Full Strength

Three-Logan 🏒

        I really was being tortured.

        I had been given medication and been wrapped in a thick cast from my toes to my stomach, bracing myself in a plaster container. I couldn't really tell if anything felt better yet, since I was still heavily drugged up. Eve and my parents were squashed into the little room, having dinner with me.

        I would've thought after such a big day and having gone through the death of my right side, I would've earned a pizza or perhaps a sandwich thicker than my face. So it was incredibly disappointing when my mother handed me a bowl of sad, slightly wilted greens. The dressing looked more like water than anything, and there were about three shreds of carrots for some diversity within the dish.

        It was rather depressing.

        "Mom, I don't suppose I could have something a little more substantial?" I asked hopefully.

        "I ordered yogurt as well." Dreading the label, I picked up the container. Plain. No flavor, no toppings.

        "Anything greasy? Or bread! I love bread," I said. I hadn't seen bread in...over a day now.

"You need healthy foods. Stuff that's good for your bones and muscles," mom replied, taking a large bite of her very delicious, mouth-watering pasta. My stomach growled, begging for just a taste of it.

"Yeah, Logan, some all natural stuff. Maybe some dirt would help," Eve offered. I flicked a carrot shred at her, hoping to shut her up. It worked for the time being, the vegetable landing on her sweater and making her jump.

       "Eve, please, your brother is...well, let's not bother him too much," mom said wearily. I gave my sister a smug look, gleeful that I had the parents in my corner.

        Of the five of us, mom and Eve looked most alike. Striking blonde hair and blue eyes, with narrowed eyebrows. Dad had brown hair like me, but again shared their blue eyes. He also had sharper cheekbones (like Nick and me) while mom and Eve had round faces. That always came in handy when my sister wanted to look innocent. Nick and I were the only ones with green eyes and dimples, also, oddly enough, the only ones over six feet tall. Both my parents were short, which was why Eve resembled a power-hungry goblin at times.

        "Now Logan, I know you're all grown up and moved out and living in your own house, but promise me you will actually rest and listen to the doctor. I know you're worried about hockey, but I need you to be able to walk when you're my age," mom fretted, switching out my cups of water again. I'm pretty sure those cups have been rotated five times she arrived an hour ago.

        "I got it, mom," I said, but I was secretly already forming a plan in my head. First, I would get better by the recommended window of healing, and not a day later. Second, I would workout while in recovery. It would just be arms and upper-body strength, which would probably give me weird proportions, but that was fine. Thirdly, I would watch hockey. I would train my one good foot and leg. I would scour old footage. I would watch the team. Read up on whatever material and notes I could weasel out of Adam. Phase four was simple: be back to my old self just in time to win the playoffs.

         "He's scheming," Eve announced unhelpfully. I gave her a nasty glare, wishing she wasn't quite so right.

"Young man, I won't have you walking before Christmas," mom warned. She was so loving sometimes.

"Yeah, no walking," I promised. "Just other stuff. Like exercising when I can and making sure I'm on top of game footage."

"Don't overextend yourself," dad warned.