might be discharged tomorrow.”
“That's what they're hoping for. We'll know more in the morning.” She pauses, and her tone sharpens. “I told Bella not to tell you. You don't need to be worrying about this right now. We can handle it.”
“He’s my father. I have a right to know.” I glance at Natalie, and her eyes are glued to her plate, pretending she’s not here.
“I know, honey. But you have enough on your plate. You need to focus on your recovery.”
“Is there anything you need? Anything at all?”
“We're fine, Ethan. We have everything we need. The insurance is covering most of it, and we have money in the account, thanks to you.” Her voice softens. “I don't know what we would do without you. You've done so much for this family. Your father and I are so grateful.”
My eyes drift shut. “Mom. Stop.”
“I'm just saying.”
“I know what you're saying. You don't have to say it.” I can't handle her gratitude right now. Not when I'm sitting here helpless while my father is in a hospital bed. “Just focus on Dad. Call me tomorrow. First thing.”
“I will. I love you, Ethan.”
“Love you too.”
I hang up and stare at my phone for a moment. I can feel Natalie's eyes on me, but I don't look up.
“Is everything okay with Danna?” she asks quietly.
I look up. Her face is creased with concern. I suppose the fact that she met my mother would make her concerned. “My father is in the hospital. It’s an MS flare up.”
Her eyes soften with concern. “I'm sorry.”
“He'll be fine. They're discharging him tomorrow.” I pick up my fork again, avoiding her eyes. “He's had it for twelve years. We're used to the flare-ups.”
It's more than I've told anyone outside my family. Theo is the only one who knows the full picture, and that's because he caught me on the phone with my mother during a particularly bad episode three years ago.
I don't know why I'm telling her this. I don't know why I'm letting her sit in my apartment and eat dinner with me. I don’t know why I’m kind of enjoying the company.
“It must be hard being so far away when something happens,” she says.
“It's fine.”
Natalie nods and takes another bite of her food.
We finish eating, and she clears the plates. She rinses them in the sink and leaves the leftovers in the container on my counter.
“There's enough for tomorrow,” she says. “Don't order pizza.”
“You're very bossy.”
One corner of her mouth curves with a smirk that hits me a little too hard. “It's part of my charm.” She grabs her things and heads for the door. “See you tomorrow. Three o’clock. Don’t forget your floaties,” she teases, since we’re going to the pool.
I force my mouth to stay still. I refuse to smile over something as serious as my recovery. “I remember.”
She pauses with her hand on the doorknob. “Do you need a ride? I can drive us both.”
“The team assigned me a driver. He'll pick me up.”
“Okay then.” She smiles. “Try to stay off that leg until then.”
She leaves, and the apartment feels emptier than it did before.
I sit on my couch and stare at the muted TV. The highlights have moved on to a different game now.
Why did I tell her about my father?
I've spent years keeping that part of my life separate. My teammates know my family is from Wisconsin. They know my mom is loud and my sisters are annoying. They don't know about the hospital visits or the monthly payments that eat up half my salary.
Theo knows because Theo is my best friend, and he was there when I needed someone. But everyone else gets the version of Ethan Ward that smiles for the cameras and keeps his personal life locked away.
And now Natalie Cross knows. Not everything, but enough. More than she should.
I scrub my hands over my face.
This can't happen again. I can’t be fucking vulnerable like that again. Natalie is not my friend. She's my physical therapist. She's here to fix my knee. Then she'll move on to the next patient, and I'll just be another file in her cabinet.
No more vulnerability. No more letting pretty women with pretty eyes see the parts of me that I keep hidden. I grab my crutches and head to my bedroom to get ready for the pool session.