CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT | RE-ENGAGE

a skater positioning herself in front of an opponent who has already passed her.

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          Everyone in Doctor Nguyen's office—except her, for obvious reasons—did a double take.

          Jordan had been in treatment for six months, all of which had made him better and discover and understand new aspects of himself, but they had also allowed him to recognize toxic patterns in our family dynamics—some of which I was involved in, some of which were entirely my fault. I could tell he was doing better than he'd ever been, as a few months ago he would have never dared to stand up for himself like he'd just done, but, somehow, I was still apprehensive.

          Maybe it was my pessimism speaking louder than anything else, but I wasn't sure discharging him now was the best course of action. Every time he'd gone home for a few days had turned out okay, even Christmas, when everything could have gone terribly wrong thanks to Coach's refusal to follow my rules, so, in theory, this would be nothing more than a prolonged stay at home.

          I was slowly but surely getting my brother back. I shouldn't be feeling this shitty over it.

          I found myself stuck in the awkward limbo between pride and worry following the argument between him and my parents. These arguments shouldn't be celebrated, especially when all four of us were in therapy together and it wasn't something centralized on Jordan, and it just made the past six months feel so useless, like we hadn't learned a thing. Disagreements were normal, sure, but probably not to such an extent, and we needed to ensure Jordan would have a safe, stable environment to come home to if we wanted him to continue being on the road to a full recovery.

         If this were a preview of what was to come once he came home, I'd rather have him stay here. He couldn't stay at the clinic forever—nor would he ever want to—but this decision seemed so rushed, so sudden to me I wasn't entirely sure why I saw things that way. It could either be a correct, objective way of thinking, or it could be entirely biased and self-centered.

          What if things were fine now, but what if they came crashing down like an avalanche once he went home? As selfish a thought as it was, I didn't want to spend my days terrified I'd have a bottle thrown at me again.

          "Naturally, this wouldn't be an immediate discharge," Doctor Nguyen continued, most likely sensing everyone's discomfort. Her empathy and ability to read a room were two of the qualities I appreciated the most about her, though part of it had to come from her training and years as a therapist, but I comforted myself by assuring my skeptical brain that some of it was organic and couldn't be taught or faked. "Even if Jordan were to be discharged from our inpatient program, he would still be a part of the outpatient program so his treatment can continue. This includes individual, family, and group therapy. We're not dropping him the second he walks out of the front door."

          Though those hadn't been my first concerns, they were ones I hadn't even realized I had. Knowing Jordan would still have a support system at the clinic, especially with Doctor Nguyen being so closely involved, brought me great relief, as it would provide him with a safety net we wouldn't be able to give him while being busy with our personal lives.

          Instinctively, I reached out for his hand, gave his fingers a gentle squeeze, and silently appreciated how this was the warmest he'd been in years. Regardless of how this gesture would be seen by everyone else in the room, it was a quick, heartfelt reminder this was my brother—my real brother, not the shell of one that had taken his place.

          "When would this discharge be?" my mother asked, twisting her hands around each other. "Would we be preparing for months? Weeks?"

          "It's hard to say for sure, but if everything goes well, we could be looking at one, two months. Time flies by faster than you'd expect."

          "Then we'd just be preparing for something that might not even happen?"

          Doctor Nguyen shifted in her chair. "I don't think you should be treating the discharge from inpatient treatment as an end goal. We're here because we want Jordan to get better, not because we've been counting down the days until he goes home. Patients could very well lie and manage to fool their treatment team into believing they're better when they're not, and it's best if we don't rush into things. When a consensus is reached about whether Jordan is fit to go home or not, a decision will be made, but always with your input and consent." She crossed her ankles, showing off a pair of black loafers that probably cost as much as my monthly tuition. "Like I've told you multiple times since August, we need to take things one step at a time."

          My father leaned forward. "Then why are we already discussing a discharge?"

          "Because I wanted to know where you all stood in regard to that. I understand it would be a big change to come to terms to, which is why it's important that everyone is prepared and on board with it, and we need to ensure Jordan would be coming home to a place that isn't like the one that left him sick in the first place."

          In the background, my mother scoffed, still very much against the idea of her having potentially been one of the causes. After all this time, taking responsibility for her actions and acknowledging the toxicity of what had been passed down onto us was still something she struggled with, but I couldn't fully blame her. She'd been where we were, subject to unrealistic expectations and pressures, and no one had stood up for her the way they had done for us once Doctor Nguyen put those patterns under the therapeutic spotlight.

