Page 63 of Tough Score

"I know. But it's not just about owing you. I... I need to focus on this. On helping you get back on the ice. It's important to me."

There's another small pause and then he speaks.

"Thank you, Keely. That means a lot to me," his voice is warm this time. "I'll see you when I get home. Don't watch any episodes of that new docu-series without me."

I smile to myself.

At least after all this is over, maybe he and I can at least be friends.

I want to keep Reeve in my life because he's the best friend I've ever had.

Chapter Twenty

Reeve

Sitting on the padded table in the belly of the stadium, running through every strength and stress test on my knee that Dr. Omar could do, I wait with bated breath to hear his prognosis.

We still have a week and a half before he assesses me at my six-week appointment, but I'm hoping that this appointment will give me a glimpse into what I can expect for an answer as to whether he's going to clear me for practice or not.

I glance over at Coach Bex who's standing in the corner of the exam room, one arm crossed over his chest, his other elbow perched against it with his hand resting against his mouth.

He's as anxious as I am to get the news.

Finally, Dr. Omar looked up from my knee after rotating my leg—the last test, he told us he wanted to run. He jots down some notes on his clipboard, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Well, Reeve, I have to say I'm impressed. Your knee is looking remarkably good, especially considering the severity of the initial injury."

There's an audible exhale from both Coach Bex and myself.

I feel a surge of hope, but I try to keep my expression neutral. "That's great to hear, Doc. So what does that mean for my recovery timeline?"

Dr. Omar glances at Coach Bex before answering. "Honestly, I'm tempted to clear you now. Your range of motion is excellent, and the strength tests are promising. Your PT did an excellent job, and your body seems to be healing nicely. However," he holds up a hand, sensing my excitement, "I want to wait for one more set of scans before I let you skate out for practice. We can't afford to rush this and risk re-injury."

Coach Bex steps forward, his arms crossed. "And when will those scans be ready?"

"By the end of next week," Dr. Omar replies. "If they look as good as I expect them to, we could be looking at clearance for light practice at the six-week mark, assuming that Dr. Woods agrees. And I want Dr. Morgan to take a look, too, before you're cleared for more than that."

My heart races at the prospect of making the deadline that I set. Getting cleared for practice is better than nothing, but every game I miss feels like an eternity. If I want to get back out there and help my team make it to the playoffs, I need to be able to play.

Coach Bex nods, his expression softening slightly. "That's good news, mate. But remember, we need you at 100%. No cutting corners, understood?"

"Yes, Coach," I say. "I'll do whatever it takes."

As we wrap up the appointment, I glance at the clock on the wall and realize with a start that I've completely lost track of time. Keely's soccer game – I promised I'd be there.

"I hate to rush out," I say, hopping off the table, "but I've got somewhere I need to be. Thanks, Doc. Coach, I'll see you at practice tomorrow?"

Coach Bex nods, a knowing look in his eye. "Off you go then. Don't keep her waiting."

I feel a flush creep up my neck, but I don't deny it. As I hurry out of the stadium and to my car, my mind races with possibilities. The future I've been working towards is within reach – both on and off the ice. Now I just have to make sure I don't mess it up.

Pulling into the emptying parking lot, I notice players and spectators loading into their cars and getting ready to leave.

My stomach sinks—I missed it.

She knew I had a late doctor's appointment when I told her I was coming to her game today. And I told her I'd be cutting it close but now I've missed it entirely.

As I approach the tightly cut green grass, the late afternoon sun is starting to set across the soccer fields. The last few players toss their duffel bags over their shoulders and head in the opposite direction, waving at me as they go. My eyes scan the crowd, searching for Keely.

The moment I spot her, I see she's talking with Dr. Morgan near the sidelines, her cheeks flushed from exertion and her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She looks beautiful.