The Dance (21 page)

John, the cute therapy assistant, pushed an empty wheelchair up to the pool and positioned it directly behind Hart. Flipping two levers, John swung the leg rest to the side, giving Hart clear unobstructed access to the chair. Hart placed his hands on either side of the seat and in one seemingly effortless move he lifted himself into the chair. As Hart finished drying his right leg, John pushed the right leg rest back into place. They repeated the same routine on the left side. Tossing the towel he’d used to John, Hart secured both legs with a strap across his calves. These two guys worked together like a well-oiled machine. Suddenly, the chair swiveled and a bluish gray gaze pierced mine.

One Mississippi.

Two Mississippi.

Three Mississippi.

I tore my gaze away and ducked into the hallway as quickly as I possibly could. But I knew it was too late. Hart had caught me watching him.

With one eye on the lookout for Will’s room number and the other eye on the lookout for Hart, I walked dazed and confused through the maze of hallways. I didn’t want to run into Hart again until I’d had a chance to process what I’d witnessed. The babbling idiot inside me had already made a grand appearance seeing him for the first time. There certainly wasn’t a need for an encore performance so soon after finding out about the wheelchair. No telling what inappropriate nonsense would spew from my mouth.

Each time the picture of Hart in the chair flashed through my mind I felt a twinge of guilt. It was irrational and ridiculous but I hated that I wasn’t there for him during what had to have been a devastating blow to his life. I mean, we weren’t friends back in high school or now. Maybe it was just residual guilt from Will’s accident spilling over.

During the days and months after prom Hart Mitchell swirled around my head . . . a lot. Our time together was brief but he’d definitely made an impression on me. I never could put my finger on the reason why. Maybe it was just the mystery of him that intrigued me . . . and his smoky and smoldering blue gray eyes. And his blond scruff . . . and his deep dimples . . . and his lips wrapped around that cigarette . . . and that he said I was lovely.

I remembered being a bundle of excitement and nerves as I walked into English class the Monday morning after the prom. It would be the first time since our moment Hart and I would see each other. God, that moment . . . it was electric and scary and fun and flirty. I didn’t want it to end so I kept it alive in my mind that entire weekend. But my teenage fantasies crashed in a heartbeat. As I walked toward my desk, I willed Hart to look up at me but he never did. Although I felt his gaze on me several more times throughout the rest of the school year, I never again got the chance to stare into his eyes.

Hart was the unpredictable unknown. Even though our moment was the most exciting thing I’d ever experienced, it scared the hell out of me. So I went back to swagger watching.

As I turned the corner to go down yet another hallway, I spotted a small group of people milling around outside what appeared to be a conference room. They were all dressed in dark pants and white polo shirts indicating they were part of the physical therapy staff. Kim, our tour guide, explained that other than the doctors and nurses, each therapy department had a different colored shirt—occupational therapy wore red shirts, aquatic therapy wore light blue shirts, and physical therapy wore white shirts. I wondered if this was the meeting Hart was attending. No sooner had the thought crossed my mind when he appeared bringing up the rear of the group.

Hart had changed into black jeans but instead of the white shirt the others wore, his was a royal blue polo. Maybe that color stood for boss man. Even from this distance I could see the color brought out the blue hues in his eyes. The shirt was a perfect fit, melting across his toned chest and falling over his flat stomach. I stared as he gripped the wheels of the chair, rolling himself toward the meeting room. My gaze traveled up to his broad shoulders and continued the climb until . . . Shit! He caught me again.

I started to shift my gaze above him, as if something else down the hall had caught my eye. But at this point the object of my ogling was pretty clear. Having no other options at my disposal, I slowly raised my hand, giving him a little wave and smile. The corners of his mouth twitched into a smirk, causing my cheeks to heat up. Not wanting to embarrass myself further, I spun to leave and crashed directly into the medication cart coming around the corner.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” the nurse asked.

“Oh god. I’m . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t see you . . . I was just . . . I’m sorry,” I stammered while fumbling my way around the cart.

I didn’t look back to see Hart’s reaction but there was no way in hell he didn’t see my graceful exit.

A few minutes later I finally found Will’s room. My brain must have been fuzzy from the events of the day because I could have sworn I’d walked down this hall already. Getting semi lost at least gave me a better lay of the land. The atmosphere throughout the entire place had a positive vibe. Around every corner large windows let in massive amounts of natural light. They did their best to camouflage the medical equipment by having it blend in to the casual but tastefully decorated facility. All the patient rooms were private, which Will liked. Even though there were definite medical elements in the room like the hospital bed and table, the bright light, flat screen TV, and curtains framing the large window made it feel less sterile.

A nurse was coming out of the room as I walked up. We exchanged passing smiles. Will had already transferred from his wheelchair into the bed and was flipping through the TV channels.

“Where the hell did you go?” He snapped.

I placed my purse down on the small corner table, walked over to the recliner next to the bed, and sat.

“I was just exploring your new digs and got turned around. There are a lot of hallways in this place.”

“Whatever,” he grumbled.

Ignoring his mood, I said, “I thought I’d run home and get a few more of your things— workout clothes, pajamas, and your shaving kit. Is there anything specific you need me to bring back?”

“My laptop and cellphone.”

