5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Emily

"Bring those in for me, would you?"

I nod at my mom's request, carefully balancing all of her grocery bags in my arms. It's a nice morning, just before I open up the shop. Mom gave me a call as she walked home from the farmer's market, and I decided to pay a visit.

"You really went all out, Mom," I call out from behind my shoulder. She's out in the garden, immediately fiddling with her plants. The front door is still open. "Three bouquets of flowers?"

"They looked so good! It'll be lovely in the front yard," she calls back, her voice just slightly muffled.

I laugh, unpacking some of her purchases and placing them where they belong. It's a beautiful day. I'm almost tempted to close the shop early to go on a walk or ride my bike while the sun's still out.

Work has been a bit hectic. I'm grateful for the business and the influx of new people coming in but helping my mom with her groceries is the most I've done this month. I sigh, folding up her tote bags before I hear someone talking outside.

It doesn't sound like mom's voice, and there's an urgency I can't place. Walking closer to the front door, I find the source of the noise, wondering why I didn't notice sooner.

"You should have seen it! It was insane! So unprofessional. It seemed so targeted as well!"

Margaret Johnson. Mom's neighbor and resident gossip. She somehow knows everything about everyone. It's almost comical how quickly she finds things out. "It's almost like she finds out before the news covers anything , " Mom once explained to me.

Mom sighs, subtly turning to give me a look. I shrug from where I'm leaning against the doorframe. Mom turns back, smiling politely, "Margaret, dear—"

"It was horrible, Charlotte! There was a news truck outside the hockey rink. Everyone else is saying that the Jack boy might not ever play again! Something about his leg? All his teammates were being interviewed." Margaret exhales, shaking her head.

Mom perks up at that. She looks back at me as I stand up straighter. I shake my head, just as surprised as she is. It's the first time I'm hearing about this, I try to convey . She clears her throat. "Jack? Jack Davis?"

"Yes!" her neighbor explains, raising a hand. "That blockhead finally got what was coming to him, it seems." She laughs behind her hand meanly, taunting. I roll my eyes. I don't like the dude but that's just horrible behavior.

Just from the view of Mom's back, I can tell she's trying to find a way to kick her off her lawn without being rude. "That's unfortunate. Well, you're going to have to excuse me, Margaret. I've got something on the stove."

I play along, looking behind me in worry. There's nothing on. Margaret falters, but there's an unmistakable satisfaction on her face. "Alright. See you soon, Charlotte."

I wave politely, closing the door as Mom makes her way inside. She looks at me worriedly, biting the inside of her cheek. "You know, Margaret may gossip often, but this one seems a bit serious, don't you think?"

"Yeah." I sigh, shaking my head. Even I know that sports injuries aren't all that laughable, especially if it's made its way through the gossip vine. "Hope he gets well soon."

"Yes," Mom murmurs, shaking her head. "It would be such a shame. That boy and your brother used to play hockey all the time. I can't think of how devastated he might be."

I can't think of anything to say so I make a small sound of agreement and follow her into the kitchen for breakfast. Jack isn't exactly the number one person on my list of friends. The interaction we had was less than exciting—quite unmemorable, actually.

Still, my mind does float back to him as I shove toast into my mouth. The limbo of should I, should I not is an annoying thought. My mind is clouded with him—I shudder , happy that Mom has her back turned to me.

Whatever. Not my circus, not my monkeys.

At some point, you've got to have enough self-awareness to know when you're being a fucking dumbass.

"You're being stupid, Thompson," I mumble to myself, keeping my head down as I slowly make my way down sterile white walls. "Still have time to turn around."

The sun is still out. I did make the choice to cut my workday short, but for an odd reason that I can't seem to think of right now. I'm at the local hospital. This is the only time I've ever looked through the news to see what they say about Jack, and I feel like a proper stalker.

The receptionist was nice enough and thankfully didn't ask any questions as I mentioned Jack's name. I wonder how many people have come to visit him already.

I stop on the right side of the hallway, staring at Jack Davis written on a piece of paper with a permanent marker. I squeeze my free hand tightly, pacing around the hallway as I grimace at my actions.

Does he even want visitors? Would he kick me out?

I make a quiet noise of frustration before jumping the gun and knocking on the door. I pause, rocking back and forth as I wait. I hear a faint sound of shuffling and then a deep voice. "Come in."

I open the door with a sigh, relishing in the cold doorknob. Jack looks up from his lap, eyes widening as he sees me. I shut the door behind me and clasped my hands in front of me, not knowing what to do with them.

"Um. Hi." I smile, immediately dropping it when I feel how fake it is. Get it together.

"Emily," he says, still shocked. Jack sits up as much as he can, grimacing. I take a step forward instinctively. He clears his throat. "Uh. Hi."

I fight the urge to roll my eyes, reminding myself that he's literally in a hospital bed with his leg wrapped up. It looks fine to me, but then again, it could be internal. The news didn't say anything about what kind of knee injury he sustained.

Now that the shock has depleted, Jack's brow furrows as he eyes me warily. "Why are you here? How are you here?"

I huff, "Well when a mommy and daddy love each other very much—"

"You know that's not what I meant," he rolls his eyes at me, sighing heavily. "Where is this coming from?"

