6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Jack

They say you have to get through the hardest parts of your life before you get to the good part. I'm in the rocky middle of that.

"Alright, Mr. Davis," the doctor drawls as he writes on my chart. "Looking good. We're making progress in the right direction."

I feel my mom exhale, the weight slowly falling off her shoulders. My hand squeezes hers. I bite back a comment to remind her that it might mean nothing. The doctor continues, giving me a small smile, "If you keep up the good work, then you have quite a positive outlook in your future."

"That sounds great, doc. Thank you." Mom replies breathily before we're left alone. I know she's on the verge of tears, so I rub her shoulder comfortingly. The grip on my hand turns both our knuckles white.

"Mom, it's okay." I laugh lightly to bring the mood up. I don't really believe myself when I say, "You heard the doctor. I'm going to be fine."

"I know, honey," she takes a couple of breaths, the grip on my hands softening. "I'm just— I worry about you."

"Thank you," I tell her warmly, trying to convey my sincerity. "It's not like I can focus on anything else but getting better right now."

She laughs softly before a beep interrupts. She checks her watch, and the frown is back, her shoulders up to her ears once more. The apologetic smile she has is brushed off as I nod encouragingly. Mom sighs for the millionth time this hour. "My shift starts soon."

"I'll be right here, mom."

"Get some sleep, son."

I know I won't get some sleep. I barely get sleep at all.

There's a singular reason, and it has something to do with someone named Emily.

The first time she came over, I didn't think much of it—as shocked as I was. I'm still somewhat connected to her; I should've expected her to send her family's well wishes.

The second time she came over, it was weird . I didn't expect to see her at all after that cursory visit, but when the knock on my door revealed to be her, I was bewildered beyond belief.

"Emily."

"Hi."

I laugh incredulously, wondering if she's supposed to look as shocked as I am right now. "Nice to see you."

"Yes," she closes the door behind her. "You as well."

None of us speak, simply staring at the corners of the room. She's not carrying flowers or anything that would signify a reason for her visit. This feels like a sick joke or a horrible idea.

I blink, sniffling. "Can I help you?"

"Yes," she perks up as if she remembers what she's here for. Emily shuffles closer, rummaging through her purse. "Um, Mom told everyone at her book club about you, and they all sent some cards."

I raise my eyebrows, nodding once. That was not what I was expecting at all. "Thank you."

She passes me a large bunch, placing them on my stomach like she can't bear to touch them any longer. I flip each of them open with mild interest.

I fully expect all of them to be filled with generic greetings, perhaps their names and mine written before and after the printed text that comes with the cards. To my surprise, only half of them contain that.

Some give heartfelt greetings and well wishes from people who know little to nothing about me. One tells me their son is a big fan, a wonky stick figure of what seems to be me. One from Emily's mom, who writes a lengthy letter of love and support.

I feel my heart stutter in my chest. Emily's gaze pierces through the side of my head, so I swallow the emotions. It's just some letters, but the sense of community and care tugs on my heartstrings more than I thought.

The only reaction I can muster is a solemn nod, my eyes closing as the reason why I'm here in the first place replays in my head. Not even the repetitions on the news could convey the pain that erupts in my knee every time I remember it.

Emily carefully takes them from my body and arranges them on my bedside. She smiles brightly at the sight of the flowers, still alive and well. "Nice to know you're competent enough to keep them alive."

"Hey." I chastise weakly, scowling her way with a singular raised eyebrow. "I may be injured, but I'm not stupid."

She mumbles under her breath, "Says that but fell over."

I click my tongue, suddenly more awake. My scowl deepens. "Too fucking soon. And you try getting tackled by a grown adult. Let's see how you fare."

"Don't have to. I prefer staying out of a grown adult's anger by, you know, not playing a contact sport?"

"Just because you don't have any sports passion doesn't mean you can shit on it."

"You're the one who shit on books . What are you, a child?"

I raise a hand, closing my eyes and lowering my voice. "Could you keep it down, please? I'm feeling a little bit sensitive."

"I'll show you fucking sensitive."

She didn't stay long, probably for only thirty minutes at max. Despite our constant bickering and a nurse coming in due to my EKG monitor beeping higher, we had some decent conversations.

