Heal the Heart

29.

Safe to say, I regretted helping Beck recover this fast.

As promised, Dr Nazmi gave the all clear for him to continue his exercises from home after the winter, provided he attended the weekly video calls with the physio and fortnightly in-clinic checkups. Beck was ecstatic. This meant he could attend practice. Not with him on the ice, of course, but he wasn't as sidelined as before.

Me? I spent my evenings back behind the front desk filling out daily prints of Sudokus and Crosswords, and unconsciously gazing at the automatic doors whenever the clock struck eight. I wasn't abashed to admit I missed those sessions. Sure, we spent most nights together, but those sixty to seventy minutes were ours alone. It was something only the two of us were involved in. Those sessions were what brought us closer. It was during those few minutes that we had showed our vulnerable sides to each other for the first time.

Still, I couldn't be prouder of him. He took charge from his coaches, guiding drills, tweaking the formations, and making gameplays. He was as hands on as he was allowed, and thankfully, he wasn't pushing too hard to play this season. His incessant twenty times a day of begging to play in just one game turned to thrice a day. Sometimes four times, but that was when he was feeling particularly bold.

It was not too hard most days. He had practice in the evenings. By the time I returned to his place after the gym, he, too, would return. We would have dinner together, talk about the day we had, and then we'd go to bed. Easy. Mundane. But still so precious.

All the home games I made sure I attended, though I wasn't quite enjoying the game as much as I would had Beck been beside me. His commentary made it intriguing. Without it, I was just watching twelve humongous men in massive restraints chase after a piece of rubber with sticks. There were no punches thrown either to encourage any interest. My only mode of entertainment was looking forward to the time when Beck would turn around from the stands and display that thousand megawatt smile coupled with a wave. Or when he would get on his feet and I could stare at his ass.

The away games were the hardest. I didn't like that he was gone for an entire weekend. Especially when there was the danger of him convincing the coaches and trainers to let him on the ice. That boy had a way with words. Sometimes, just to get him to shut up, it was easier to concede to his wishes than pick an argument with him. He did promise not to try anything, though. Hopefully, this time around, I picked a guy who actually followed through with his promises.

The door opened, and Beck bludgeoned in, dumping his duffel near the door after closing it. A tired hey, darling left him.

"Hey you," I said from the couch. "How was the game?"

"We won." He ambled towards me, throwing his arms around my neck from behind, and nuzzled my hair. "Surprisingly. Four-zero. Those boys finally figured which net we're supposed to be aiming for."

"Wow. Your twenty-something-year-olds finally learnt how to aim. You must be so proud."

"Like a mama bird when she kicks her kids out the nest." His chin found my shoulder. "Watcha watchin'?"

"India versus West Indies highlights."

We both jumped when Arya caught the ball and sent it flying to the wickets, the bails lighting red. The batsman's bat didn't even connect. Poor dude was off the crease by probably an inch, and that cost him the fucking wicket. Idiot. But that was what you needed to be careful about when Aki stood behind the wickets. He had an eagle's eye and a feline's reflexes.

"Whoa," Beck said. "That was quick."

Another, slower replay from the side angle showed the glorious wicket. "A normal day for Aki."