14. One Day

CHAPTER 14

ONE DAY

FRANCINE

Stefan and Stevie are snoring on the couch as the credits roll on the movie. I nudge Stefan, hoping to wake him, but all he does is snore a little louder and shift beside me. Stevie wakes up with a stretch and a yawn, looking at me with her big, dark eyes, and startling when Stefan snores again.

"He's your human," I tell her, gently removing myself from the couch so I can take her outside. "You wake him up."

Stevie sniffs as we step into the cold night air, and she makes quick work of her business before scrambling to get back inside. Stevie isn't fond of cold air, and to warm herself up she runs a few laps inside the house, ending with a running leap onto the couch where she settles against Stefan's side.

Plucking the remote from Stefan's hand, I scroll through his streaming services and find a hockey game being played on the west coast. Turning it on and turning off the lights in the living room before settling onto the couch beside him again. Pulling a blanket over both of us, I lay my head on his shoulder with a content sigh as Stevie curls up even tighter between us.

"G'night Stevie," I whisper, my fingers buried in her soft fur. "G'night Stefan."

"Night Stats," Stefan's eyes slowly blink open and he draws me in for a slow, soft kiss. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

When I open my eyes again, sunlight streams in through the sliding glass door in Stefan's living room, offering a view of the sparkling waters of Lake St. Clair. Stevie is curled up beside me and Stefan moves quietly through the kitchen.

"Morning Stevie," I whisper, petting her soft fur. "What's your dad up to?"

"Fixing breakfast," Stefan calls softly from the kitchen. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay." I test my knee, bending and extending just as I was told in the instructions my surgeon sent home with me. "I need to try and walk around a bit today."

"I can help with that." Stefan comes into the living room, handing me a cup of coffee as he sits down beside me on the couch. "It's supposed to be warm today if you want to try and take a walk outside."

"I'll let you know," I test the bend of my knee again. "For now, I'd like to just be able to get down the hall."

Stefan hovers as I push up from the couch, testing my weight without the help of my crutches, and carefully step down the hall toward the bathroom.

"Stefan," distributing my weight evenly, and standing fully on both feet for the first time in a few weeks, I rest my hands on his shoulders, "I know you mean well. But I have to do this alone."

"I'm here if you need me."

"I know. And I appreciate that."

Rachel hovered last night, too. It's nice to know I'm taken care of. Nice to know that my people love me. But there are some things I need to be allowed to do by myself and this is one of them. The pain in my knee is gone, replaced with soreness, and tenderness underneath the dressings that cover my incisions. It's a different sensation than the pain in my knee prior to surgery. I take my time with my morning routine, carefully testing my weight on my knee and gingerly walking back out to the living room where Stefan is waiting with a fresh ice pack and a plated donut.

"Breakfast," he passes me the plate once I'm settled and my leg is propped back up, the ice pack arranged over the top of my knee and soothing some of the discomfort. "And coffee."

"Thank you."

"What's the plan for the day?" He asks, sitting beside me with a donut and cup of coffee of his own.

"Rest. I go back to physical therapy on Monday, today is a day to rest before the hard work starts."

"So there's no plan," he grins. "Just you and me and whatever we want to do."

Stevie barks, drawing our attention to where she watches us from her bed.

"Just you and me and Stevie," Stefan amends and Stevie huffs before laying her head back down on her front paws and watching us with barely disguised contempt. "I'm glad I get some time with you."

"Me too," I lean into him, "even if it's just for the day."

I don't want to sleep the day away, but I'm still drowsy, and after breakfast Stefan takes Stevie for a quick walk while I nap on the couch. When I eventually wake up, Stefan is beside me on the couch, glasses perched on his nose, reading a well worn paperback.

"Hey sleepyhead," he glances over, throwing me a disarming smile. "Good nap?"

"Too good." I sit up with a yawn, stretching out my muscles as best I can. "I don't want to waste the day with you."

"Trust me Stats, this isn't a waste."

"Stefan…"

"Sweetheart," he closes his book and moves closer to me on the couch. "You just had surgery. Your only job right now is to rest and recover."

"But you only get this one day off and I'm terrible company."

"You're the best company. We both need a rest day. Want to watch a movie?"

"I don't know how much of it I'll actually watch," I answer with a laugh and barely concealed yawn, "but sure."

He scrolls through a streaming service until landing on a movie about the 1980 US Olympic hockey team. A movie we've probably both seen a hundred times, but it never gets old.

"Who do you play for?" Stefan whispers under his breath during an intense practice scene and I shush him for the hundredth time since starting the movie. By the time we get to the locker room speech near the end of the movie, we're both quoting word for word, tears flowing as Al Michaels asks the audience, do you believe in miracles?

"You know they still had one more game to play," I tell Stefan as the credits roll. "Everyone talks about this game, because it was a huge win, but they still had to play the gold medal game against Finland."

"Sweden," he remarks, scrolling through the menu to find us another movie to watch.

"Nope. The Soviets played Sweden, the US played Finland in the gold medal game."

"Are you sure?"

"Stefan. Don't test me on my hockey history."

