Page 102 of Reach Around

“You gave me yours,” she says, her voice wobbling. “And I gave you mine.”

“I still have it,” I say.

She blinks at me, lashes heavy. “You do?”

I nod. “Right next to my jersey in my locker. You think I’m superstitious? Nah. It’s because of you.”

Joely pushes herself up a little, her hair sticking out in every direction, pupils huge and wild from the painkillers. “Thenwhere’s your bracelet now? Because I want us to match.” She flops her wrist in my direction, flashing the ugly plastic hospital band. “Get the nurse. Tell her I want a Brogan bracelet. I want it to say Joely plus Brogan. And it has to have a heart emoji.”

I laugh, totally helpless against her. “You want us to get matching hospital bracelets?”

“Yeah,” she says, dead serious. “It’s romantic. We’ll keep them forever. Or at least until the glue melts off in the shower. Or I die.”

The nurse, already smirking, glances over. Then she mouths to me, “She’s not dying.” Aloud, she says, “I’ll see what I can do. But if he wants the heart, he has to earn it. We don’t give those out to the troublemakers.”

Joely grins at me, all glassy-eyed and stubborn. “You heard her. Better start behaving, Foster.”

I shake my head, smiling so hard my face hurts. “For you? Always.”

The nurse picks up her iPad. “As soon as you get dressed, you can go home.”

“I’ll leave,” I say gently, “if you don’t want my help.”

Joely tilts her head, eyes glassy but sharp. “Are you sure you know how to dress a girl? You’ve only ever undressed me.”

“Usually, this would feel counterintuitive to my goals,” I murmur, sliding my hand into hers, “but let’s get you dressed so we can get you settled.”

She smiles, eyes fluttering closed for a second. “I like the sound of that.”

Her grip tightens around my fingers. “Are you really staying?”

“I’m not going anywhere, Jojo.”

Her lashes flick up again. “You stopped calling me that in high school. Now, you’ve started again.”

“I’m bringing it back,” I say with a smile that feels like it’s cracking me open. “Just like I’m bringing you home.”

And yeah—I mean it in every sense of the word.

Mom pokes her head in just as the nurse returns with a folder full of instructions—wound care, medication times, signs to watch for, the whole nine yards. I prop Joely up, careful with her leg as I help her out of the drafty hospital gown and into her softest hoodie and a pair of borrowed shorts, making sure the cast fits without rubbing.

The nurse runs through everything twice, aiming most of it at me, because it’s clear I’m not leaving her side. Mom listens, too, her arms crossed, making it very clear she’ll be quizzing me later. Once Joely’s settled, I scoop up the prescriptions and discharge papers, drape her coat over her shoulders, and lift her gently into the wheelchair for the ride out. We’re exhausted, punch-drunk, but finally—finally—we’re going home. And I promise myself she’s not going to lift a finger unless she wants to.

I drive slower than I ever have in my life.

Not because I’m worried about icy roads. Because she’s asleep in the back seat of my truck, bundled in her puffy coat with the hood cinched tight around her face. Her ankle’s wrapped and propped on a pillow I stole from the hospital bed. She’s snoring just barely—soft little exhales that would be adorable if I weren’t so fucking mad at the universe for letting her fall in the first place.

Because she was doing something for me.

I glance at her car parked crooked outside the arena and feel the twist of guilt all over again.

She would’ve done anything to help me fulfill my dream.

But what if I’ve had it wrong all along? I know I have no chance in hell to make it to the NHL, and Joely probably knows it too. But only one of us refused to give up.

I help her out of the truck as gently as I can, one arm under her knees, the other around her back. “I can walk on my crutches,” she mumbles, eyes still half-closed.

“I know. But I’m carrying you anyway. Let a man live out his hero moment.”

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