“Ow.”

“Sorry,” Sheena, my new physiotherapist, said with a wince and an air of sympathy around her. “You’re lucky, though. Your leg has healed incredibly fast. The joints are weak but the improvements are showing.”

“And my arm?”

Blank-faced, she said, “Today we’re focusing on your leg.”

I was seated in the clinic’s physical therapy area, for lack of a better word. It was where they kept all their equipment, in this one large room. Maybe it was supposed to encourage patients who could see each other trying to make strides. Or maybe it was because the clinic was small and one of the only ones in Banff.

The cast had been removed two days ago at the hospital. The sight of my leg was both delighting and terrifying. It was so much paler than it had been before and lacking in muscle tone. But as long as it worked…

Sheena placed her hand just above my knee, on my thigh, and carefully wrapped the fingers of her other hand around the back of my ankle. When she pulled forward gently, I held my breath, trying not to visibly wince at the pain.

“It’s going to hurt for a while. But you have to stretch it out. We’ll start with stretching when you’re here, but stay on your crutches when you aren’t. In a bit, we’ll be able to move up to short walks and having you work out your knee on a stationary bike.”

I nodded. “Sure.”

She smiled and handed my crutches to me after helping me stand back up. I put the crutches under my armpits and began hobbling out the door with Sheena next to me chattering about my next appointment.

When we stepped through the doors and approached the waiting room, I spotted Mallory reading a home decorating magazine. For the briefest of seconds, my chest squeezed.

And then he looked up. And grinned at me.

Mallory stood, his large body looking almost comically big in the tiny reception room. Today his plaid of choice was red-and-black flannel with gold buttons all down the front. He wore Levi’s in that patented denim-blue color and facial hair that would’ve been a five o’clock shadow last week.

“Hey,” he said as he came and stood next to me.

“Hey. Read up on any good curtain patterns?”

“Floral is in this year.”

“When is floral not in?”

“Mr. Hart?” the receptionist asked, interrupting our teasing. I took the last few steps forward so I was leaning against the desk. “Sheena said that your next appointment is in two days. And the one after that is in another three, right around this time. Does that work for you?”

Feeling like a child, I turned my head to the side and glanced at Mallory.

“That works,” Mallory told the receptionist.

Truth was, I was working around his schedule. I couldn’t go anywhere without him. But Mallory had seemed perfectly willing—and content—to be my personal shuttle driver. Whenever I mentioned work, he continued to tell me that it was the perk of owning his own business.

Mallory went to the hooks on the wall near the front hallway and pulled our winter jackets off. He put his on first and then helped me put mine on. When he zipped it up for me and then began wrapping a scarf around my neck, I held back a smile.

We left the physical therapy clinic and he helped me into the passenger side of his truck. As we waited for the cab to heat up, he asked, “How are the appointments going?”

Today’s appointment had only been my second, but I said, “Fine. They hurt.”

“Yeah. But I’m surprised you got your cast off so soon.”

I couldn’t help it when my gaze fell to the cast on my right arm, still held tight in a sling.

Quickly, Mallory added, “On your leg, I mean. Knee surgeries can be a real bitch.”

“Yeah. The doctor said that the x-rays were good. Looks like it’s healing faster than normal. Sheena said the same—surprisingly good mobility for how long it’s been.”

“And the arm?”

I shrugged my good shoulder. “Doctor said it’s slowly healing.”

“At least it’s healing.”

Mallory pulled the truck out of the snowy parking lot. We slowly drove through a snow-covered Banff, listening to the crackling radio playing old Led Zeppelin and radio personalities discussing the weather and yesterday’s hockey scores.

Christmas lights were still up. It was too early in the day for them to be lit, but Mallory had told me a few days ago sometimes they were left up year round. It was the first time I wished that I’d still be there in the spring to see.

“Want to stop and get a coffee?” Mallory asked.

“Sure.”

We went through a drive-thru window, Mallory ordering a dozen Timbits and two regular coffees. After he paid and we had our coffees and donuts in tow, he pulled into a spot in the parking lot but left the truck running.

“Too cold to shut it off,” he said by way of explanation.