          My heart tightened for her. Everything about this was so new to her and she'd never had the opportunity to change and to learn until it piled up; this was the first time she'd ever been confronted with the reality and the consequences of these 'family traditions' and I could only assume how lost and conflicted she must be feeling.

          "I think we're all a bit overwhelmed right now," I said, trying to choose my words as carefully as possible so as to not escalate the situation. The tension in the air from before was still palpable. "All of us would love to have Jordan back home, obviously, and I don't doubt he'd be happy about it as well, but we hadn't been thinking about that. Personally, I hadn't. I know there are still things we need to work on before it's safe for him to go home, but we don't . . . want to rush anything. I don't want all of us to start focusing on something that isn't the main goal. It's just a short-term goal, right? We should be focusing on long-term goals—"

          "That's very levelheaded of you, Wren, but sometimes it helps to have smaller, short-term goals to chase after as long as you don't lose perspective and sight of what you're truly after." There was no such thing as saying the right or the wrong thing in therapy and I knew one simply wouldn't be good or bad at it, but I'd always succeeded in everything I did, and I was just trying to help—when wasn't I?—so that correction stung particularly hard. "If it helps Jordan and you to stay focused on making it to discharge and ensuring everyone will be prepared, then that's something we can definitely work on." She turned to Jordan. "What about you, Jordan? How do you see this discharge? What does it mean to you?"

          Jordan's fingers twitched against mine. "I . . . I don't know. I'm not sure." He glanced at me from the corner of his eye. "I suppose . . . it's something I've been looking forward to for a long time and I feel kind of trapped in here. I'm glad I got to go home for Christmas and all, and I'm happy I get to take walks outside, but it's not the same as actually being outside, you know?" He picked at a loose strand of his sweater. "I miss my old life, but there's nothing to go back to. I can't play anymore, at least if I don't want to risk getting an even worse injury, and there wasn't much else I was doing before . . ." He gulped. "Before everything went wrong. Ice hockey was my whole life, and then it wasn't. What would I be going home to? There's nothing waiting for me, just a state and a city I don't know anything about because I've been stuck in rehab the whole time I've been here. Staying here is the safe thing to do, but I don't want to be here for the rest of my life. I just don't . . . know what to do once I leave. It feels like I dedicated so much time to something I thought at the time would be my life, my career, that I never bothered to consider any other options in case it failed. It's the only thing I've ever been good at. That's why I even got to go to college—I had a scholarship." Jordan scowled, but I knew it was more due to frustration than actual anger. "I'm not good at anything else. I wasn't even good enough to stop drinking."

          I supported my free elbow on the arm of my chair, resting my head on my hand, and wondered how many more times my heart would shatter and ache for my family today.

          My mother kept her issues and suffering to herself, much like me, and it would take a world class thief—or Corinne Fontaine—to pry them out of me. Everything I assumed she was feeling and going through was just that, a mere assumption, whereas Jordan was putting his thoughts and fears into words in a way I'd never quite been able to.

          Anyone else in my position would have been thankful to hear him be so raw and candid about how he was feeling after years of him refusing to do that. Stupid, selfish little me kept obsessing about how I hadn't thought about it first, hadn't tried to prepare myself for that scenario. How could I help him or consider myself dependable if I couldn't provide a helping hand when he needed me the most?

          If I were a good sister, I would have told him he'd always been good enough. I would have told him he didn't have to force himself to be someone he was not, that he would find something he liked and was good at, and that it wasn't too late to start over. His life hadn't ended, and he could still move forward from this, stronger now than before.

          No words came out of my mouth.

          My hand slipped out of his so I could wipe the stubborn tears away from my cheek, praying no one would pay attention to me weeping in the corner when Jordan was the real reason we were all there. Doctor Nguyen ended up being the one to tell him all of that, with both my parents managing to find words of comfort and support, and all I could do was sit there and watch.

          I sat there and watched, just like I'd sat there and watched him nearly die.

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          Needless to say, I wasn't at the top of my game by the time our next bout came along.

          The little free time I had was spent either studying, practicing, studying some more, working on my endurance, attending family therapy, spending time with Corinne away from the track, and feeling sorry for myself. I never found enough time for myself, to rest, and that reflected itself in other areas of my life, something plenty of people had noticed.

          I'd developed the debilitatingly annoying habit of falling asleep during my lectures, which made studying and keeping my grades up so much more difficult. My exhaustion and inability to stay focused hindered me during practice, which gave Coach even more ammo to use against me and to justify benching me for the bout, and led me to making stupid, easily avoidable mistakes. Not even Kat could pretend not to see it and, although she did try to help with her famous, usually helpful pep-talks, her words weren't registering.

