Chapter 2 Two Months

I opened my eyes slowly, but the bright lights above me almost blinded me. I squeezed my eyes shut again and waited for the sting to fade.

Then the smell hit me.

Antiseptic, clean sheets, and medicine.

My fingers twitched against the stiff hospital blanket beneath me. I opened my eyes again and looked around.

White walls surrounded me. A heart monitor beeped quietly beside the bed, and a clear drip hung from a stand near my arm.

I frowned.

Where was I?

The hospital.

"What happened?" I muttered.

My voice sounded weak, almost unfamiliar.

I tried to sit up, but the moment I moved, pain shot through my body. I gasped and grabbed the blanket as the memories came rushing back. The stadium, the game and the collision.

My eyes widened.

Slowly, I looked toward the end of the bed. My right leg was stretched out beneath the blanket, wrapped heavily from my thigh down toward my ankle. A large medical brace surrounded my knee, keeping it from bending, while pillows supported my leg.

My stomach twisted immediately.

So it had all been real. It wasn't a dream. My career could be over, and I had failed my mother.

My eyes burned as tears gathered. I quickly wiped them away when the door creaked open.

My mother walked into the room with a smile on her face, her phone pressed against her ear. She sounded completely different from the woman I had seen on the field.

"Ohh, she'll visit soon. Thanks for caring. It's just a little fracture. She will be back on the field soon. I promise."

She ended the call, slipped her phone into her bag, and walked toward me.

"Mum," I called softly.

Her expression hardened immediately.

"Don't you dare mum me. What were you thinking?"

Her voice echoed through the room.

I stared at her. I had expected comfort. A hug. Maybe even a simple, I'm glad you're alive.

Instead, she looked at me as if I had disappointed her.

"Do you know how many scouts were there at the game?" she asked.

She didn't wait for my answer.

"You had one job, Chase."

My fingers curled tightly around the blanket.

"You threw away everything we worked for. The legacy."

Her words cut deeper than I expected.

"All you care about is the legacy. My leg is injured, and this is all you could think of right now?" My voice trembled. "I don't even know if I can ever play lacrosse again. How can you be so mean?"

The tears finally spilled down my cheeks.

"Don't you dare guilt-trip me. Everything I have done was for you. You ungrateful child."

She slammed her hand against the table beside her. The cups and medicine containers jumped, and some fell to the floor with a loud clatter.

I flinched. I had seen this side of her before. The side that made me afraid to speak. But I had never felt this helpless around her.

"I almost died out there, Mom."

For a moment, she said nothing, then she smiled. It wasn't the warm smile she had worn during the phone call. It was cold and empty.

"And yet you're still alive."

Before I could respond, she stepped closer and grabbed my jaw. Her fingers dug into my skin.

"Mum, it hurts." I winced.

She didn't let go.

"Look closely, my honey bun. I have made a lot of excuses for you your whole life, and I won't let this ruin everything we have worked for. The scouts will be coming back soon, and you must be prepared. You have to be nursed back to health and be back on that field. Do I make myself clear?"

My body shook beneath her grip.

"Are you deaf?" she screamed.

"Yes. Yes, mother."

The words came out barely above a whisper.

She released me so suddenly that my head jerked to the side. My body shifted toward the edge of the bed, and for a second, I almost hit my head against the table.

I caught myself with one hand.

"Cry all you want. That's what you're good at."

She turned around and walked toward the door without looking back. The door remained slightly open after she left.

I stared at it until my vision blurred, then I broke down.

"No."

My shoulders shook as I covered my face.

I had spent my entire life working for this. Training until my body hurt, listening to my mother tell me that I had to be better, stronger, and faster.

I had believed that if I became good enough, she might finally be proud of me. Now, everything I had worked for could be gone.

I lowered my hands and looked toward my injured leg.

I couldn't accept it.

"Maybe I just need to stand up and walk. Right. I can do this."

I wiped my face. If I could stand, maybe everything wasn't over. Maybe I could still play lacrosse.

Without thinking about the consequences, I pulled out the drip.

A sharp sting ran through my arm, and a tiny bead of blood appeared where the needle had been. I ignored it and pushed the blanket aside.

I knew I wasn't supposed to get out of bed, but fear had already drowned out common sense.

I lowered my good foot to the floor and gripped the side of the bed.

I pushed myself up. For one second, I managed to stand, keeping all my weight on my good leg, then my injured leg shifted.

Pain shot through my knee.

My balance disappeared, and I crashed to the floor.

Tears filled my eyes, but I refused to give up. Using the bed for support, I pulled myself up again. My good leg shook beneath me as I took one tiny step.

"Just walk, Chase."

I took another step. My foot slipped immediately. I lost my balance and fell forward.

