Chapter 76 Slow recovery
The sun was just starting to climb over the city when I finally opened my eyes. My neck was stiff, and my back ached from sleeping in the hard hospital chair, but the room was quiet. The steady beep of the heart monitor had become a rhythm I could sleep to.
I looked over at the bed. Leo was still asleep. His breathing was slow and deep. The lines of pain that had covered his face the night before were gone.
He looked like the big brother I remembered from years ago, before the hockey gear and the Vance name had changed everything.
I stood up and stretched, my joints popping. I really needed a shower and a real breakfast. I leaned over and whispered, "I’ll be back in an hour, Leo," but he didn't stir.
I walked down to the hospital cafeteria. It was very early, so the place was mostly empty. The only people there were a few tired nurses and a guy sweeping the floor. I bought two cups of coffee and two dry muffins from the counter. It was the cheapest breakfast I could find, but in that moment, it felt like a feast.
When I got back to the room, the sun was shining through the blinds, making long, bright lines across the floor. Leo was sitting up a little bit more, staring at the television. He was watching a cooking show where a man was trying to bake a cake in a giant pan.
"Morning," I said, putting the coffee on the small tray table.
Leo turned and gave me a tired smile. "Hey. Did you sleep at all?"
"A little bit," I lied. I pulled up the chair and handed him a muffin. "Eat something. The doctor said you need energy."
He took a small bite and shrugged. "This is not exactly a five-star meal, but it’s better than the ice," he joked.
We sat there for a long time, just drinking the hot, bitter coffee. We didn't talk about the game. We didn't talk about Julian, or Dad, or my medical project. Instead, we talked about when we were little. We talked about the time we tried to bake a cake for Mom’s birthday.
I remembered how we had used too much flour and not enough sugar, and the whole thing had turned into a hard, white brick.
"I still remember the look on Mom’s face," Leo laughed, his voice sounding stronger than it had the night before. "She tried so hard to act like she liked it, but when she tried to cut it, the knife actually broke."
"I think I still have a scar on my finger from that day," I said, holding up my hand.
Leo reached out and touched my hand. "We were such a mess. But we were happy, weren't we?"
"Yeah," I said softly. "We were."
I reached into my bag and pulled out a small, spiral-bound notebook. I had bought it from the hospital gift shop while I was waiting for my coffee. I put it on the bed and opened it to the first page.
"What’s this?" Leo asked.
"It’s a rehab journal," I said. "I’m going to track your progress. Every day, we’re going to write down small goals. Not big, scary ones, just little things to get you through the day."
Leo looked at the notebook. He picked up a pen and started to write. His handwriting was a little shaky, but he looked focused.
1\. Sit up for 10 minutes.
2\. Eat one full meal.
3\. Watch a movie that has nothing to do with sports.
He handed the pen to me.
"You write one," he said.
I looked at the paper and smiled. 4\. Find out which nurse makes the best coffee.
Leo laughed, and it was the best sound I had heard in weeks. It was a real, genuine laugh.
The rest of the morning passed like a dream.
A nurse came in to check his IV, and she was so funny that we ended up laughing until our sides hurt. She told us stories about the strange things people left behind in the hospital rooms, like a pet turtle and a collection of hats.
By the afternoon, we were bored of the news, so we found an old, terrible reality TV show. It was about people trying to find love on a desert island. It was so bad that we couldn't stop watching. We made fun of the contestants and shouted at the screen every time they made a silly decision.
It was such a normal thing to do. It felt like being back in our old apartment, hanging out on a Tuesday afternoon with no pressure and no fear.
For those few hours, we weren't a famous Captain and a girl who had just been disowned. We were just two people who were tired, hungry, and happy to be alive.
I watched Leo from the side. He was staring at the TV, his face relaxed. He wasn't thinking about the championship. He wasn't thinking about his leg. He was just being Leo.
As the sun began to set, the room turned a deep, beautiful orange. The city outside was starting to light up, and the sounds of traffic drifted up through the window. It was a busy, loud world out there, but in here, it was perfectly still.
Leo started to get sleepy again. The painkillers were kicking in, and he was yawning.
"You should get some sleep, El," he said, his eyes already closing. "You look like you're about to fall over."
"I'm okay," I said, but I knew he was right. My head was heavy.
"I mean it," he whispered. "You've done enough today. Just sit there and rest for a bit. I’m not going anywhere."
He fell asleep within seconds. I sat back and watched the cars moving slowly on the street below. They looked like little lights in the dark.
I looked down at my phone. It was silent. No emails from Dad. No angry texts from teammates. No news about the championship. It was just quiet.
I realized then that this was the foundation we needed. We had been running for so long, running from our father, running for the team, running from our own fears. Today, we had finally stopped. We had just sat still.
It wasn't a fix. Leo still had a broken leg. I was still broke. My father was still out there, and Julian was still planning his next move. But none of that mattered for this one day.
We had found our way back to each other. We had found the simple, quiet truth that we were stronger together than we ever were apart.
I closed my eyes, letting the quiet of the room wash over me.
The hospital was dark, and the night was long, but for the first time in a very long time, I felt like everything was going to be okay.