I thought that was that, seeing as now there's truly no reason for her to visit me in the dreaded hospital.

It seems like I've only been getting things wrong lately. Everything is never as it seems anymore.

Not since she's come into my life.

The next day welcomes me, and I find myself in agony. My knee is particularly painful. Every single breath feels like a fatal stab in every direction.

Mom just left for work. Fuck , I think. I should've asked her to call the doctor. There's a nurse call button just by the tips of my fingers, but even stretching my hand feels like too much work.

So, you can imagine my discomfort when I'm fighting for my life, and Emily knocks, making her way inside.

"Hey. I just wanted to stop by and—" a pause. "Are you okay?"

I can't find any energy to say anything, silently writhing in misery as I faintly hear the sound of her shoes against tiles. "Oh, God. Don't die on me, please. I just got here."

If I was feeling a little better, I'd maybe roll my eyes at her, but I tilt my head down toward my knee, hoping to convey the pain.

Heavy breathing fills the room from both of us until she clears her throat. "Okay. Okay. I got you."

It's a blur as she rings the nurse button. I bite my lip, trying to stay as still as I can, and a punch of self-deprivation makes me wonder why I didn't appreciate all the times my knee didn't hurt.

Emily squeezes my hand comfortingly. "Hold on. They're coming. Just breath. Fuck, I guess that's what you've been doing all this time, huh? Well, keep breathing. You'll be alright."

My mind fuzzes through all the details, not truly pinpointing when things happened, but along the line: nurses come in, my medicine comes, they check on my vitals, and Emily's hand stays in mine.

I feel like I've just practiced the whole day—like I've just finished the most intense match of my life. I sink into the sheets, feeling better with the thought of the medicine kicking in soon.

"Don't do that, you asshole." Emily's voice trembles, the chair screeching as she pulls it closer to the bedside. She takes her hand away and smacks me on the shoulder. "Are you feeling better?"

"I'm literally injured in bed; you're forbidden to hit me. Don't you have anything better to do?" I retort, eyeing her warily. "Have you not a store to tend to?"

"It's a Sunday."

"Your bookstore isn't twenty-four hours? That's a shame. What if someone needs the second book of a series?"

"No bookstore is twenty-four hours, dumbass. Did you mean seven days a week?"

"Yeah. That one. Whatever. Could you pass me some water?"

"I'm not a nurse, Jack."

"Yes, but you're here now, so you might as well."

She leans back on the chair, crossing her legs and arms as she gets comfortable. Her lips purse before she asks, "What's the password?"

"Fuck you," I mumble, slamming my head back onto the pillow.

"That's not very live, laugh, love of you." Emily fake shudders before rolling her shoulders back and standing up with more force than necessary. She tucks a red strand behind her ear. "And the password was cheesecake, but okay."

"Fuck you and your cheesecake," I say through gritted teeth, sounding much weaker to my ears than I want to be.

"I will spit in your water."

I like to think that was the end of that.

I almost didn't want to see her again. I don't like showing my pain in front of my mother, let alone a loose acquaintance. I should know by now that it wasn't going my way. That interaction lasted a bit longer than the last, mostly because it took me a few more seconds to reply to whatever conversation we were having.

They say once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, and three times is a pattern. Four times must mean a habit, right? Or maybe even stupidity?

The fourth day arrives, and I won't admit it to anyone in public, but I wait.

I wait for a knock on the door, and every single knock that does come, I wait for the familiar sight of red hair and green eyes to come. It takes a lot in me to hide my disappointment every time it's not who I'm looking for.

Emily has been a constant source of entertainment during my time here. She comes usually before or after I go through tests or steps into rehabilitation. A fun distraction from all the work.

The television remains closed, and I don't bother with my phone either. I do let my mom and Coach Williams give my assurances to the team, but I've forbidden everyone who isn't my doctor to come in and talk to me about sports.

I wake up bright and early, waiting for her to arrive. Nothing.

It's not a big deal to me. She rarely comes in this early anyway, but staring at the wall gets old fast when you can't move.

I finish eating lunch, waiting for her to arrive. Nothing.

This is kind of off-putting but not completely out of place. It's a Monday, after all. She's still got the bookstore to take care of.

