Chapter 20 20
Roman's POV
In just a week under Sarah's care, I was starting to wonder if she was going to start calling me Master and bowing when I walked into the room. She had a schedule for everything. My first dose of medication was always at seven, never early or late. Breakfast was served at eight, exercises at nine, rest period at eleven, lunch at twelve-thirty. She had printed it out and stuck it to the fridge with a magnet, right at my eye level, so that I would have no excuse for missing anything.
I had to admit, reluctantly and only to myself, that my knee was genuinely better. The swelling had gone down significantly over the past week, and when I put weight on it now, the sharp pain that had been there since the match had reduced. Dr Sherman's clinic had started the work and Sarah, for all her opinions and her printed schedules, had kept it going.
Which meant I was walking on my own two feet again. Slowly, with a slight drag on the left side, but I was walking. And the more I walked, the more I thought about Harmony.
I wasn't sure when exactly it had started, the thinking about her. It had crept up on me, possibly because I had too much time and too little to do. She had consumed my mind, and I often thought of finding her.
UIC was a big university. Finding one person there without making it obvious that you were looking, would not be straightforward or easy. But at least I had Miles, and Miles knew everyone. If anyone could track down where Harmony Sinclair's classes were without making it seem obvious, it was him.
I limped out of my bedroom and into the living room. Sarah was at the kitchen counter, counting pills into a small white saucer with rapt concentration. She glanced up when I came in, assessed my gait, and went back to the pills without comment.
I kept moving, past the couch and through to the balcony door, which I pushed open and stepped out into. After a week of central heating, the air outside was very refreshing. I stood there for a long while just breathing it in.
When I'd had my fill of fresh air, I called Miles. He picked up on the third ring, slightly out of breath. "Yo! I'm just finishing up practice. Give me a second."
I heard the sounds of the rink in the background, blades on ice and voices echoing, and I felt a strange tightness in my chest. I missed being on the ice, it had been weeks and weeks already. I hadn't let myself think about how much I missed it, until right now.
"How's it looking?" I asked when the background noise faded. Miles must be heading to the locker room now.
"Things are looking good, actually. We have just a week to the match and I think we're ready. Dex has been running the plays you suggested. Everyone is asking about you, by the way, they want to know when you're back. You have female fans circling this place every hour of the day. When are you coming back?"
"Soon," I replied. "My knee is a lot better, I can walk without my crutches now. I want to start getting back on the ice, even if it's just for light stuff. Nothing intense, I just need to get the feel back."
"Does Coach know about this plan of yours?" Miles asked.
I snorted. "You know that's a no. Coach said not to get on the ice until I'm a hundred percent."
Miles made an impatient noise. "That's such bullshit. Light skating isn't going to hurt anything. Hell, a dog could do it."
"That's what I said."
"Then do it. Don't tell her, just do it." He paused again. "Actually, hold that thought. Are you doing anything tonight?"
"I am sitting in my apartment while an older woman in a white uniform counts my pills. So no."
"Sigma Phi Alpha is throwing their mid-semester party tonight. It's a big one from what I heard, and it's off campus, the whole school is going to be there."
I leaned against the balcony railing. I had never been a frat party person... or a frat person in general. It had never really been my scene.
But I had been inside for a week. Seven days of Sarah was more than a man should reasonably be expected to tolerate.
"What time?" I asked.
"Ah, you rascal!" Miles laughed. "I'll be out in front of your apartment at nine, and wear something that doesn't look like you've been in bed for a week. Ladies are going to be there."
The only lady I cared enough to think about wouldn't be caught dead near a frat party, I thought to myself. But I didn't say this to Miles.
Cutting the call, I went back inside, took the pills from Sarah's saucer, threw them all into my mouth at once and reached for the glass of milk she had placed beside them.
"Thanks." I muttered. Sarah watched me use the drugs, eyeing me like a hawk. As if I was going throw seven different pills into my mouth without swallowing.
The rest of that day moved slowly. I watched two episodes of something that I immediately forgot, did my afternoon exercises, ate the dinner Sarah produced at exactly six-thirty, and spent an unreasonable amount of time sitting on my bed thinking about Harmony Sinclair.
At eight-fifteen, I got up and pulled a Drew hoodie from my wardrobe, dark grey, and a pair of black joggers. I laced up my cleanest sneakers, which took longer than it should have because of the knee, and checked myself in the mirror.
I looked good enough, but the problem was Sarah. She had locked the front door at eight, the same way she did every night, and gone to bed with the key. She was currently in the second bedroom she had claimed as her base. The door of the room was ajar, the sound of a television programme filtering through.
I stood in the hallway and thought about what to do for a moment. Then the answer came to me: I'd use the fire escape.
My bedroom window opened out onto it. I had never used it for anything other than its intended purpose, but right now it was the only option that didn't involve walking past Sarah's door. I went back to my room, eased the window up slowly, tested the latch to make sure it wouldn't snap back, then sat on the sill and swung my good leg out first.
The metal grating was cold through my sneaker. I brought my bad leg out carefully, keeping the knee straight, and stood on the landing with both hands on the railing. The night air hit me full in the face.
I took the stairs one at a time, good leg first, bad leg after, holding the railing the whole way down. It took several minutes to get to the bottom. I dropped off the last step onto the pavement and straightened up.
Miles was leaning against my car. "You came down the fire escape?" He asked bemusedly.
"Keys," I replied, and tossed them at him.
He caught them and we got in. He started the engine and pulled away from the kerb, and I leaned back in the passenger seat and felt, for the first time in a week, like a human being again.
Miles laughed as he turned onto the main road. I laughed too, and it felt good.