Page 29

“Hockey helped, it kept me active and social enough out on the road, but at the apartment, the depression was getting worse. At some point I stopped responding to group chats. It was too hard to think about everyone here when I felt like I was aimlessly drifting.” I take a deep breath and turn my head slightly to look at Alice.

She’s listening intently, looking at the ceiling fan above us, giving me the space I need to get this all out.

“Ultimately, I stopped answering calls too. My sister was the only one I’d check in with, mostly because I knew she’d freak out and hop on a plane to see me if I went too long without contact.”

Alice’s lips tilt at the corners and I want to keep her smiling all the time. She’s a ray of sunshine and I’m a fucking tornado, ready to wreck everything in my path.

“It went on like that for the two years I was there, until the injury.”

I’m quiet for so long that Alice turns towards me and pins me with her cornflower blue gaze, giving me an understanding look. She wants me to keep going, but I don’t know if I can.

“Ash said the injury was really bad,” she says softly, and I openly gaze at her face.

She’s got a small amount of makeup on, and her shoulder-length hair is loose and wavy.

A few strands fall in her face. I reach out and tuck them behind her ear, the way I know she would.

That small smile returns to her face and I face the ceiling again, closing my eyes.

“It was awful. I blacked out for a bit so I don’t remember much between when I was hit and when the stretcher was brought out, but everything hurt.

I was taken to the hospital and by the time I fully realized what was happening, I was starting to panic.

They told me surgery was required, and … ” I trail off, chuckling.

“What?” Alice asks, confused as to why I’m laughing.

“I’m basically a robot now, metal plates, screws, and all.”

Her hand grips mine tighter and she digs her nails into my palm. “That’s not funny.”

I turn my head towards her and—yep, she’s trying really hard not to laugh. I smile and say, “It’s a little funny.”

She bites her lip, and my eyes track the movement. I want her so badly I don’t even know what to do with myself sometimes.

“What happened after the surgery?”

I shrug. “Recovery was a bitch; it took five months for me to get my body back in shape, but I’m still not at my best. There was a lot of physical training involved, but I really struggled with my mental health.”

“I’m so sorry . That’s an awful thing to go through on your own,” she says.

“If it hadn’t been for Ash, I honestly don’t know how I would’ve gotten through it all. He heard about the injury from an old friend of his that played on my team, so he flew down to see me, stayed with me when I was at my worst, and found me a therapist. So I wasn’t completely alone.”

“Why didn’t you tell us or ask for help?” Alice asks. This is the question I don’t know how to answer, but I land on the next best thing.

“I didn’t want to bother anyone.”

“Oh, Jordan ,” she says, and drapes her free arm over my chest, her nose landing in the crook of my neck. I turn my head and inhale the sweet coconut scent of her hair. God, I’ve missed her so much.

When I try to move so I can better hug her, the pain comes back in full force, and I hiss through my teeth. Alice’s head snaps up and she pulls back. I want to tell her it’s fine, that I’m okay, but I’m so very clearly not.

“Can you do me a favor?” I ask, dreading that I have to ask for anything when I should be the one being there for her, helping her with her new bookcase instead.

“Yeah. What’s wrong?”

“I couldn’t get up earlier, so I didn’t take my meds. Can you bring them, please?” I ask, and fist the comforter so tight, I might hurt my fingers.

“Of course, are they in the medicine cabinet?”

“Yes. And water, please.”

Alice rushes out to the kitchen and comes back with a tall glass of water that she hands me before running to the bathroom. I take a couple big gulps of water while I wait for Alice to come back out. She takes longer than I expect so I call out, “Al, everything okay?”

I hear the cabinet closing and Alice comes out, walking slowly with all my medication.

“I, um—“ She looks down at the bottles in her hand, blinking fast. “I don’t know which one you need.”

“That’s okay, I’ll show you,” I say, taking the bottles from her as she kneels back on the bed. “The red bottle is for the pain. I usually take one tablet three times a day, but I can take two now since I didn’t before.”

Alice keeps looking down at the bottles, and her voice wavers as she says, “What about the others?”

I point at the blue bottle first, then the yellow one. “That’s my antidepressant, and the other one I have to take to prevent stomach problems. I’ve been on all three since the injury.”

“Oh,” she says as she watches me take them. “Thank you, for telling me.”

I finish the water, and my stomach lets out the loudest growl. I wince as I lay back down and think about how I want to reply, but Alice springs back up off the bed.

“I’m gonna go make you some food. You probably didn’t eat anything.”

“It’s fine, you don’t have to.”

“Shut up and let me help,” she yells out as she heads towards the kitchen.

I let out a small laugh and bask in how much lighter I feel now that I’m not keeping anything from Alice. This feels like a huge step in getting her back, but my doubt creeps in. What if she only feels bad for me?

I don’t have time to spiral further because Alice comes back with two plates of Thanksgiving leftovers, the smell of cranberry and turkey already making my mouth water.

I sit up and lift the comforter so she can join me.

Alice assesses me for a moment and smiles, handing me a plate and getting her legs under the comforter, pulling it over her lap.

We eat in silence, stealing glances at one another.

When we’re done, Alice stacks the plates and places them on her nightstand.

I expect her to go back to her apartment now, but she surprises me by scooting down and getting comfortable next to me.

She turns onto her side and laces her fingers with mine again.

She looks like she belongs .

Alice moves closer and rests her forehead on my shoulder. “Is this okay?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say, but it’s an understatement.

It’s better than okay.

It’s perfect.