I was certain my head was about to hit the floor when a strong hand caught my wrist. Another arm steadied me around my waist.

My breath caught.

Someone was holding me.

"Trying to walk on that already?"

The voice was calm.

I froze and looked up.

A complete stranger stood in front of me. His blue eyes were fixed on mine, and blonde hair fell slightly across his forehead. His sharp jaw gave him a serious appearance, while his navy medical scrubs and badge made it clear that he worked at the hospital.

He was really tall, maybe 6'1.

"Who are you?" I asked sharply.

"The person who just stopped you from making your injury worse."

Our eyes met and it looked like he was staring right into my soul.

"I don't need your pity or help."

He didn't argue. He carefully released his hold around my waist and helped me sit back on the bed.

"I'm not pitying you. I'm doing my job."

He turned his attention to my injured leg, checking the brace before looking at the empty drip line.

"You removed your drip and tried to stand on an injured knee. What a wild patient." He scoffed.

I folded my arms.

"Keep your advice to yourself."

He looked at me for a moment, then reached for the call button beside the bed.

"I'll get someone to fix the drip. Don't try to stand again."

I turned my face away.

I hated how weak I felt. I hated that a stranger had seen me fall. Most of all, I hated that I couldn't even stand without help.

He turned toward the door.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Thierry." He said.

His finger briefly touched the badge clipped to his chest.

THIERRY.

I looked down at my leg and the door opened again. My mother walked inside and stood beside Thierry, giving him a canned soft drink.

My heart skipped when I saw them.

"I heard you only take Lime juice" she said with a bright smile.

I stared between him and my mother. I was confused and I knew something wasn't right.

"I hope you enjoyed meeting him?" my mother asked.

She walked toward the bed.

"Who is he, and what is he doing here?"

My mother smiled. "Meet your physiotherapist."

"What?"

"You have exactly two months to recover, Chase, or you can kiss everything goodbye. I won't pamper you any longer."

I stared at her.

Two months.

My leg was badly injured, my career was hanging by a thread, and my mother expected me to return to the field in eight weeks.

Thierry said nothing at first.

He walked toward the table and picked up the medical file. His eyes moved over the pages, and his expression slowly changed as he read the details of my injury.

My mother folded her arms.

"Well?"

Thierry closed the file.

"Two months is an aggressive timeline for an injury like this."

My mother's eyes narrowed. "I don't care."

"I understand." His voice remained calm. "I'll do everything I can to help her recover, but I can't promise she'll be ready to return to the field in two months."

A heavy silence settled over the room.

My mother looked at him coldly.

"Then do your best to make sure she is."

Thierry glanced at my injured leg before looking back at her.

"I will."

He placed the file on the table.

"I'll need to begin with her current condition and work from there."

My mother held his gaze for a few seconds. Then she turned toward me.

"Two months, Chase."

I remained silent.

I expected Thierry to say something, but he only pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down. He opened the medical file again and began reading.

The quiet sound of the pages turning filled the room.

I watched him from the corner of my eye. He didn't seem frightened by my mother. He also didn't seem eager to impress her.

"Have you been experiencing pain since you woke up?" he asked.

"Yes."

"How severe?"

"Does it matter?"

His eyes lifted to mine. "Yes."

I looked away.

"It's extremely painful."

I didn't know why, but his calmness irritated me.

"Try to rest tonight. We'll assess what you can manage before beginning any rehabilitation."

I sighed and gave him a weird look.

The man I had told to keep his advice to himself was now responsible for helping me return to the sport I might never play again.

Thierry's lips curved into that irritating smile again.

"Hey, Chase. We haven't had a proper introduction."

I stared at him.

"We already know each other's names."

"That's hardly an introduction."

He held out his hand.

I looked at it suspiciously.

"Do you always make every patient shake your hand?"

"Only the difficult ones."

I scoffed, but placed my hand in his. His grip was warm and steady. He released me before I could pull away.

"Looks like we're going to be seeing a lot of each other, Chase."

He chuckled softly and glanced at my brace.

"Try to get some rest tonight."

He stepped toward the door and turned towards me.

"One more thing," he added.

I narrowed my eyes. "What?"

He looked back at me. "Don't pull out any more medical equipment."

Heat rose to my face.

"Get out."

His smile widened. "Goodnight, Chase."

The door closed and everywhere became quiet.

That man had been in my room for less than fifteen minutes, and he'd already managed to get on my nerves.

I looked down at the brace.

I had a broken knee, an impossible deadline, and a physiotherapist who seemed far too comfortable irritating me.

But there was something about Thierry that unsettled me.

He noticed too much.

And I had a feeling that before long, he would start noticing the things I worked hardest to hide.