Page 105 of Salute, To Bravery
It’s the first time since that day. Her eyes look more tired, her posture a little more weighted—but she’s here, whole. Herpresence feels like a lifeline. She walks up to me and without a word, pulls me into a hug.
“Say the word and I’ll make them all disappear,” she whispers in my ear, a smile playing on her lips.
I glance behind her. Sure enough, the hockey players are all looking a little less puffed up as my unit forms a silent wall around Rei. No one says anything, but the message is clear: don’t mess with our girl. She’s carried enough. They’ll carry her now.
She pulls away, her eyes glassy. “He’d be proud of you,” she says softly, just for me.
I nod, swallowing the knot in my throat. “I can do this.”
Everyone gives me space as I wheel myself toward the physical therapy table. I shift, brace, and slowly transfer my body over. The crowd quiets—no clapping, no cheering—just focused silence, like they know this is sacred.
In front of me, the parallel bars loom tall and steady. I’ve imagined this moment for months. The countless hours with my therapist, the days my arms shook from pushing too hard, the nights Jane had to coax me away from overtraining. All of it led here.
Sunlight cuts through the high windows, lighting the room in gold. I see other patients nearby, pausing their routines to watch. Some move closer, forming a loose circle around me—not to stare, but towitness. I feel their unspoken support, their quiet encouragement, and it strengthens me.
With a deep breath, I grab the bars and pull myself up. The room holds its breath.
Swing. Step. Swing. Step.
My body aches, but I keep moving. I can hear Jane gasp softly behind me, and when I glance back, her face is streaked with tears. She’s holding our daughter’s hand, who’s bouncing with excitement, whispering to her brother, “Daddy’s walking!”
I look over at Rei. She’s crying too, but in that quiet, strong way she always does. From under her shirt, she pulls out her dog tags. There’s an extra tag dangling on the chain. She taps it twice, her eyes never leaving mine.
He’s here with us.
My throat tightens as emotion wells inside me. I push through it—through the strain, the pain, the fatigue—and keep going. Each step is a promise to myself. This is not the end. This is the beginning of something new.
Ten full minutes. That’s how long I walk before I finally have to stop.
“I’m so proud of you!” Rei’s voice cracks as she rushes forward. I pull her into a tight hug, feeling the strength in her despite everything she’s lost. Jane comes up next, kissing my cheek before wrapping her arms around me and our daughter.
I make my way around the room, thanking everyone. Their presence means everything. This isn’t just my journey—it’s ours.
“Hey Craig,” one of the hockey players calls out as the moment starts to settle, “don’t forget to come to the game tomorrow. We’ve got that Wounded Veterans Showcase. Should be a good turnout.”
Rei stiffens beside me before he even finishes the sentence. “I never said I would go,” she says coolly, her eyes already locked on Patrick.
“You have to,” Patrick replies without missing a beat. “The team wants to do something nice for the warriors here. It’s important, Craig. I expect you to be there. And you too, Rei—you’re singing the anthem.”
He doesn’t wait for a response. Just turns and walks out with his teammates like he hasn’t stirred up a fire behind him.
“Fucking asshole,” Rei mutters under her breath and storms off after him.
Jane slips beside me, her hand finding mine. I feel unsteady, and she gently helps me over to the bench.
“What was that all about?” she asks quietly.
“Honestly,” I admit, “I’m not really sure.”
She watches Rei disappear around the corner. “Do you want to go tomorrow?”
I pause. Think. “Yeah,” I finally say. “I think it’d be good. Meet others. Be around hockey again. And let’s be honest—Bridget is going to lose her mind being that close to her favorite players.”
Jane laughs, and it fills me with warmth. For the first time in a long time, things feel like they’re falling into place. Not perfect. Not healed. But steady. Ours.
And that’s enough.
Chapter Fourteen.