I come back from a meeting with my physiotherapist, waiting for her to arrive. Nothing.

A bit of dread settles in the bottom of my stomach. It was nice to have another constant portion of my day, one that filled the gap created by an absence of hockey practices.

Did I scare her off? Was the pain thing too freaky for her? I know some people aren't that great with injuries—being squeamish is nothing new. Still, I feel disappointed. I can admit that to myself in the dimness of the too-cold room. It shouldn't be a big deal, but it feels that way.

It's only when the small window in the corner starts to shroud the room in a light orange glow does another knock echo around the room. I sigh, shaking my head. It's probably a nurse who, while just doing their job, will poke and prod at me as I wallow in pity.

The door squeaks open, and to my greatest surprise, a puff of long, curly hair peeks through the door. Emily only has her head inside. She scans the room, her eyes landing on me and then breaking into a wide smile. "Oh, good. I was sure you'd be asleep or something."

I clear my throat, pretending as if I wasn't waiting for this the whole day. Dryly, I say, "Here I thought my wife would never return from the war."

"Yes, the war is almost getting run over by a pickup truck." she snorts, lazily walking toward the chair that has become her spot.

"Oh, yay, roommates." I cheer without enthusiasm, unabashedly staring at her. She frowns, and I smirk. "Could've gotten that insurance money."

"I'll pass. Thank you." She slumps into her chair, the bags under her eyes more prominent than usual. She reaches for a scrunchie, loosely tying a ponytail. The sunset matches her hair.

I frown. "Did you actually almost get run over by a car?"

"Yeah." she shakes her head, looking at me like I'm weird for thinking she would lie. "Busy day today, and I was rushing after closing. A truck zoomed past me."

"Jeez," I say, eyes wide and just a little scandalized. "You didn't have to rush. You didn't have to come if you were busy."

The lies come so smoothly out my mouth that it's almost a disgrace. She doesn't need to know anyway. It's not like I wanted to see her . It was just nice to see another face other than my mother and a doctor who's literally being paid to check up on me.

"Yeah, but I was having a pretty shit day. I wanted to get some conversation with someone who didn't yell at me every five minutes."

"Who's been yelling at you? I thought bookstores were supposed to be wholesome. Friendly energy and all."

"Yeah, at least I try to be. Doesn't stop a bunch of mean customers coming in every now and then." She huffs, trying and failing to blow a strand away from her eyes. "Apparently, it's my fault that an author hasn't released their new book yet and that I don't have it in stock."

"You're telling me you don't have superpowers to make the book magically appear?"

"I know. Absolutely tragic. How disgraceful of me."

Just like that, a few days go by, and my room is never truly silent.

Emily visits me every single day. There are a lot of reasons I'm not completely sure of, but I was never one to look at a gift horse in the mouth. I enjoyed her company, even if she pissed me off, even if I pissed her off.

My leg started to get better, albeit by the tiniest percentage. The doctors look more and more optimistic every day. It's given me the strength to face all the debilitating pain of physiotherapy. I can't say that I see hockey directly in front of me, at least not yet, but the unintentional support I've been getting has me smiling more earnestly than I have in years.

Sometime between a week or two, the lines start to blur along with the days.

Emily drags her feet as she walks in, no longer speaking as she strolls in like it's her room; like she's not the guest in this situation.

I sigh, blinking away the sleep. I'm lucky she caught me at the right time, or else I'd be subjected to her shaking me awake to keep her from being bored. I shuffle, sitting up. "You know, I liked it better when you were too shy to even knock on the door."

"Uh-huh," she says absently, not even looking at me as she reaches over and raises the light in the room a little bit. "I liked you better when you weren't bitching about me."

Emily reaches into her tote bag and pulls out a small brown paper bag, one side damp from oil. The room fills with the smooth, rich smell of brown sugar. I perk up, staring down at it as she reaches it over, a glint in her eyes. "I snuck this in. It's a new cookie from the coffee shop down at Fifth."

I'm practically salivating, gulping as I eye the bag. The opening shows a thick chocolate chip cookie. "This is probably not good for me."

"You want the cookie or not, dude?" She rolls her eyes at me, pulling it away. "I will eat it in front of you."

