Chapter 4 Moving on already
"Where is this place you want me to take you?” Thierry asked.
I swallowed.
“I want to go to campus. I have something important to pick up.”
His eyebrows lifted, and his eyes dropped to my injured knee before returning to my face.
I already knew what he was thinking.
I had a serious injury and barely enough strength to sit up without feeling exhausted. Asking to leave the hospital probably sounded ridiculous.
“I’m sorry, but I’ll have to say no.” His voice remained calm. “You can’t move around like you normally would. What do you need? I can speak to your mother and have someone at school bring it to you.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
The thought of my mother finding out made my stomach twist. If she knew what I wanted to collect, she wouldn’t send someone to bring it to me. She would make sure it disappeared.
“She doesn’t know about it,” I said. “My locker will be cleaned out soon, and I need to get it before that happens. I can’t let her see it.”
Thierry studied me, but he didn’t ask what I was hiding.
“I’m sorry, Chase. I can’t guarantee that favor.”
My shoulders dropped.
“It’s really important.”
“Chase, I can’t.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.” He rubbed his jaw. “But being serious doesn’t make it safe.”
“I’ll be careful.”
He held my gaze.
“You’re asking me to take you outside the hospital when you’re barely a few days into recovery. Your leg isn’t ready for weight-bearing, and you still need help transferring. If something goes wrong, I can’t undo it because you promised to be careful.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” His voice stayed even. “You have a habit of saying that right before doing whatever you want.”
My mouth fell open.
“I do not.”
He gave me a look and the irritating part was that I couldn’t think of a convincing response.
Thierry glanced toward the door.
“I’ll speak to your doctor. If he says no, we’re not going.”
I nodded.
“And if he agrees, we follow every restriction.”
“Okay.”
“I understand that you want to go back to campus, but I’m not taking you there to prove you’re still strong. You’re injured, Chase. Ignoring that won’t make you recover faster.”
His words irritated me more, but they also struck somewhere deeper.
My mother wanted me back on the field within two months. Thierry was the first person who seemed willing to admit that my body might not obey her demands.
“I don’t want to prove anything,” I said quietly. “I just want to collect something before it’s taken away.”
He studied my face. This time, he didn’t ask another question.
“I’ll be back.”
He picked up his chart.
“And don’t try to escape while I’m gone.”
I frowned. “Where exactly do you think I’m going with this knee?”
“With your determination and the way you pulled out your drip? I'm really worried.”
Before I could respond, he walked out and closed the door.
The room became quiet.
I looked down at my knee brace.
Two months.
The deadline no longer felt like a number. It felt like a threat. My mother had never explained what she meant by recovery. Did she expect me to walk? Start training? Pass a medical assessment? Return to the field regardless of what the doctors said?
My gaze shifted toward the window.
I had spent my entire life allowing her to decide what mattered. My training, competitions, and future had always belonged to her, but there was one thing she had never been allowed to take from me.
My paintings.
I had hidden them inside my locker beneath old training clothes and equipment. They were the only things I had created without worrying about whether my mother would approve.
If she found them, she would call them useless.
I couldn’t let her destroy them.
The door opened several minutes later.
Thierry returned with a wheelchair, and I straightened.
“Well?”
“The doctor agreed to one hour.”
My eyes widened. "Really?”
“Don’t get too excited. He approved a short, supervised outing because you’re stable. He didn’t approve you ignoring your restrictions.”
My excitement faded slightly.
“You’ll remain in the wheelchair the entire time. Your injured leg cannot touch the ground. No walking, no standing, and no unnecessary stops. If you experience increased pain, dizziness, or anything unusual, we return immediately.”
“Understood.”
“Good. I need you to follow the restrictions, Chase. I won’t risk your recovery just to get you somewhere faster.”
A small smile escaped me. He noticed but said nothing.
I glanced at the wheelchair. "One hour isn’t much time.”
“Then we shouldn’t waste it.”
He brought the wheelchair closer and locked the wheels.
“Put your hands here.”
I followed his instructions. He placed one arm behind my back and supported my good leg with the other.
When I tried to shift, pain shot through my injured knee.
I sucked in a breath.
“Easy.” His voice softened. “I’ve got you.”
I gritted my teeth and tried to move on my own. Thierry stopped me.
“Don’t.”
“I can do it.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t. I said don’t.”
“I don’t need you to treat me like I’m helpless.”