"I would never question you," he presses a kiss to my temple. "Canada took sixth. Most of us stopped caring at that point."

"How old were you?" I ask with a laugh.

"Irrelevant. How old were you ?"

"You know what else is a great movie?" I ask in an attempt to change the subject, plucking the remote from Stefan's hand and scrolling until I find literally anything else. "This one."

"Is this the talking llama movie?"

"It's so much more than that! It's a social commentary about class differences and the importance of family and connection and…"

"It has a talking llama."

"Just watch this movie with me please."

Stefan agrees, lounging beside me on the couch after making sure that my knee is properly elevated and iced. "Anything else you need before we start the movie?"

"Just you."

As Stefan watches the movie, I watch Stefan. Waiting for reactions. Hoping he laughs in all the right places. Hoping he appreciates the story, the humor, the spinach puffs.

"Stop watching me," he finally says, leaning close and wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "I'm enjoying it, but more than that I'm enjoying watching you enjoy it."

After the movie, Stefan hovers behind me while I walk around the house. It's slow going as I move around the house, testing my walking without the assistance of crutches. Every now and then Stefan reaches out to steady me, reaching for my waist but not finding purchase.

"I'm ready to put you in hockey pants," he says with a laugh. "Then I'd have something to hang on to."

"I can walk just fine, Morrow."

"Humor me, Henderson." Warmth spreads through my body with his soft words, and his even softer hands holding me steady. "Remind me when you go back to physical therapy?"

"Tomorrow."

"I wish I could stay," he whispers, as I stop in the hallway, half turning toward him as he closes the distance between us. "I wish I could be there with you."

"I know." Wrapping my arms around his neck, I press a soft kiss to his lips. I wish he could be here with me tomorrow too, but the team needs him. The team is more important than me and my recovery. "One more game on the road and then you'll be home."

"Francine, I don't know if I made it clear the other day," Stefan's hands frame my face, fingers gently brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear, "but I love you. And leaving you was the hardest thing I've done in a long time, I don't want to do it again."

"Stefan…" Dropping my hands to his waist, I pull him as close as he'll let me.

"It's just a game, Francine. They don't need me."

"Yes they do."

"Not more than you need me."

"Stefan, I love you. Please don't take this the wrong way, but I don't need you."

"I'm not exactly sure how I'm supposed to take that."

He offers a small smile, the only way I know my words haven't hurt him.

"What I mean is I don't need you with me at therapy. This isn't my first rodeo." They'll evaluate me. Check how my incisions are healing. Get me started on a few exercises to do at home while we wait for my insurance to authorize the rest of my visits, and then send me on my way. I'll see my surgeon at the end of the week and hopefully start my physical therapy routine, too. "What I need is for you to go to Ottawa, and get the Union the two points we need to keep us in playoff contention."

"I'll do what I can." Stefan kisses me, holding me tight. "For now, let's enjoy the rest of the day."

We nap on the couch after lunch, Stevie between us. Stefan wakes me up for my next round of medication and drapes an ice pack on my knee. Knowing I need to move around a bit, Stefan agrees to let me help him cook dinner. We work side by side in the kitchen, tense silence settling between us, knowing that as soon as we're done eating, he has to leave again. I want to drag this out as much as I can, but he has a flight to catch, and I can't keep him from it.

Stefan is a master in the kitchen. If watching him on the ice is poetry in motion, watching him in the kitchen is the same. He moves with purpose, stirring sauce in one pot and monitoring pasta in the other.

"I'm sorry," he says with a laugh, "my specialty is my pre-game meal."

"Don't worry about it."

"After the season, I'll cook you something other than pasta."

"I'm going to hold you to that."

"I hope you do."

It's an unseasonably warm March day, and when dinner is ready, Stefan carries our plates out to the table in his backyard. We eat dinner and watch the sunset as a slight chill sets in with the breeze off the water. As our time ticks down, Stefan grows quiet, his mood changing.

"I'll take care of the dishes," he says, standing and taking my plate on his way into the house. "Stay out here for a bit."

Closing my eyes, I stretch my legs out in front of me and let the cool air wash over me. I've been inside since coming home from the surgery center yesterday, and it feels good to breathe fresh air.

"Franny," Stefan's voice calls from behind me. "I have to go."

"I know you do." Carefully pushing myself up from my chair, I stand and make my way toward Stefan, who swiftly closes the distance between us and crushes his lips to mine. Wrapping my arms around him, I pull him close and hold on tight. Whispering when he breaks the kiss, "I love you, Stefan."

"I love you too, Stats."

The ringing of the doorbell pulls us apart and Stefan reluctantly turns away, stepping inside to open the door. Following him, slowly, I step into the entryway to find Rachel on her way inside, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder.

"Morrow," Rachel tips her chin in a quick nod. "Don't suck tomorrow

night."

"I'll try not to," Stefan laughs, shutting the door as Rachel steps inside. "Don't make me regret texting you tonight."

"I won't. I'm glad you let me know."

"I'm glad you're able to stay tonight."

"Wait," I interject, approaching the two of them. "Does this mean I'm stuck with Rach tomorrow?"