" N o. Give it here. It's mine." I snatch it out of her grasp, stretching my torso to get a hold of it. The cookie is in my mouth immediately and I groan, closing my eyes as I savor the sweetness. "Fuck."

"You want me to give you two some space? I can leave." Emily laughs next to me, picking a crumb off my blanket. I flick her off without looking as she rummages around. I hear a pleased noise from my side halfway through my snack. She lifts the book she gave me. "Did you finish it?"

"No." It took me two days to take it out of the bag and read it.

She raises an eyebrow. "You do read, right?"

"Fuck you," I bite, clearing my throat as I crumple the cookie wrapper. Emily passes me some water. "I'm taking my time."

"Okay, but are you enjoying it?" I pause, avoiding her eyes. She laughs loud and bright. "I knew it!"

"Maybe it's—"

A knock on the door interrupts us. We both pause, staring at each other in silent question. I shake my head, not expecting anyone to visit at this time, not even nurses.

Coach Williams shows up, barely concealed amusement in his eyes when he realizes I'm not alone. He clears his throat and grins lopsidedly. "Well. Sorry to interrupt you both. I just wanted to check in on you, kid."

"Doing as good as I can be," I reply honestly, relieved at the truth. "Slow but steady."

"Good." He grunts. Even with his gruffness, I can see the relief in his eyes, and he pats my hand warmly when he moves closer. He quietly unzips his backpack and pulls out a comically large card. "The kids wanted you to have this."

The kids being our hockey team. It's a silly gift, obviously hand-drawn and filled with everyone's messages. The edges are slightly bent from the bag. I skim through it, chuckling at the funny ones. It's childish, especially for a bunch of grown men, but the love in it makes my eyes sting.

I bite down my emotions, trying to act nonchalant. "I don't know if this'll fit on the table."

"Eh, we'll make it work," Emily chimes in, no doubt already arranging it all in her head. Her determined smile is contagious.

Coach Williams chuckles, shaking his head. "Damn right, you will. Do me a favor and take care of him, aye? He's a stubborn one."

Emily chuckles. "Ah. Don't I know it!"

"And you," Coach jabs a finger on my shoulder. I let out a dramatic ow , to which he flicks my forehead. "We need you healed. ASAP. Get some rest."

I gesture to my knee, groaning. "Where else can I go?"

"Knowing you? You'd find a way. Just stay safe and don't worry about anything else, eh?" he says seriously, the gaze toward my leg full of guilt.

I make eye contact as I solemnly say, "I'm getting there. Just need more time."

"You'll get there." Coach checks his watch and smiles. "I got to go. My wife's waiting on me."

I wave him off, not unkindly. "Go home. Thank you for this."

We say our goodbyes and are left with each other once more. I feel my stomach churn at her gaze. Emily smiles, grabbing the card. "Can I read it?"

I nod, rubbing my eye as she settles into her seat and reads, her entire face covered with the sheer size of it. In a bland voice, she says, "Perry says, ‘Get well soon. This isn't what Coach meant by break a leg. Tell me if your nurse is pretty.' "

I cringe, shutting my eyes. "Yikes."

"Um," she drags the word out. "Crawford says, ‘Wishing you a speedy recovery, sir. I'm doing my best to fill in your spot, sir. Let me know if you need anything, sir . ' Huh. Are you in the military by any chance?"

I rub my face, embarrassed at the message. She goes about that for fifteen more minutes, giving insight and guessing the history of each member. It's a fun pastime, feeling the blanket of comfort engulf me.

I'm only mildly disappointed when Emily places the card on the table and declares she has to go. It's the quickest visit she has yet, and I feel like I'm ten years old again, wondering how my cartoon time ended so quickly.

"I'm sleeping over at Mom's. She's got a surprise for me; at least that's what she said. I still have to pack." Emily hikes up the tote bag over her shoulder, smiling apologetically.

"No worries." I smile softly, shrugging. "Peace and quiet now."

She laughs in disbelief. "Shut up, man. I'll get going."

"Get out of here, Thompson." I snuggle deeper into the sheets, getting comfy as she dims the lights, leaving a full cup of water by my bedside. "See you tomorrow."

She flips me off over her shoulder as she leaves. "Bye."

The sun rises the next morning.

But Emily doesn't show up.