          The evening of the bout, I felt like I'd been run over by a truck, plagued by cold sweats like my exhaustion wasn't bad enough, and it was a miracle I could still stand on two feet. Nausea revolted in my stomach every time I glanced at the track, where the University of Florida Gators were already warming up, and I wanted so badly to be able to look away and think about myself and my team, but I couldn't.

          It was late February now, almost March, and I hated to admit I was crumbling under all the pressure, most of it self-imposed. I didn't need to do this to myself, and I was still lucid enough to be aware of that, but it was easier said than done, and there I was, suffering in anticipation over things that were way out of my control.

          Luckily for me, Marley was still on my side. Besides stepping in front of me so I wouldn't be able to directly stare at the track, as blinding as the sun as it was, she gathered the team—just us girls, no Coach—for one last talk before the bout. I was part of the starting roster, the first jammer, and I intended to keep things that way. I'd be the lead jammer, I'd complete as many jams as it was humanly possible, and I would give them no reason to even consider replacing me.

          "My ladies," Marley started, arms open like a pastor or an inspirational speaker. "This is the finish line. We win today, we'll be in the semi-finals. There aren't many teams separating us from the title, but it doesn't mean we should underestimate them, just like they shouldn't underestimate us. If they want to, they're in for a rude awakening once we completely wipe the floor with them." She eyed us all with affectionate determination. "We are so, so close to getting everything we've ever wanted and, for many of us, we won't get another chance to win the championship next year. This year, it's all or nothing, but we'll need to work together to win. We need to have each other's backs. This is still a team sport." Her eyes briefly darted towards me in a silent attempt to remind me of our conversations from a few weeks prior. "Don't hesitate to ask for help if you need it. The rest of us will do everything in our power to give you a hand. We can't afford to make any mistakes, not now, not when we're nearing the end of the season. We owe it to each other to skate our best. We owe it to Corinne."

          Some of the other girls' eyes were on me then, like Kat wasn't her best friend, like Marley wasn't her ex-girlfriend, like all of them hadn't known her for longer than I had. Somehow, whenever Corinne was mentioned, they thought of me.

          That filled me with a weird feeling of pride, even though I hadn't ever attempted to impress her in my life, and she didn't need me to wear our relationship status like a collar, like she owned me, but I still liked the way Wren-And-Corinne sounded.

          With me, Corinne was happy. Believing it was my full responsibility to keep her that way and healthy and permanently satisfied with life wasn't the way, nor would I want to take away her free will and individuality, but I was happy when she was, particularly when I knew I was the cause. When she laughed—really laughed—her eyes crinkled at the sides first, then her nose would wrinkle, like she was trying to keep it in, and then she'd let her walls down and giggle.

          Corinne wasn't amused by many things, but what I said somehow captivated her, like I was minimally intriguing or mysterious when I was just being myself. I'd never been in that situation, having someone be so devoted to me I'd catch them staring at me before I even looked their way, and, now that I was, I had her. Corinne Fontaine, in all her fiery glory, was my sun. Somehow, I was hers, too.

          So, yes, we owed it to Corinne to win. I owed it to Corinne to win.

          She was there with my parents, so beautiful it hurt, and waved at me when we skated our way onto the track. I was still too nauseous, too paralyzed by anxiety to properly return the gesture, so all I could manage was a brief, stiff wiggle of the fingers before devoting my full attention to my place behind the jam line. 

          The Gators' jammer was as small as me and the tallest of their skaters couldn't possibly be more than three inches taller than that. That was somewhat comforting, as they couldn't use their heights against me, but neither could I, an avid fan of ducking and skating so close to the ground I was almost lying on my stomach. She threw me a military salute for good sportsmanship, which was a lot more than I could muster.

          (From the stands, I heard Corinne yell at her to go flirt with someone else's girlfriend. Kat looked back over her shoulder to cackle at my flustered look.)

          Looking over at Corinne made me feel a thousand times better. In contrast, glancing at Coach Fontaine reminded me of what there was at stake and how much I had to lose if I messed up. I needed to find the middle ground between them, a balanced outlook that wouldn't kill my confidence or overfeed my ego, but it was too late for that now.

          The ref blew the whistle and, before I could allow my mind and my stupid doubts to ruin this bout for the rest of my team, I sprinted forward.

          The Gators' blockers were quick to react thanks to a rush of adrenaline, and I supposed I'd become predictable in my starting plays. I always bolted towards the pack following the whistle, skating as fast as I could, and it was a sure way of wearing myself out earlier than recommended, not to mention it was a known fact my stamina wasn't the greatest.

