Swoon (7 page)

She shrugged. “Sometimes I work Sundays. You know, that’s what people with a real job do.”

My eyes narrowed. “You don’t think I have a real job?”

Her hand waved around in front of her. “I don’t know. You live at home and work for your family. You’re always hangin’ around here. I don’t even get what it is that you do.”

“Sweetheart, I eat, sleep, and breathe my job. It’s the reason I’m here and the reason I live on my family’s farm. In a separate house. Don’t punish me because I have a family that I value.”

A wounded look flashed across her face, but she hid it quickly. I immediately regretted my words, but I didn’t take them back.

“What’s going on here, Steph? Why are you picking a fight?”

“I’m not picking a fight. I’m just… I’m busy. I need to get ready. I’m sure you do too.”

She walked past me, shaking her head, but I grabbed her arm and stopped her.

“Why did you sleep with me last night?” I whispered into her ear while she stared straight in front of her.

“It was just for fun, Lawrence. Don’t worry about it. It’s what we do.” She looked over at me and patted my shoulder. “You were great.”

She took the moment of my stunned silence to shake out of my grasp and walk into her room, calling, “Listen, I really do have to go. Make yourself at home. I won’t be back till late. But I’m sure I’ll see you on your next trip!”

What. The. Fuck.

Chapter 8

Steph

T
wo weeks later, I leaned back in my office chair, tapping a pen furiously on the edge of my computer. I had plenty to do before my next session, but I couldn’t concentrate on paperwork.

I had panicked. Waking up next to Lawrence was too much with the haze of whiskey removed. Things that had felt so easy the night before suddenly seemed too complicated and way too terrifying.

To be perfectly honest, the details from leaving the bar to opening my front door were a little fuzzy. But from the moment my arms were pinned to the cold wall above my head, I’d been starkly sober. Well, maybe not sober, but infinitely more clearheaded, and I remembered every moment. Every touch. Every taste. I’d wanted it.

Alcohol made things so simple.

Shaking off my thoughts, I walked out into the yard to meet my clients. I was stopped short when I saw Henry standing, heavily assisted by his father, reaching to scratch Donna between her ears. My eyes misted a little when I saw a slow smile spread across his face, a smile he had hidden for so long behind a tough exterior, old beyond his years.

Lawrence was a big part of that, as much as I hated to admit it. But I was reminded every time I looked at Henry’s sandy hair, buzzed off ever since that first meeting. It would have been adorable in… other circumstances.

Henry’s dad lowered him back in his chair as I approached. Since Henry had started regaining some feeling in his legs, he’d been coming for extra private sessions twice a week, working hard on developing strength and flexibility. And I knew he was relishing in the movement.

I greeted Henry with the weird, complicated handshake that he’d finally taught me after Lawrence left, and his father with a regular one. Mr. Campbell now came as a volunteer to assist his son, and it was memorable to see their bond strengthen. His wife was another story, unfortunately. In my job, I saw families torn apart all the time. When they banded together and made it work, it was magic. I am always amazed at how differently people handle what they perceive as tragedy.

“All right, Henry,” I said as I clapped my hands. “You ready to ride?”

He nodded. “Yep!”

With the help of his dad and another aide, Henry was lifted onto Donna, who was held by her handler. We started by simply walking around the arena, warming up his muscles and getting a feel for the movement. Without Henry having to do much work, I could see his hips rotating, his spine flexing, and his stomach muscles start to tighten in order to hold him steady.

Upon my instruction, his shoulders rolled back, chin raised, he held both hands high above his head, fingertips straight. Next, he moved his arms forward in large circles, alternately in a windmill while the horse walked in a steady rhythm.

It might not have seemed like a particularly challenging move, but the concentration and balance required and the core strength was immense. I could see the strain in his brows, his eyes tightened into slits as he worked to keep himself in the center of the saddle with no legs to hold him. Quite honestly, he was sitting better than most riders in Lissa’s barn.

After a short break, I asked him to come to the center of the ring. He pulled up to a halt and looked down at me expectantly.

“Ready for Around the World?” I asked, shielding my eyes to the sun.

He nodded and rolled his eyes slightly.

