"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Isla asked warily.

Sitting in the passenger seat as she idled the vehicle outside the arena, I shook my head. "No," I admitted, raking my fingers through my hair, "but I honestly can't take another day of sitting around, doing nothing."

Which was an understatement.

Twenty days. That's how long it'd been since I'd last stepped foot inside the arena.

After being released from the hospital with explicit instructions to have someone regularly check in on me, Cameron and Isla had taken the doctor's orders one step further. Instead of taking me home, they'd all but forced me back into their spare room, and in my condition, I hadn't objected.

Filled with crippling pain and erratic headaches, the first couple of days had been the worst. As I adjusted to my medication, sleep came at random times, throwing my body out of whack. I was asleep during the day and awake at night, unable to do much with my right leg out of commission, and to top it all off, I'd been banned from using any electronics in hopes that the lack of screen time would speed up my concussion recovery.

Through it all, Cameron and Isla were there. Whether it was to help with my crutches, remind me to eat, or simply keep me company. For that I was grateful, but they couldn't stop the vicious thoughts that invaded my mind.

Thoughts revolving around two things: hockey and Jo.

The Knights had begun their playoff run, and with each game that passed, my emotions got stuck in a heated battle. I was proud of my teammates for playing their asses off, but I also couldn't help the sadness that crept in. Knowing that if I'd only seen the Chicago player coming, I'd be right alongside them on the ice.

But I'd been benched, and there was nothing I could do about it.

Jo, however, was a different story.

Any time I thought of her, I never saw the smile that drew me in or the strong-willed woman I'd fallen in love with. No. I saw the brokenhearted face of the person I'd pushed out of my life. I'd been downright awful to her in a moment of weakness, and while a part of me still believed I'd done the right thing, the rest of me did not agree.

I missed her, but I also couldn't deny that it'd be selfish of me to reach out when she was so close to her boutique's grand opening. At least that's what I told myself every time I held back the urge to call her and apologize. Instead, I allowed my feelings to stew, and did my best to ignore the building pressure in my chest that didn't seem to want to disappear.

Though as the days wore on, things slowly got better. My concussion symptoms began to fade and the throbbing in my leg dwindled to a dull ache. I was able to get up and hobble around once I'd adjusted to my crutches, and with Cameron working from home, it never felt like I was truly isolated.

Except for this morning. I'd woken up feeling stir crazy, and couldn't fathom the idea of staying inside for yet another uneventful day.

"I get it, I do," Isla responded, her voice gentle, "and I'm totally up for you doing something productive. I just don't want you to step inside the arena and get discouraged since you aren't able to skate."

"Things will be fine, I swear." I looked to her with reassurance as I reached into the back seat to grab my crutches. "I'm just going to hang around for a bit. See what I've missed."

The skepticism on her face was clear as day, and warranted, but she kept her thoughts to herself and didn't push. "Okay. Call me when you need a ride."

I shook my head, unlocking the door before pushing it open with my shoulder. "You've done enough over the past month, so head to work and don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

"It's impossible not to worry, you idiot," she said, though there was no malice behind her words. In fact, after carefully climbing out of my seat, I turned and caught her lips curving upwards.

I grinned back at her. "Love you too."

Letting the door fall shut, I pivoted on my good leg, adjusted my crutches, and began inching along the walkway. Knowing without a look back that Isla stayed parked, watching until I disappeared inside the arena.

As I hobbled through the automatic doors and into the lobby, I didn't know what I was expecting. A warm welcome? A sudden recovery? Neither occurred, though simply being back—no matter the condition I was in—made me feel more like myself than I had in weeks.

It was the familiarity. The feeling in my gut that signified I was where I was meant to be.

The halls were empty, being that it was late morning, yet the ice was full. Through the doors that led to the rink, I caught a glimpse of my teammates participating in morning practice. Which, if I had the dates lined up correctly, would be their last full practice before what was sure to be hard-fought first game against Tampa Bay.

And if they took the series, they would advance to the divisional finals—one step away from playing for the Stanley Cup.

The urge to take part was overwhelming despite knowing it wasn't a possibility, so I settled for the next best thing. Heading slowly towards the elevator tucked away in the far west corner of the lobby, I rode up to the third floor and made my way to the doors that led to the top of the stands.

A blast of chilled air hit me immediately, along with the sound of skates scratching against the ice. Things that had been customary for so many years, yet I relished them as I dropped down into the closest aisle seat.

This high up, I was merely a hidden spectator, watching as my teammates battled against one another in a scrimmage. With a few tweaks to the lineup, everyone appeared to be in top form—battling for pucks, finding open ice, and making both the goalies work to stop the shots sailing their way.

With each goal, a strange thrill zipped through my body and I struggled to keep a lid on my excitement. It was so different—watching a practice instead of participating—because instead of looking for tiny cues on where to send the puck or how best to beat the defense, I was captivated by the entirety of the game. Proud of every one of the guys whose hard work and determination fueled each play.

And as much as I hated to admit it, I was even proud of the one player on the ice I didn't recognize. The one who'd been called up after my injury, and the one who, it seemed, had stepped up to the plate. He was fast, smart, and most importantly, a team player. He gave up shots when others had a better angle and wasn't afraid to go in hard against opponents when he needed to.

He was a fighter, which elated me and made my nerves spike all at once. The Knights had gained a solid player, but it was a player who was vying for a spot that wasn't open.

