Page 6 of Family First
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What did not feel good was mini squats.
Nope, did not like. Lance, the smiling twink with two earrings and no soul, stood beside me as I lowered myself, gripping a bar on the wall at the PT center in the newly built Greater Harrisburg Sports Rehab Complex. The massive building sat one block away from the arena and was where all the Railers went for physical therapy after injuries or surgeries.
“You’re doing really well, Stan, just a few more reps, then we’ll get you on the treadmill. How did you feel during the one-leg-stand-ball-catch sequence?”
I straightened, took a sip of water, and then turned to face my tormentor. Lance was not there to hurt me, this I knew, and he was working hard to get me through rehab so I could return to the ice.
“Okay, is good for balance work.” He smiled as if I had handed him a bag of money. “I know is a long time for me to play but if you had to guess…”
I let that dangle. He ran a hand through his bright yellow hair. “I know you are not happy to make guesses for times. But I am doing well, yes?”
“Yes, you’re doing quite well. Let’s move to the treadmill now.” He walked beside me, one hand on my lower back, as I shuffled past the bikes, which I had done upon arrival, then around a set of steps an old man in a knee brace was climbing gingerly with help from a young woman named Kim who had two Dalmatians, so we talked dogs when Lance was not working me like a taskmaster. A good taskmaster, yes, but still a taskmaster.
“I take note of you not answering me,” I said while inch by inch lifting one foot then the other up on to the treadmill.
“You’re right, I didn’t reply. Stan, yes, you are doing incredibly well. But I don’t want to set any definitive dates for your return to play as there are so many variables. Why don’t we take things week by week as we agreed the last time you were here.”
“Fine, yes, I know I say good to weekly but weekly is slow and making me grumpy.”
He chuckled then tapped in a creeping speed for me to walk. “I’ve dealt with grumpy athletes before. One of the college footballers threatened to punt me through the goal posts if I didn’t work him harder than guidelines dictate. I told him to go ahead and boot me through the uprights if he could catch me.”
“Ah, so he was having a bad knee?”
“Terribleknee injury. But we got him back on the field for the next season and I am glad to say no punting of the therapist took place.” He patted my forearm. “Stay at this speed for the next fifteen minutes. Then we’ll get you onto a table for some heat therapy.”
Ah yes, I did enjoy the heat therapy. Also, the massages. “I will walk. And I will not threaten you with kicking through posts.”
“It’s greatly appreciated,” he joked then moved off to supervise my walk as he tended to some work on his tablet. Probably he was jotting down notes on my progress, which would be fed to the team as they were, I was hoping, still interested in how I was coming along. Not that they needed me in the net. Bryan had taken over, been a brick wall in goal, steady on his skates, cool under pressure, and given to small celebrations after a win. The Railers had called up a young tendie from Colchester by the name of Brigham Travis, an amazing young goalie who had led the Colts to a championship victory last season. Neither of them spoke to the pipes. I wondered if they missed me, my hometown pipes. I bet they did. If I got back in net—no, not ifwhen—I could catch them up. If I did not they would not grant me good luck as they had for so many years.
Lost in my thoughts as I was, the walk ended soon, and I was then given a lovely massage that left me rubbery and sleepy. I was not driving. Eva had agreed to pick me up after gathering her brother and sister from their various practices. Noah was in a summer league now and Margo was playing soccer. We’d come to rely on our eldest daughter for so much in terms of helping with the younger children that when she left in the fall for her first year of college down in West Virginia we’d be lost. But she had dreams of being a child psychologist, and she was eighteen now, so we had to let her go. Not that Erik and I were close to being mentally ready to do so. To us she would always be that thin, haunted child we’d brought home from Russia.
My eldest child was waiting outside the rehab center when I shuffled out. She opened the car door for me, Margo, and Noah in the back of the SUV, watching me as if they were scared I might fall over at any moment.
“Papa, you’re walking so much better every day,” Eva said, tossing her dark, waist-length hair over her shoulder to catch the eye of several young men lingering outside as they waited for their appointments. I glowered at the pack of wolves. Each one was quick to find something interesting on their phones. “Next week you’ll be jogging.”
“From your mouth to the gods’ ears,” I replied as I eased myself into the seat, grateful for this higher vehicle than Mama’s lower car. I glanced in the back while Eva toted my crutches to the rear of the car to stow them with Noah’s hockey equipment and Margo’s bag of soccer gear.
“Papa, today I ran the fastest in warm-ups and got this cool sticker.” Margo beamed at me as she pointed at the bright pink sticker on her striped gold and blue T-shirt. We’d been thrilled to find a camp that was inclusive and didn’t balk at letting our trans child play in the girls’ squads. It had been a depressing slog to find a camp that did not wish to slap her into the boys’ squads based on her gender at birth. After we’d been welcomed, several of the Railers had made generous donations to the camp, Erik and I included, to show financial support so such welcoming places could continue to function.
“That is good, pumpkin,” I said with a smile then glanced at Noah who was dozing, his head resting on the window to his left.
Eva slid behind the wheel, looked into the back, and sighed. “He really needs to go to bed earlier, Papa. Perhaps you need to flip the switch on his PS5 at ten o’clock instead of eleven.”
I stared at our son as he slumbered. Perhaps we did. Noah was always such a ball of energy but if his obsession with a certain fantasy video game was tiring him out so much I might have to intervene. I’d see how he did over the next week or so.
“I will keep watch,” I told Eva, who nodded then pointed at my seatbelt. I hurried to buckle up after I got my two new hips settled under me. “You are such a mother hen,” I teased my daughter and got a cluck in reply.
Margo giggled. Noah snored. I sighed as the heated seat warmed my butt, the heat spreading into my lower back perfectly. My eyes were heavy as well. Perhaps Eva would have to rouse both the weary Lyamin men in this car when we got home.
A heavy metal song blared from the stereo, startling me from my PT-induced lethargy.
Okay, so perhaps she wouldnothave to rouse me from a nap after all.
ChapterFour
ERIK
