Chapter 93 Tragic Genius

Chapter 93 Tragic Genius
Marcus’s POV

The brace clicked softly as I tightened the last strap. I’d done it three times already—loosened, retightened, adjusted—like if I could make it perfect, maybe today wouldn’t feel so big. The crutches leaned against the wall within reach, familiar now in a way I resented but accepted.
First physical therapy session.

Everyone kept calling it a milestone. Right now, it felt more like a reckoning.
“Stop fidgeting,” Peter said from the doorway. “You’re going to wear a hole in that thing.”
“I’m not fidgeting,” I muttered.
Damian looked up from his phone, unimpressed. “You’ve adjusted that brace more times than you’ve adjusted your personality in the last ten years. That’s saying something.”
I shot him a look. “You’re very funny for someone who isn’t about to relearn how to walk properly.”
Peter snorted. “He’s got a point. You’re dramatic.”
I grabbed my crutches and pushed myself upright, the familiar ache blooming in my knee as I shifted my weight. It wasn’t sharp anymore—more of a deep, stubborn throb that reminded me constantly of what had happened. Of what I’d lost. Of what I was fighting to get back.
“Let’s just go,” I said.

The hallway outside the room smelled like antiseptic and coffee—hospital normal. Down the hall, my father stood with the doctor, both of them deep in conversation. He looked focused, engaged in a way that still felt new to me. Less distant. More present.
That part still surprised me.
As we approached, the doctor glanced up and smiled. “Ready for the fun part?”
Peter made a face. “Define fun.”
The doctor chuckled. “Pain, progress, and a lot of repetition.”
“Sounds like hockey,” Damian said.
I exhaled slowly. “Yeah. Except this time, I don’t get to pretend I’m fine.”
The doctor nodded, understanding flickering across his face. “That might be the hardest part.”
My father stepped closer, resting a hand briefly on my shoulder. “You don’t have to prove anything today.”
I looked at him, really looked at him.
“Thanks,” I said quietly.

We moved into the therapy room—a bright, open space filled with machines, resistance bands, and mirrors that reflected back a version of myself I was still getting used to. The therapist introduced herself, cheerful but direct, and began explaining what the session would involve.
As she talked, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Anna.
I’d already talked to her that morning, but my heart still jumped instinctively. Damian noticed immediately.
“There she is,” he said lightly. “Your emotional support human.”
I ignored him and glanced at the screen.
Good luck today. I know you’re going to hate it but survive anyway.
I smiled before I could stop myself.

Earlier that morning, her voice had been soft when she called. Careful. She’d told me Courtney was coming over to help her pack.
For Leith.
I’d heard it immediately—the hesitation tucked between her words, the way she’d slowed when she said my name, like she was waiting for something. Permission. Reassurance. A reason to stay.
“Courtney’s coming by,” she’d said. “Just… to help me organize. I don’t want to leave everything until the last minute.”
“That’s good,” I’d told her. “You’ll feel better being prepared.”
There’d been a pause.
“Marcus…”
I’d smiled even though she couldn’t see it.
“You don’t have to soften it,” I’d said gently. “I know this is big.”
“I don’t want you to feel like I’m rushing away,” she’d replied.
“You’re not,” I’d said without hesitation. “You’re moving toward something you earned.”
“But the timing—”
“—sucks,” I’d finished for her. “Yeah. It does. But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”
Another pause. Heavier this time.
“I love you,” she’d said quietly.
“I love you too,” I’d replied. “And I want you excited. Not guilty.”
I could still hear the relief in her exhale.

Now, standing in a room designed to rebuild what I’d lost, her message grounded me more than anything else.
Me:
If I survive today, I expect a medal. Or at least snacks.
Three dots appeared.
Anna:
You’ll get snacks. And maybe a very smug girlfriend later.
I laughed under my breath.
“See?” Peter said. “Already emotionally compromised.”
The therapist cleared her throat. “Ready to start, Marcus?”
I nodded and handed my phone to Damian. “If I pass out, that’s yours.”
“Comforting,” Damian said. “Truly.”
The first exercises were small. Embarrassingly small. Flex. Hold. Release.
The mirror showed me concentrating like I was lifting a hundred pounds when I was barely moving my leg an inch.
“This is ridiculous,” Peter muttered.
I shot him a look. “You want to trade?”
“Nope.”

The burn started quickly. Deep and insistent. Not the adrenaline rush of a game, not the satisfying ache of a workout—this was different. This was my body arguing with me.
“Breathe,” the therapist coached. “Don’t fight it. Let it happen.”
I clenched my jaw and did as she said. My thoughts drifted, as they always did lately, back to Anna. To her packing boxes.
To Courtney sitting cross-legged on her bedroom floor, probably narrating everything dramatically. To the fact that in a week, Anna would be somewhere else. Chasing a dream she’d carried quietly for years. I didn’t want to be the reason she hesitated.
I didn’t want her looking back and wondering what she’d given up for me.
“You’re tensing,” the therapist noted.
“Sorry,” I said, forcing myself to relax.
“No apology needed,” she replied. “This is hard. Especially for athletes.”
That word—athlete—hit differently now.

I didn’t know what that part of my future looked like anymore. But I knew what I wanted it to include. Her.
“Okay,” the therapist said after a while. “That’s enough for today.”
Relief washed through me so fast I almost laughed.
“You did well,” she added. “It’s a long road. But you’re capable.”
I nodded, sweat cooling on my skin.
Damian clapped lightly. “He lives.”
Peter grinned. “Barely.”
My father stepped forward as the therapist explained next steps, recovery expectations, timelines. I listened, but my mind drifted again—to Anna folding clothes, to her standing on the edge of something new. To me learning how to stand again, literally and figuratively. Later, as Damian helped me back into my jacket, my phone buzzed once more.
Anna:
Packing is chaos. Courtney is labeling things with dramatic quotes.
I smiled.
Me:
Tell her if she labels anything ‘tragic genius,’ I’m burning it.
Anna:
She says hi. And that she’s proud of you.
That did something to my chest.

I leaned back against the wall, exhaustion settling into my bones, but something steady underneath it. This was the beginning. Not just of rehab. Of learning how to let go without losing. Of loving someone enough to want their happiness, even when it meant missing them. I closed my eyes for a moment, breathing through the ache in my knee. One step at a time. I could do that. I was already doing it