I can feel my blood pressure rising, the back of my neck heating up, even with the freezing temperature of the room. My head is already throbbing at the feeling of an incoming migraine. "God forbid someone checks up on you." I take a deep breath. I regret everything already. "Besides, my mom heard about you. She told me to visit you and give you these."

Mom said nothing of the sort. I hold out the bouquet, one I took from Mom with the excuse that it'll brighten up my apartment . I shuffle closer and place the bag I brought with me by his side.

He barely moves, flicking the bag with one hand. "How'd you even find out?"

"Margaret."

"Ah."

"Also, it's reached local news. Haven't you seen it?"

Jack's expression darkens, and he looks away. His shoulders are by his ears. "It's not like I want to see footage of injury in slow motion."

"Right," I say awkwardly, feeling just a bit worse. I clear my throat and lightly push the bag closer to him. "I, uh, also got you this. To cure your boredom."

He doesn't meet my eyes—although I'm not sure if he properly met my eyes to begin with—and carefully reaches into the bag. Jack frowns, tugging it closer at the weight, and pulls out a paperback.

The panic hits me as he blankly places it into his lap and skims the pages. Fuck, maybe I should've just gotten him some food or something. My voice is low as I say, "It's not a sports book. It has some mystery and romance in it. I was thinking of getting you a hockey story or something, but," I look down awkwardly at his knee. "I don't think that's what you're looking for."

He gently places it back into the bag, but the frown between his brows softens a bit. "Thank you."

A pause falls over us, and we avoid each other's gazes as I look around the room. Should I leave? Technically, I've done all I needed to do, but this feels a bit too quick. He clears his throat, gesturing behind me. "Would you like to take a seat?"

I grab the plastic chair and scoot it closer to the bed, taking a seat. I play with my fingers on my lap, carefully prodding at the sensitive topic. "So, what did the doctor say?"

Jack laughs—it sounds empty—and runs his hand through his already messy blond hair. "In short? I'm fucked. Not right now, but it pretty much looks that way." He turns away from me again, facing the blank wall. "A torn meniscus. That's what it is. Basically, I fell wrong and got my knee fucked up because of it. It's not too serious—at least the doctors tell me it's not the worst case they've ever seen—but it's serious enough that I could lose my hockey career if this doesn't heal properly."

I pause, feeling my heart stop at the news. I'm not even the one who got injured, but from his lackluster explanation alone, I understand the gravity of it. I shuffle in my seat, looking around the room. "Well, you can still go back, right? It'll just take more time?"

"That's a possibility. It's also a possibility that it never heals the same way. In my day-to-day life, it'll be an inconvenience, but for hockey?" He doesn't finish his sentence, shaking his head. "If all else fails, then I'll never play again. It's gone, just like that. I won't even get to say goodbye on my terms."

I can't help but stare at him. He looks so different from when I saw him earlier this week. Sure, a shitty interaction doesn't dictate everything, but the difference is night and day. His eyes turn even more blue with the light coating of tears. I don't mention it.

Jack looks softer... more human. The crease between his brows is still there, but it holds another emotion. It means something else. This is something else.

"Well," I start quietly, scooting just a little closer. I shrug lightly, one shoulder to my cheek. "If it's any consolation, your team won the match."

He freezes before he shuffles. "Did we?"

I nod reassuringly. I didn't know he wasn't aware. Has no one told him anything at all? Has he refused to hear any of it? He's looking at me in my eyes now. It takes me aback, but I keep talking. "Your shot was the winning goal. Your team seemed pretty happy with the result, but all of them looked upset. No doubt why, but they dedicated the win to you."

He shakes his head softly, but there's a fond smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "It was just an exhibition match."

"A match won, nonetheless." I smile, looking down at my shoes. "You did good."

Jack laughs softly once more, this time sounding a little more lively. "I appreciate that."

Silence falls, and it feels a lot more comfortable this time. It's still stifling from the tension, but it isn't as suffocating. I look at my watch; there's still some time left before sunset. I exhale as I smack my hands on my knees, getting up. "Right. Well. I better get going."

He nods understandingly, slowly placing the flowers and the gift bag on the bedside table. His voice is borderline robotic as he says, "Thank you for coming."

I nod in place of a real response. A part of me wishes to pat his leg, but I don't know if it would hurt him or if a touch would ruin his leg more. We're not close for any physical touch, anyway.

"Get well soon," I politely say, walking toward the door. "Please ask for a vase. Mom would be sad if they died too quickly." Jack nods, looking a bit drowsy. "And read the book. If you don't, at least don't crumple the edges and make someone bring it over to the bookstore."

"Understood."

"Okay. Bye, Jack."

I leave the room with a speed that impresses me, keeping my head down as I leave the hospital. He didn't even get to say goodbye, and I shut the door on his face. I barely hold in my expression, and as I walk out onto the sidewalk, my face grimaces.

I exhale, cringing and overthinking every movement. I didn't do that even a minute ago. You're so lame, Em. A book? F or the asshole who essentially told you that books are stupid? That's low even for you .

Fuck. Okay. My circus, my monkeys. At least for today.

He doesn't leave my thoughts until I make my way home.