I nodded, pulled off my gloves, and took the coffee into my hands. “Thanks for driving me.”

He lifted his coffee cup in cheers. “My pleasure.”

“If it ever gets to be a pain, I can call a cab or something. Or if you have other plans.”

“I never have other plans. And truthfully, like Danny said, it’s nice having someone else around. Sometimes when you’re alone all the time, you forget what it’s like having someone else near. It’s… nice.”

“So, what do you do around this place when not everything is covered in snow, ice, and ungodly-cold temperatures?”

“Hiking, canoeing, picnics by the lake. Lots to do.”

“You do those things?”

Mallory paused for a moment to sip his coffee. “I mostly work. What will you do first when you’re all healed up and good as new?”

“Go to the shooting range,” I answered immediately. “I miss it.”

“The shooting range?”

“Firing a gun.”

“Yeah?”

“It makes me feel closer to my father.”

“You must miss him a lot,” Mallory said carefully.

“Him and my mother.” I rested the hot cup against my thigh, leaned my head back against the headrest, and closed my eyes. “More than anything.”

“You must’ve been close.”

I nodded. “Yeah. They were closer to my older brother, though. I think it was just the age thing. He’s five years older than me and always had his shit together more than I did. Probably still does.”

“Probably?”

“We don’t talk.”

“Ah.”

“He lives in one of the Southern states. Not sure where. Not sure if he’s married, single, or what he’s doing with his life.”

“It’s a shame you two don’t stay in touch. Family can be an important part of the grieving process.”

“It’s not my choice.”

“No?”

“I told him I was gay moments after we found out our parents died. Poor timing. It just slipped out, how I’d never be able to tell them. He’s always been closed-minded, but I didn’t think he’d take it the way he did.”

“And how’s that?”

Sadly, I smiled to myself. “Badly. He said that he was glad our parents would never find out, that they’d never have to live with the shame of it.”

“He said that to you?” Mallory’s voice was sharp, but I didn’t have the heart to meet his eyes.

“Yeah. Maybe he was right. He knew our parents better than I did. I’m not ashamed of being gay, but I might’ve felt differently if I’d told my parents and they were ashamed of me. They were—are—my whole world.”

For a long time, neither of us said anything. I was reliving the moment I told my brother I was gay. I could still see the horrified expression on his face—a face that looked all too similar to my own.

I had no idea what Mallory was thinking but I desperately wanted to know. He was nothing like my own father. My father had been loud and boisterous, where Mallory was serene and gentle.

For a moment, I couldn’t help how ashamed I was with myself for comparing the two men. They were as opposite as the ocean and a wheat field. Completely incomparable. Worlds different.

“Hey.” Mallory squeezed my shoulder. “It’s his loss and his mistake. There’s no way your parents could ever be ashamed of you. You’re a good person, Archer.”

Unable to help myself, I turned my smile toward him. “I think there’s something in the Patel bloodline that says you guys are the only ones meant to like me.”

“Maybe there’s something in the Hart bloodline that states we’re the only ones you allow yourself to get close to.”

“You’re probably right. Can you try charming my brother?” I joked.

Mallory’s smile was tight as he said, “Not sure anything I’d say to your brother would be charming.” His hands were gripped tightly around the steering wheel, knuckles white from tension, the cold, or both.

Unthinking, I reached out and gently brushed the knuckle of my good hand against the side of his fist. The tension seemed to leak out of his body as he instantly relaxed, filling the cab of the truck and the air all around us instead.

I grabbed my discarded gloves from the seat between us and quickly pulled them back onto my hands.

Without another word or glance, Mallory put the truck in Drive and pulled out of the parking lot.

---

“Have you been before?”

“Sure,” Mallory replied with a shrug. “But not to this one.”

He’d found a bereavement group in Calgary and insisted we go. Like son, like father.

The drive to Calgary took almost two hours, given the road conditions. I didn’t mind. Sitting in the passenger seat of Mallory’s truck had become somewhat of a haven for me. I enjoyed watching the massive mountains roll by, the snow-covered trees at their bases, the crystal-clear lakes and streams frozen solid and covered in stark-white frost and snow. Mallory liked to play classic rock quietly over the radio whenever we drove, no matter the distance. I liked to lean against the passenger side window and watch the world pass around us through the front windshield.