I was aware that this seemed like less of a challenge if he wasn’t lifting his legs around the horse independently, but there were various motions his body had to go through to ride sideways and backward.

The team of us lifted one of Henry’s legs over the front of the saddle so that he was sitting with both feet on Donna’s left side. We shifted Henry to make sure he was situated comfortably in the saddle before clucking to Donna to walk on. Suddenly his hips were moving in an entirely different way, activating different back and abdominal muscles to keep him upright.

We repeated the same motion for him to ride backward and to the off-side before returning forward and allowing a rest. Henry leaned forward to pet Donna on the neck, murmuring his gratitude.

After a few minutes, I asked Henry if he was ready to move on.

Without more than a nod, I watched in awe as his heels curved toward the mare’s sides, nudging her forward. She walked with compliance, not realizing the significance of the event. I stood, dumbstruck for a split second, catching Mr. Campbell’s eye over the withers of the mare.

Clearing my throat, I asked Henry and the aides to return to the center of the arena.

“Henry, did you feel what happened there?” I kept my voice casual.

His lips pursed as he raised an eyebrow under his helmet. “Which part?”

“Well, the part where you made Donna walk. Was that on purpose or a muscle spasm?”

His eyes lit with a small spark. “I didn’t have a spasm. I just thought about walking her forward and she did.”

I nodded slowly. “That’s great, bud. Really. But your legs moved her forward.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“Can I try again?” he asked, hope written across his features.

Once again I nodded, hoping I wasn’t setting him up for disappointment. I turned my shoulders so as not to influence the horse, nodding to the handlers to do the same. Quietly, I asked Henry to walk forward.

With a small, uncoordinated move, his legs bent at the knee, brushing Donna’s side just enough so that she moved off.

My eyes welled with tears and my hand automatically lay across the phone in my back pocket, as if passing a message to Lawrence that I’d never send.

“That’s great, Henry. Now let’s relax and do some more stretches before we continue.”

I was crazy excited about all this, but I was hesitant to make too big of a deal just yet. Regardless of the strides he’d made, he had a long road ahead, and we wouldn’t know what would happen from here. But I was still excited.

I tried to suppress it, but I felt like I was at such a high nothing could bring me down.

Until I was proven so very wrong.

I was facing the front of Henry and Donna from a safe distance, who had handlers to either side, and the mare caught her toe on nothing significant. But one toe caught, then the other, and in slow motion she stumbled to her knees, the tip of her muzzle burying in the sand in front of her with a grunt. The handlers were so shocked at the mare’s behavior they didn’t react quickly enough to Henry tipping forward, unable and with not enough experience to catch himself. I saw them reach, I felt myself run forward, but he tumbled over Donna’s head, landing heavily on his hip, stunned into silence.

His father and I ran over to him as the volunteers caught Donna and helped bring her to her feet. I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, a trickle of blood run out of her nose and she shook her body as if to clear her mind.

I rolled Henry onto his back, gently prodding his body and checking for anything major. He only held his leg and blinked his eyes, commenting on how much it hurt.

I met Mr. Campbell’s eyes once more. He smiled in a concerned way. “Well, at least he feels the pain.”

I choked out a humorless laugh, grateful for his understanding.

* * * *

At the emergency room a few hours later, I sat in the waiting room, playing with my phone, waiting to hear a prognosis. When the ex-Mrs. Campbell arrived, I was kicked out of the exam room with a frosty glare and vehement, passive-aggressive statements about my capabilities as a therapist.

Finally Mr. Campbell came out to see me. His lips curved into a small smile.

“He’s fine. A bad bruise to his hip. Probably made to feel worse by the sensitivity he has as his nerves are coming to life.”

I nodded slowly. “I really am sorry. We should have been closer. I don’t know why Donna tripped. I just—”

Mr. Campbell stopped me with a hand. “Relax, Steph. He was on a horse. And he’s fine. And he moved! This was not a bad day. In my mind, it will always be a great day. And the fall wasn’t your fault. He’s going to be fine. It was just a tumble.”

My jaw tensed as I thought back to my distraction from earlier in the day, my excitement over Henry’s movement, wondering if I’d had any lapse in judgment. Of any potential disaster I’d ever considered, this wasn’t one I’d spent time on. I thanked God Henry was all right.