“Then stop making me choose between respecting your independence and protecting your knee.”
I looked at him and he lowered his eyes to my injured leg.
“Let me help you properly.”
The words left me quiet.
I hated needing help, but I hated the thought of making my injury worse even more. So I allowed him to guide me into the wheelchair.
Pain pulled through my knee as I settled into the seat. My fingers tightened around his sleeve, and he waited until my breathing steadied before adjusting the footrest.
He checked my brace and made sure my injured leg was supported.
“Comfortable?”
“A little.”
He nodded and for a moment, I caught my reflection in the dark television screen. I wore a face cap, and the girl staring back at me looked unfamiliar.
I had always been the person who ran toward the field. Now I needed someone to push me toward it.
The thought tightened my chest.
Thierry moved in front of me. “Ready?”
I nodded.
The hospital doors opened, and sunlight touched my face.
I squinted. After spending so much time inside, even the outside air felt unfamiliar.
Thierry noticed my expression. “You okay?”
“Yes.”
He pushed me toward his car. When we reached it, he locked the wheelchair before helping me into the passenger seat. He kept my injured leg supported and moved carefully.
Once I was seated, he adjusted my leg before folding the wheelchair into the trunk. He checked everything twice. Only after he was satisfied did he close the trunk.
I watched him through the window. He wasn’t treating the trip like a casual favor. He was paying attention to every detail because one careless movement could worsen my injury.
That was something I couldn’t criticize him for.
He entered the driver’s seat and started the car.
The drive began in silence.
I rested my head against the window and watched the buildings pass by. Life continued as though mine hadn’t suddenly fallen apart.
A group of athletes jogged past in matching training clothes.
The sight brought back too many memories.
I looked away.
“Do you want the radio on?” Thierry asked.
“No.”
After a few minutes, he spoke.
“Your mother expects you back on the field in two months.”
“I know.”
“Then she needs to understand that your body doesn’t follow her calendar.”
My fingers tightened around my jacket.
“You don’t know my mother.”
“No.” He kept his eyes on the road. “But I know an injury doesn’t heal because someone is impatient.”
I didn’t respond.
He didn’t try to fill the silence, and I appreciated that.
A few minutes later, the university gates appeared.
My stomach twisted. The familiar buildings stood beyond them, but I suddenly felt like I was looking at my old life from the outside.
Thierry slowed the car.
“Do you want me to drop you somewhere less crowded?”
“That would be better.”
He parked away from the main entrance.
The last thing I needed was a crowd of students asking questions about my leg or taking pictures.
I pulled my mask over my nose.
Thierry got out and opened the passenger door.
“Remember the restrictions.”
“I remember.”
“And try not to make me regret getting clearance.”
He helped me into the wheelchair and adjusted my injured leg before pushing me toward the building.
The moment we entered, memories rushed toward me.
The noticeboards. The classroom doors. The trophy cabinets. The photographs of teams that had won championships before us.
Everything looked the same, but I wasn’t. Students began staring. Some whispered while others glanced at my wheelchair and quickly looked away.
I kept my head raised and I refused to let them see me shrink.
“Where’s your locker room?” Thierry asked.
“Down that hallway.”
He pushed me in that direction.
The farther we went, the quieter the hallway became. The sound of students faded until a familiar voice reached my ears.
“How could you do this?” Ella demanded. “She’s still recovering from a serious injury, and all you can think about is signing up for the captaincy?”
My fingers tightened around the armrest.
Ella. I hadn’t heard her voice in days.
Thierry stopped behind me.
The half-open door stood ahead, it was my locker room.
The place where my teammates and I had laughed, cried after losses, celebrated victories, and stood in front of the mirror wearing our Red Titans jerseys.
I had believed it would always belong to me.
Then Jade answered.
“It’s not like she can return anytime soon. Someone has to lead the team.”
My stomach dropped. Someone had to lead the team.
The words weren’t cruel, but they still hurt.
“And don’t you think wanting the captaincy makes you a traitor?” Ella asked.
“No. I think the team needs someone who can actually play.”
My chest tightened again.
“What did Coach say?” Ella asked.
“Coach is already discussing temporary leadership,” another teammate replied. “She said we can’t keep waiting for Chase.”
My fingers tightened around the armrest.
Were they planning to replace me? So fast? It hasn't even been a week since I got injured.