And I liked to watch Mallory drive.

Whenever he noticed me looking at him, he’d smile at me. It was such a simple, secure gesture, that it made my heart skip. That soft look in his eyes. That assuredness.

Luckily, the group meeting was taking place in a small area just ten minutes into the city. Apparently, Calgary was full of one-way roads downtown, and Mallory would rather walk than try to navigate his way around.

We pulled into the parking lot.

“Ready?” he asked as he turned off the truck.

“Are you?”

“Oh, yeah. It’ll be a party.”

I laughed.

He came around to my side, helped me down, and grabbed my crutches out of the back seat. Together we made our way to the entrance of a small, brick building with two small, covered windows on the front and too many colorful, printed signs on the glass doorways.

In the entrance there was a sign that pointed us in the right direction down the hallway. There was an open door at the end, and inside was a wide room with posters littering the walls, a group of chairs in the center in a semi-circle, and people standing around chatting.

We both must’ve been standing there looking completely lost, because a middle-aged man with a kind smile and a clipboard came over to us and said, “Hi there. Please, make yourselves at home. There’s tea along the back table as well as some homemade cookies. We’ve got a few minutes before we start.”

“Thank you,” Mallory replied for both of us.

When the man left, I said, “I’ll go get us some seats if you want to grab us some tea.”

“Sure thing.”

I went over to the semi-circle of chairs and sat in the one that seemed furthest back from the rest. Not even a minute later, Mallory sat down next to me and handed me a Styrofoam cup.

Soon after, the meeting started. It wasn’t dissimilar to the one I went to back home, but the mood felt a little lighter. There were more smiles here, more laughter. It was easy to tell that some of the people who attended were regulars and had become comfortable with one another, maybe even friendly.

The first man who spoke leaned forward and stared at the ground as he told us about the loss of his wife a little over a year prior. The next person who spoke was a young woman who was covered in tears and had a mountain of tissues in her lap. She’d miscarried just months ago. But even after telling us of the heartache in her life, her voice turned, if only a fraction, lighter.

It was hope.

Hope was easy to hear, easy to see, but almost impossible to feel. At least for me.

Yet, there was something about that day, sitting there, listening to the impossibly sad stories of others with Mallory next to me that made me feel a shred of something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

The motivational posters covering the walls must’ve been getting to me.

I was wringing my fingers, trying to make sense of it, when the man with the clipboard asked if anyone would like to say something next.

There was a soft rumble next to me.

I looked at Mallory.

“I would,” he said simply, as if he hadn’t just metaphorically kicked the chair out from beneath me.

Quickly, he shifted a little in his seat and flashed me a smile.

“I’m Mallory. A few years ago, I lost my wife, Sophia, to cancer. It’s been… hard. Quiet. She used to fill the house with laughter. That’s one thing I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to, the quiet. She would sing, terribly, all these pop songs she heard on the radio. I’m pretty sure the words were all wrong, but damn, I loved to listen to her sing them.”

The entire room seemed impossibly quiet.

Or maybe it was just my world.

It was a strange thing to watch this large man with calloused hands and lake-water blue eyes speaking of his deceased wife.

“I miss her,” he said, his voice almost cracking. “Lord, do I miss her. Some days are easier than others. Some days, it feels like I lost her only yesterday. But it wasn’t yesterday, and I know that if Sophia could see me right now, she’d want me to find some kind of happiness.

“And maybe I have. Maybe it’s the change of seasons this year, or maybe it’s been enough time. But I’m finally feeling like the wound, right now, isn’t quite as deep as it used to be.”

His gaze went down to his knees where his hands lay. They shook slightly. My voice would’ve shaken with them had I spoken.

When someone else on the other side of the circle began to speak, Mallory let out a breath he’d been holding.

Sometimes words weren’t enough.

Sometimes words weren’t anything at all.

So instead of using useless tools in a moment surrounded by darkness pushing at its edges, slowly, I reached out and laced my fingers with his.

Without saying a word, he squeezed my hand and didn’t let go.