"Unfortunately," Stefan answers and Rachel barks out a laugh as she leaves the two of us in relative privacy near the front door. "I hope you don't mind that I let her know I'd be leaving. I just didn't feel right leaving you alone. Not this soon after surgery."

"Thank you." Tears sting my eyes as I close the distance between us and claim his lips in a kiss. I kiss him like I'm starving for his touch. Like I haven't spent the day wrapped up in him. "Call me when you get to Ottawa."

"Call me after therapy tomorrow."

"Promise." I hold out my pinky finger and Stefan does the same, twining his with mine and pressing his lips to our joined fingers.

"Promise."

When I was thirteen, I went through physical therapy following the reconstruction of my hip. As an adult, I've been through physical therapy to try and prevent further injury to my hip. Physical therapy after surgery, while my body is still trying to heal is another story. There is no pain in my knee. The surgery took away the knee pain. The incision sites are tender to the touch and the muscles in my knee feel tight like an over-stretched rubber band.

I've been evaluated by Britt, my usual therapist, and now we have a plan in place for the rest of my treatment. Britt sets me up on a bike and for ten minutes I do my best to pedal, slowly, babying my knee with each rotation. Rachel is sitting along the back wall with the other moral supporters who come with their people to therapy. She's chatting with the husbands of my friends Gladys and Elaine, women I've known here at the clinic since I started my preventative therapy.

"How's the knee, Franny?" Gladys asks from the parallel bars behind me.

"It was better ten minutes ago," I respond as I climb off the bike and follow Sophia to the other set of parallel bars, where she helps me step into a looped resistance band. "Ask me again when I'm done."

As I move my knee forward and back, and side to side with the added resistance, the knee feels fine, but my hip starts to scream. Taking a break from the exercises and taking a few deep breaths, I recenter myself, adjust my stance and get back to work. After the band, I follow Sophia to a table where she has me lay on my back and work on leg lifts. Simple leg lifts should be no problem, but now everything hurts.

"Take it as slow as you need." Britt pats the table before moving toward the bikes to get her next client started. After my first set of five lifts for each leg, I take a break, using my sleeve to wipe the sweat from her forehead and to swipe at the tears I didn't realize were falling.

"Take my hand," Rachel's voice is soft beside me. I turn my head to find her on a rolling stool beside me, slipping her hand into mine where it rests on the table. "I've got you, Franny."

Rachel literally holds my hand through the rest of this exercise, giving me the strength to get through it. Her free hand wipes the tears from my cheeks when I rest between sets, and finally, blessedly, I finish my leg lifts.

"Do you want ice?" Britt asks, helping me down from the table.

"Yes please."

I sink into a chair along the back wall of the clinic, and Sophia props my leg on a rolling stool before tucking an ice pack around my knee.

"Who are you texting?" I ask Rachel, her thumbs tapping furiously on her screen and every so often I hear the sound of a new text swooping in.

"Morrow."

"Why?"

"I told him I would." The annoyance in her voice is tinged with affection and my heart swells. "I want a Union win tonight, so I'll wait until later to tell him you cried."

"Shut up," I swat her arm before leaning my head on her shoulder and closing my eyes, "...but that's probably a good call."

"You're resting when we get back to the house," Rachel says, pressing a soft kiss to the top of my head. "I can't believe they put you through this so soon after surgery."

Rachel gets me back to Stefan's house and settled onto his couch, propping up my leg the way the surgeon instructed when he talked with her after my surgery, and Stevie jumps up onto the couch, curling up beside me, laying her head across my lap.

"...she's fine…" Rachel's voice drifts in from the kitchen. "I got her home and she's resting…yeah, it was a rough session…yes, but only after she takes a nap. Okay, talk to you later, Morrow."

Closing my eyes as Rachel steps into the living room, I lean my head on the back of the couch when she sits down beside me.

"You didn't have to call him," I whisper, trying to hide a yawn. "I would have done that."

"I promised him I would," she answers softly. "He doesn't want you to call until after you nap."

"I'm not a child, Rachel," I sit up and turn to her with as much indignance as I can muster. "I don't need to be told when to nap."

"You're right," she agrees, "but, you are three days post-op, just had a rough physical therapy session, and I know for a fact that you haven't slept well since the injury. I won't tell you that you have to nap, but I will suggest that you do."

"How do you know I haven't been sleeping?"

"Because I know you, Francine ."

"Rach…"

"Franny, I remember the last time you were injured and how badly it disrupted your sleep. And that was just a hamstring pull."

"Fine. I'll take a nap, but only because I want to and not because you told me to."

"Thank you." Rachel kisses my shoulder and squeezes my hand. "I'd feel better if you tried to sleep in a bed but understand why you won't until you talk to the surgeon."

"Go away Rachel, I'm trying to nap."

Playfully pushing Rachel out of the way, I arrange the pillows and blankets and stretch out on the couch. Stevie hops down and waits for me to get situated before jumping back up onto the couch and stretching out beside me. Running my hand through her fur, it doesn't take long for my eyes to finally drift shut.