I inadvertently cringed. Even though our problems were due to the fact that the marriage had been a complete lie, I considered my discovery of Will’s online addiction to be the beginning of the end. Each time he asked for the laptop or cellphone it reminded me where his priorities had always been and were still. Somehow both things survived the accident with only a few scratches. Will probably threw himself over his beloved computer in order to save it.

“I’ll have to ask if you can have them here.”

Was I punishing him by exercising that I had control over whether or not to bring him his beloved items? Maybe a little bit.

“I’m not in fucking prison, Bryson.”

“I didn’t say you were. I said I needed to check first. You’ll be having therapy three and a half hours a day. You’ll probably be too exhausted. Besides, they have computers in the library here if you’re that desperate.”

“Just bring my goddam cellphone and laptop!”

“Fine. You don’t have to bite my head off.”

He blew out a frustrated breath. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s just . . . I thought I’d be going home and we’d be able to . . .”

“You need to concentrate on getting well as soon as possible.”

He looked over at me and smiled. “Thanks, babe.”

Babe?

Wanting to change the mood and subject, I said, “Guess who works here.”

“No idea.”

“Hart Mitchell.”

With pursed lips and narrowed eyes, Will shook his head. “Who?”

“He went to high school with us. Remember, he transferred in senior year. Blonde, about six four, bad boy, loner, rode a motorcycle. You had to have noticed him.”

“Apparently not as much as you.”

“He’s the director of the entire physical therapy department.”

“Well, goody for him.”

I’d forgotten just how pissy Will could be when he was injured. During junior year he’d sprained his ankle and had to sit out a few games. He was an absolute horror to be around, pouting, bratty, and acting as if his hurt ankle was the worst thing that had ever taken place on God’s green earth. We’d only been dating for a couple of months so I was still blinded by puppy love and let his bad mood roll off my back.

Having had my fill of his attitude, I stood abruptly, and announced, “I’m outta here. I’ll be back in an hour or so with your stuff.”

Before I could step away from the bed, he grabbed my hand. “I really appreciate you helping me. I wouldn’t be able to make it through this without you.”

“You’re a strong and determined person. You can do anything you set your mind to regardless of whether or not I’m in the picture.”

Sad dark brown eyes looked up at me. “I still want you in the picture.”

I pulled my hand back. “Will, let’s not get into this right now.”

“I’m not getting into anything. I just want you to know my picture isn’t complete unless you’re in it.”

Oh, dear lord.

“I’ll be back in a little while.”

The second I stepped out of the room I glanced back and forth down the hallway to make sure the coast was clear of muscular torso and blue-gray gazes.

I only made one wrong turn while on my way to the front entrance. The red exit sign glowed brightly over the door like a beacon guiding me to freedom. I passed several rooms that appeared to be administrative offices. As I walked by the last office I heard a raspy voice call my name.

“Bryson.” Of course it was Hart.

Flutter.

Flutter.

I peered around the door into his office. “Hey.”

He was behind his desk, a stack of files in front of him, tapping a pen between his thumb and index finger. “Did your friend get settled in?”

It dawned on me that I’d failed to mention Will was my husband . . . technically . . . for now.

Stepping just inside the doorway, I said, “Yeah, he did. Thanks. Everyone has been great.”

“Good. Glad to hear it.”

My grip tightened around the strap of my purse. “I still can’t get over running into you.”

I already said that when I first saw him.

“I didn’t mean that literally, of course. Obviously, I didn’t run into you. I recognized you from across the room and ran over to you. Again, not literally . . . ran. I walked . . . quickly.”

For the love of god stop talking.

The pen stopped tapping and Hart dropped it on the desk. “Can I ask you something?”

“You kind of just did.” A snicker-snort bubbled out of me.

Earth swallow me whole.

Hart cocked an eyebrow as he bit down on his bottom lip stifling a laugh.

I closed my eyes for a second and prayed I could transport back in time to a few moments earlier. “I’m sorry. It’s been a stressful week. I’m usually not this weird and snorty. Um . . . yes, you can ask me something.”

“I was just wondering how long it was going to take for you to ask me.”

Crossing my arms, I nervously countered. “Ask you what?”

“Pretending to ignore it only shines a spotlight on it, you know.”

I started to get the distinct impression that I was being played with.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” The words came out with an unintentional fine sheen of annoyance.

“You haven’t noticed that my ass has grown and changed shape since high school?”

I didn’t want Hart to think the first thing I noticed about him was the wheelchair. It wasn’t my place to pry into something so personal. This guy was barely an acquaintance of mine.

“Listen, none of us look the same as we did in high school. I ran into Maria DelVeccio a few weeks ago. Her ass has its own zip code.”

“Ask me, Bryson.”

“Why are you so hell bent on me asking?”

“Because you’re trying so hard not to.”

He wanted to make the moment awkward and me uncomfortable, which pissed me off a little bit.

“You think a lot of yourself, don’t you?” I stepped all the way inside his office. “What makes you think I’m even remotely interested in anything about you? I mean, it’s been what? Like ten years since I left you in front of that fish tank. You definitely weren’t interested enough in speaking to me again back then. So, sorry, I won’t be going all Barbara Walters on your ass now.”