My spot. A spot that I couldn't fight for with a broken leg.

Needless to say, the rest of the practice was overshadowed by the stinging realization that maybe staying away for so long hadn't been the right move. That maybe once the headaches had begun to fade, I should've made more of an effort to stay in the loop. To have my face on the sidelines, cheering my teammates on.

It was those thoughts which kept me seated long after the ice had cleared out.

"Didn't take you for a man that hides, Brookes."

The sound of another voice had me jumping in my seat. Whipping my gaze around, I was shocked to see Coach Davidson standing a few feet behind me. "Coach," I said, regaining my composure, "how did you find me up here?"

"One of the assistant coaches spotted you," he replied, his expression giving nothing away. "Though I've got to admit, I figured when you did finally make an appearance, you'd be down at ice level with the rest of the guys."

"I didn't want to cause a distraction." I lifted my shoulder in a shrug, turning my gaze back towards the empty ice. "Plus, I like it up here."

"Good. For a moment there, I thought you might've been scared." I was able to stop myself from outwardly flinching at the accusation, but couldn't help the way my shoulders tensed up. "Not that there would've been anything wrong with that, considering we all deal with setbacks at our own pace, but I know you're better than that. Stronger than that."

Apparently not.

I turned back to him and nodded. "The concussion is pretty much settled, but there's nothing I can really do about my leg. It'll be wrapped up for another two months at least, but I'm set to start therapy as soon as the cast comes off."

"Let the team doctors know when you do. They'll need to stay up to date with your health, and since I'm assuming you'll be around over the summer, don't hesitate to use the facilities here if you need them." His gaze was knowing—as though he could see right through me. "You're still a part of this team, even if it doesn't feel like it right now."

The corner of my mouth lifted marginally. "Speaking of, the team's looking good. Do you think the guys will be able to best Tampa tomorrow?"

"You know better than to ask me that, Brookes." He shook his head. "The game rises to a whole new level in the playoffs. Stamina, precision, and energy all play a part, but you know luck is always a part of it. Everyone has to rise to the occasion, and seeing as we'll be the visiting team, we'll need to block out the audience and zone in on the game."

I fiddled with the zipper of my jacket. "And what about the new guy? Do you think he'll play well under the pressure?"

A crease appeared on his forehead as he eyed me curiously, finding what he was looking for in no time at all. "Is that what you're worried about?" he asked, his surprise evident. "That he'll do well enough to knock you off the team?"

My silence was answer enough.

"Damn, Brookes. I thought you were smarter than that." Averting my gaze to my lap, I felt his hand reach out to rest lightly on my shoulder. "You're a good player, and I know you have the drive to make it far in this league, so don't worry about having a two-way contract. The team was looking to fill a spot on our roster last off-season and our scouts brought you in to step up. And that's what you did." The honesty written across his features as I glanced back at him caused the tension in my chest to fade. "You're injured right now. So what? If a player makes it their entire career without some sort of injury, they didn't play hard enough. Your spot on the Knights is safe; you just need focus on healing and stop stressing." He clapped me on the shoulder. "And between you and me, the kid they called up to take your spot has a bright future, but not here in Boston. A team out west is looking to snatch him up come the summer, so he won't be around next season for you to worry about."

It wasn't the reassurance that I'd come here seeking today, but in my gut, I knew it was what I needed to hear. "Thanks, Coach."

"No problem, kid." He stepped back, stopping briefly as he reached the door. "Oh, and while you're around, go say hi to some of your teammates if they're still here. It's not just me who's been missing you around here."

A breathy laugh escaped me. "Will do."

***

"Cameron?" I called out as I struggled through the front door of his place two hours later. "You around?"

After a rather uncomfortable cab ride home, the pain in my leg was starting to flare, and when no response came from my brother, I headed for the sofa. Collapsing slowly into the cushions, I gritted my teeth and lifted my leg before sighing in relief.

Not only had my visit to the arena put me at ease, but it had cleared my mind. This injury wouldn't be the end of things, only a step along the way. One for which I had the Knights in my corner, and come next season, I was confident I would be stronger because of it.

Which left only one mess to fix, and I couldn't do it alone.

"Cam?" I called again, figuring he was likely back in his office, and after staying quiet for a moment, began to hear the telltale squeak of his wheelchair.

"You're back later than I figured," he commented, rolling across the room. "Which I'm assuming means it went better than expected?"

Nodding, I replied, "All I could think about was that this had been my one chance and I'd ruined it by getting injured. I kept seeing myself being sent back to the minors, or having flashbacks of what it was like for you after your accident, but talking to Coach definitely eased my mind."

"I'm glad," he said, "but man, if you would've said something, I could've given your head a shake." He laughed, lips curving. "Because other than the fact you're clearly not in the best state of mind right now, our situations are completely different. But if I could get through the hard times with you and Isla at my side, then you can get through the next couple of months surrounded by a whole group of people who want to see you succeed."

"About that," I started, clearing my throat, "do you, uh, have any advice on—"

"How to get Jo back?" he finished for me, knowingly. Sighing sheepishly, I nodded. "Well considering you fucked things up royally, you need to find a way to apologize. Be honest and lay everything out on the line, and if she really loves you—which for some reason, it seemed like she did—she'll hopefully understand."

"You think so?"

He edged closer, clapping me on the shoulder. "It's all you can hope for."

a/n: one more chapter + an epilogue left!