          My fatal flaw was my predictability, developed thanks to a sick need for control and stability. I liked numbers and algorithms because they were reliable and safe, but roller derby, like everything else that required human input, was subject to human error. Whether I wanted to accept it or not, I, too, was human.

          Having blockers close to my size proved to be a nuisance. They didn't have to try extra hard to bend forward and down to try and stop me and I couldn't use their heights and strength against them, so it was down to stat checking and lucky openings. I didn't like to depend on luck, finding it far too unreliable for comfort, and not even Marley could help me.

          Though she tried, she couldn't help me make it past the pack, and, with that, I lost the lead jammer position. I wasn't too far behind and, realistically, I knew I could make up for the time I'd wasted, but, when I skated past the penalty box, Coach shook her head at me in disapproval. My stomach clenched, the weight of disappointment heavy on my muscles, and I knew I had a choice to make: I either let it consume me, or I used it as fuel to keep moving forward.

          I chose the latter, following the jammer, but she never bothered to look back. She wasn't overconfident or arrogant, but she knew she had an advantage and wasn't stupid to allow anything to distract her and make her lose it. She was reaching my pack, my blockers, and I knew that was my chance to lap as many of hers as I could, scoring every point possible to overthrow her.

          The pivot was the first to notice me and instructed her blockers to move back, forming what should be an unbreakable wall, but I was a wrecking ball. Breaking through walls of blockers was my goddamn specialty, and I wouldn't let Florida be the one state that could bring me to my knees. My pride would never allow me to do such a thing.

          Smaller, shorter skaters meant lower blocking techniques.

          One of them got in front of me, jamming a shoulder right into my chest, and I skid backward with the impact. There was someone behind me, ready to corner me with a quick, sharp hip check, and there went my balance, even when I attempted to use the first blocker as a way to propel myself forward.

          It worked somewhat okay, as I did manage to lap the two of them, but there were still two of them left, including the pivot. The Gators' jammer was having a rough time making it past Kat and Amy, who were barely breaking a sweat, which provided me with a window of opportunity to steal the jam from her prying skates.

          Just as I pressed my feet down, the track flying from beneath me, the J-block from the remaining blocker caught me off-guard. Both of us had been skating at full speed, me with the added momentum from before, when I'd used another of our blockers as a helping hand to swing myself forward, and her moving upward from a crouching position, and she easily sent me flying.

          When I fell, pain shot through my nerves like wildfire.

          My landing had been anything but graceful and I'd saved my wrists, knees, and elbows thanks to the pads, not to mention my head, but I'd twisted my ankle when my feet got tangled in each other thanks to the heavy weight of my skates. I whimpered in pain, head still spinning from skating around in circles and from the sheer force of the hit, and, when I tried to stand up, the piercing pain on my left ankle kept me anchored to the floor.

          The Gators' jammer was the one to interrupt the jam, but not because she was the lead jammer. She was the first to see me writhing in pain, which made me feel even more pathetic, and I couldn't bear to look at the rest of my team on the one day I couldn't let them down.

          Yet, I still had. I'd failed to do the one thing that was expected of me.

          "I've got you," Marley said, sliding an arm around my waist to help me up, and I reluctantly wrapped mine around her shoulders. I couldn't set my foot on the floor, and it hurt like a bitch when I tried to move it, but I hadn't heard a crack and it didn't feel broken, although it didn't make me feel any better. "Come on. Let's get you to the nurse's office—"

          "I'm okay," I protested, with Kat quickly making her way to my other side. I refused to look at the stands, too; if I did, I'd have to see the look on Corinne's face and, most importantly, the one on my parents'. They'd seen this happen with Jordan, with devastating consequences. "I can—"

          "Wren, you're out," Coach told me, the second she got to me. Her face was ashen and, for the first time since I could remember, I detected a semblance of fear in her eyes. "Go see the nurse."

          "Coach, please. Please, let me get back on there—"

          She set a hand on my shoulder, in a way she'd never, ever treated Corinne. If I didn't know better, if she were anyone else, it would have felt almost maternal. "We'll pick up the pace and win. If you go back with a sprained ankle, we'll lose." I gulped, tears stinging my eyes as I refused to admit she was right, and she helped me make my way towards the penalty box. There, Marley removed the star from my helmet and smacked it on hers, handing Kat the pivot stripe. "Your parents are in the stands. They can take you. I'll be there once the bout ends."

          "Don't come if we lose."

          In spite of herself, in spite of the situation, she almost smiled. "Go."

          Against everything I stood for, I left. The second I was out of the track, the second I landed right into Corinne's arms, I broke into sobs, like my whole world had just been ripped away from me.

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