The Scars of Anatomy

Epilogue

I zip up my gym bag and sling it over my shoulder, rounding the wooden desk and locking the door to the office behind me, on my way out. The sound of medal clanking against medal echoes off the walls as players pack up for the day and head home.

"Great session today, Bronx," coach says, coming up behind me and clapping a strong hand over my shoulder, looking proud. There's only a few weeks left until the playoffs and everyone is working their asses off to win the championship.

"Thanks, coach."

Since freshman year, coach has been the closest thing I've had to a father figure. I was his star pupil all four years of my college career, and when we both found out I would never fully bounce back from my injuries and make it to the NFL like we both dreamed, he took me in under his wing, offering me a trainer position right after I graduated. Being a NCAA Division I team ranking within the top 3 for a number of years, the pay is decent, but Coach is trying his best to work me up to assistant coach where the starting pay will be almost six figures.

For now, to pay the bills while Olivia is in medical school, I work for the college as well as a high end gym downtown part time as a personal trainer. Both of our schedules are pretty hectic at the moment, me with preparing the team for the championships while Olivia's rounding out her fourth year of med school, but we always manage to fall asleep together every night and wake up to kiss the other one goodbye in the morning.

Thinking about her, I add a little more pep to my step as I head out to my truck in the parking lot, jumping in and driving home. Arriving at our apartment complex, I frown, not seeing her car in the parking lot, meaning she got stuck at clinicals late. Again.

I park in my designated spot and step inside the main floor lobby, veering towards the mailboxes. I slip the brass key into our mail slot, finding a few pieces of mail.

Junk. Advertisement. Junk. Junk. Bingo.

A smile spreads across my face, knowing exactly what's in the envelope addressed to me from the DMV.

Elated, I tuck the mail under my arm and slip into the elevator to ride up to the fourth floor. I unlock the front door of our apartment and hang my keys on the hook, setting the mail on the counter on my way to the bedroom. I put away my gym bag and strip for a quick shower, throwing on a T-shirt and some sweats after.

Padding to the kitchen, I open up the refrigerator to pull out some butter and cheese, grabbing the loaf of Texas toast on the counter on my way to the stove. I pull out a pot and a pan and throw them on the stove, ready to make Olivia's favorite meal—grilled cheese and tomato soup.

When I talked to her briefly on the phone earlier today, I could tell she was having a rough day. She's currently in her pediatrics rotation and I can tell it's taking a toll on her physically and emotionally. She's been spending so much overtime at the hospital lately, getting home late at least three nights out of the week, that she deserves a night of spoiling.

As soon as I'm done dumping the tomato soup into the pot and adding extra spices to it to give it more flavor, I hear the front door jiggle and push open. I look over my shoulder to see Olivia walk in and set her keys and purse by the door.

"Hi, baby," I greet her, flipping one of the grilled cheeses over in the pan before turning the heat down to give her my attention.

Her tired eyes look over at me, a fond smile gracing her lips. "Hi," she says, her voice soft and a bit raspy. She walks over to the kitchen in her navy scrubs and I turn away from the stove to kiss her. Glancing at the stove top, an adorable pout forms on her face. "Bronx, you didn't have to do this."

"Yes I did," I insist, brushing some of the tendrils of hair falling out of her bun and framing her face behind her ear. "We've hardly seen each other all week."