Page 67 of Top Shelf
“You’re all set.It was nice to finally meet you.” The words were polite, and so was the tone, but I felt on edge. It was three weeks into official summer, and I was now discharged from my physical therapy at Quinn’s office.
Now, it was all down to the team staff.
Graduation was over. I’d walked the stage, my parents had hugged me tightly, and then they took me to dinner. I’d seen Quinn in the crowd, but he’d disappeared right after the ceremony was over, and he’d sent a text saying that his knee was hurting and he was going to be at home.
My mom was disappointed that he didn’t make it to dinner. My dad gave me a look but said nothing except to ask if I was getting my apartment soon. I had no word on that, but he didn’t push it. They took me to one of the few curry shops in the city that made proper Pakistani food, and then they left me on Quinn’s doorstep with a hug and a promise to see me soon.
I didn’t know how true that would be. I knew they planned to come down for some of my games, but even if I was given clearance to play when preseason began, I doubted I’d be in the net very much.
I didn’t want them to keep turning their lives upside down for a maybe when it came to seeing me do anything for a while. I had time to worry about it, of course. Rookie camp wasn’t until September, and right now, the league was dealing with the draft.
But time and I were rarely friends. Time meant waiting, and waiting meant overthinking, and overthinking meant the risk of sabotaging everything good out of sheer anxiety that it was all going to go wrong.
The only saving grace was that Quinn was acting like nothing was wrong at all. I was supposed to be meeting with someone today after my appointment with PT to talk about my living arrangements. Most rookies did a roommate situation, and while that would have been ideal with Cosmo, since I knew him, he was still in school at the Kappa house.
I didn’t want to learn to live with someone else. All the new sounds, the new smells, the new routines?
It made me feel sick to my stomach. I knew it wasn’t a hard and fast rule, but if I said no, the only other option was being by myself, and that was almost as scary. I hadn’t been by myself…well, ever. Not once.
It might have sounded like the dream before, but now…
“You alright?”
I blinked, realizing that the therapist was talking to me, and I’d forgotten his name again. It was the third time. And his badge was backward, so that didn’t help. “I’m fine.”
He winced and pulled the face most people did when I spoke with almost no inflection. They thought I was an asshole. They thought I was doing it on purpose. I’d spent years trying to fix it, but even when I had my mask firmly on my face to hide who I really was, that always seeped out from the cracks.
“Um. Thank you,” I added. “I feel better.”
He laughed and waved me off. “You can thank your former PT. They did an amazing job.”
“Yeah.”
Quinn had done an amazing job. Of course, I’d been given better treatment than most patients. I went to his office for my scheduled sessions, but every time we lounged on the couch together, he had my foot in his hand. He’d pull and stretch and massage until I felt like liquid gelatine right before it formed into a solid.
The PT didn’t pat me the way Quinn did. He didn’t linger his touch and drag it away slowly. And I was grateful for it because that might have sent me spiraling.
Taking a deep breath, I slipped off the table and bent over to tighten my brace. I was beyond thrilled to be out of the boot and more than ready to stop having my foot strapped into anything at all. But I knew it was too soon.
Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I opened up the email of my schedule and squinted. “Do you know where I can find Andrea Baker’s office?”
The PT lifted a brow. “Uh, yeah. You have a meeting with her?”
“About…contact stuff,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “And getting an apartment.” Biting my lip, I put my phone back. “Is she nice?”
He burst into laughter. “No, but I’m biased.”
I had no idea what that meant. At all. I felt a little afraid suddenly. What if she wasn’t kind to me? Would she force me to pick a roommate, even though it wasn’t a requirement? Would she shame me until I agreed?
My heart began to pick up as the guy started to wipe down the bench.
“I’ll walk you over there. I have to bring her something anyway.”
Nodding, I pulled my phone back out and fired off a text to Quinn. He wouldn’t get it right away. I knew he had a full day ofappointments, so he wouldn’t be able to answer me, but being able to just vent helped.
Me: I’m scared they’re going to bully me into getting a roommate. I don’t want to live with someone else.
Quinn: I know it’s been hard for you here.