I shuddered in a breath. “I just feel responsible. That shouldn’t have happened.”

“You’re right.” Mrs. Campbell’s voice screeched through. “It shouldn’t. And you are responsible. You could have paralyzed my son. Again.”

My eyes squeezed shut momentarily. In that dark moment, I remembered that until I started working with Henry, he actually
was
paralyzed. And that today, he moved his legs. A miracle had happened. A miracle we had all been waiting for.

I inhaled deeply. “Henry is fine, Mrs. Campbell. I’d be happy to go over the events of the day with you as soon as you are able.”

“I’m not interested in your version of events, Stephanie,” she remarked. “My attorney will contact the center as soon as he is able, and things will be resolved from there.”

My heart skipped a beat, and I lost my breath. At the sympathetic look from Mr. Campbell, I turned to the exit of the hospital. I felt my phone buzz with a text. I pulled it from my pocket to see several missed calls and texts from my mother. I hadn’t heard a word from her in close to a year, so my eyes widened and a feeling of dread washed over me.

I swiped it on to see the last message that came through:

You need to come home for your father
’
s memorial.

* * * *

Lawrence

“Go, go, go!” People hollered all around me as the horses thundered past. My eyes were trained on the dark bay in the middle of the pack. Through my binoculars, I could see Tessa patiently waiting for a hole to open up. For such an impatient little shit most of the time, she sure could sit and wait when the pressure was on.

I saw the moment she found an opportunity when her hands changed, sliding up the reins as she altered her grip. The horse, bred by our farm, felt her move and every muscle in his body coiled and then stretched as he leapt forward, surging through the small gap between the horses in front of him. My father was joining the crowd in cheering, extremely confident in his daughter’s abilities on the horse, but I heard Jace suck in a breath, unusually serious and quiet as he watched from beside me. Part of me smiled inwardly at his discomfort. One, for whatever he and Tessa had going on, it served him right. And two, horses weren’t really his thing. That was funny.

The horses roared toward the finish line, Tessa crouching low, hands moving with her ride’s head, encouraging him for more, and even more. Just in time, he found another gear and stretched a neck in front of their lead opponent. The crowd went wild again as Tessa stood up in her stirrups, excitedly patting her horse’s neck as she let him slow his own pace with a loose rein. My parents were grinning ear to ear. My other sisters were hugging their significant others.

I had Jace. Who suddenly picked me up and swung me around, laughing.

I slugged his shoulder when he put me down. “Dude. No.”

“You looked like you needed a hug. Your sister just won. Your horse won. And you look like someone ran over your puppy. Why aren’t you happy?”

“I am happy. I—”

“If you tell me it’s about this chick, I will kick you in the nuts.”

I glared at him. “Do we need to talk about you and my little sister out there?”

He glared back. “Do you need another hug?”

“Clearly we’re at an impasse here. But if you shut the fuck up, you can be my date to the winner’s circle.”

“Deal.”

Chapter 9

Steph

“T
hank you for coming,” I murmured for the umpteenth time as the final black-clad figure departed my mother’s house.

I stared after them. No thoughts swam through my head. That probably wasn’t normal.

I just stood there at the door, chewing on my lip. Blank.

I’d arrived that morning and taken a rental car to a hotel so I could tame my hair and change into a black dress and heels. I arrived at the church moments before the funeral began. I’d sat in the front pew, next to my mother, because I knew that’s where I was expected to be. I did think that my mom might need some support, but it was hard to say. She hadn’t spoken to me, just nodded once and returned her eyes to the pastor, who was droning on about the generalities of life and death.

The truth was that my dad had been kind of a dick. So a memorial service was an awkward idea.

The other supremely uncomfortable moment came with the well-wishers.

Sorry for your loss
. I guess.

He was a great man
. Not really.

Or, my favorite,
How did you know Stephen
? Awkward.

I closed the front door with a muted click, bolstering myself to face my mother alone. Taking a deep breath, I turned and walked through the expansive foyer and into the kitchen where she was supervising the caterers, who were packing food and cleaning up. I stood watching in the doorway for several minutes. She was efficient in her management, standing neatly in her tailored black skirt and jacket, her short, dark hair swept back. Finally, she approached me.