The Dance (23 page)

It had become very apparent to me that time was my arch-nemesis. Any encounter I had with Hart, whether for fifteen, ten, or five minutes seemed to disappear in the blink of an eye. Whereas, the rest of the day dragged, especially when I was sitting in Will’s room twiddling my thumbs.

Today was moving even slower than usual. It was early evening and I’d been with Will since early morning. To kick off the weekend only morning therapy sessions were scheduled, leaving Friday afternoon wide open. Will wasn’t interested in any of the social activities the rehab offered, preferring the company of his true love, the laptop, instead. In order not to go completely bonkers, I walked around the building a couples of times for fresh air and to stretch my legs. Unfortunately, there had been no Hart sighting. Other than my brief stroll I’d been stuck in the room playing my role as one-half of the perfect couple.

I made several attempts to discuss the separation with Will so we could iron out details and make plans for when he was discharged. There wasn’t much movement on the topic. I wasn’t entirely sure why he was hanging on to this idea that we could still make the marriage work. He never loved me and he was well aware that I’d figured out the game he and his parents were running. I’d been clear that I had no intention of staying in this marriage just to keep up appearances.

We were at a standstill, once again floating in limbo like we’d been doing for a year. But I needed to be patient. Will had been the breadwinner for our entire marriage. If I were going to survive on my own I needed time to find a job and become financially stable. Right now Will was taking up all of my time. I hoped once we got down to the nitty-gritty of the legal separation he’d remember I was here for him and the divorce would go smoothly.

I shoved the cookbook I’d been looking through into my bag, scooted to the edge of the chair, and waited for Will to look in my direction. He didn’t. As usual the cyber world held more interest than the real one.

Placing my hands on the arms of the chair, I pushed up. “It’s getting dark so I’m going to head out. Do you need anything before I go?”

“No,” he said, never taking his eyes off of the screen.

I slung my bag over my shoulder. “Tomorrow I won’t be here until later.”

He looked up with glazed eyes. “Why?”

“I have some errands to run in the morning and Sophie is coming over for breakfast.”

“What about my breakfast?”

“I brought an extra blueberry pastry today and there are apples, oranges, and bananas left in the basket.”

Will huffed and shook his head. “It’s nice to know you’re out having fun while I’m stuck in here.”

“Will . . . I’ll be here with your lunch by 12:30.”

“I realize things between us aren’t great. But is it too much to ask for a little sympathy and caring? After all, it was you asking for a divorce that sent me over the edge.”

I bit down on the inside of my cheek and focused on the stinging pain instead of his words.

“Why don’t you see if your mom will come in the morning and keep you company?”

“Because I want you here.”

“I’ll be here as soon as I can.” I walked toward the door.

“Well, don’t rush on my account. I’m certainly not going anywhere.” Sarcasm oozed from each word.

Heading down the hallway I tried to clear my thoughts of all things Will related. It was almost 9 p.m. and the overnight staff was quietly going through their routine. For a place so full of life and activity during the day, there was an eerie stillness as the sun set. This was when I felt the saddest for the patients. People should be in the comfort and security of their own homes and beds at night.

I dug in my purse for my keys as I crossed the parking lot. I was almost at my car when I glanced up and saw Hart sitting in his silver and black Honda Element. He revved the engine a couple of times before it went dead. I walked over and tapped on the window. It may have been my imagination but I swear as the glass rolled down his face lit up on seeing me.

“Car trouble?”

“Yeah, I’ve tried it several times with no luck.” He glanced at his watch. “Too late to get anyone out here tonight.”

“I can give you a ride home.” There was a little too much eagerness in my voice.

Reaching for his cellphone, Hart said, “That’s okay. I don’t want to put you out. I’ll just call my buddy to come get me.”

“You’re not putting me out. I’m leaving . . .” I dangled my keys in front of him. “. . . And I don’t have anywhere I need to be. Besides, no sense in bothering your friend when you have a hot chick offering to give you a ride.” I winked.

Creeps, a few days ago I was worried about giving off the wrong signals and now I’m initiating the flirt.

I felt the blush splash across my cheeks. “Wait . . . that didn’t sound right. I was just trying to be funny.”

A deep throaty laugh vibrated up from Hart’s chest. He looked around as if he were trying to find an excuse not to accept my offer. Maybe I’d inadvertently overstepped a boundary. The rehab facility had given us a ton of information when Will was admitted that neither of us read. I wondered if there could be a rule about staff not mingling with patients and families outside the facility.

Blue-gray eyes fell on me. “Where are you parked?”

I pointed to the next row. “Right over there. The red mini coup.”

With each word I realized the cause of Hart’s apprehension. He wasn’t sure if my car would be able to accommodate him or the wheelchair. For the first time, I saw a flash of vulnerability in his expression. It was kind of sweet and sad.

“I guess that would work. Thank you. I really appreciate it,” he said, unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Great! I can go throw my junk in the car and drive it around to you if you like. Um . . . do you need help with anything?”

I felt one of my nervous rambles coming. Luckily, Hart nipped it in the bud.

“No, on both counts.”

The window rolled up and the driver’s door swung opened. Hart twisted, pulling on the handle behind him. The side of the car opened like a set of French doors. Sliding the titanium frame from the backseat, the wheelchair I’d seen him travel the halls in had been completely dismantled. The only things recognizable were the backrest, which folded down over the seat, and the small castor wheels in front. Hart acted like a one-man pit crew assembling the chair before my eyes.

Turning toward the passenger’s side, he snatched one of the larger wheels and snapped it on the side of the frame. He repeated the same action with the other wheel. Then positioning the chair, he locked it in place. With one hand gripping the lower part of the steering wheel and his other hand on the chair, Hart slid smoothly into the seat. He grabbed the two foot plates stored behind the driver’s seat and attached them. Lifting each leg with his hands, he placed them on the foot plates, securing both with a strap across his calves. With his black bag in his lap, he unlocked the wheels, and pushed away from the car.

“Wow.” The word fell from my mouth.

A simple activity that most people did on a daily basis without much forethought for Hart was a meticulously choreographed routine. I was impressed how effortless he made it appear.

My comment was rewarded with an appreciative glance from his piercing eyes.

“Let me get that,” I said, stepping around him and shutting the doors.

Laying my hands on the wheelchair push handles, I navigated Hart toward my car.

His hands dropped to the push ring that controlled the large rear wheels of the chair. “Thanks but I’ve got this.”

A hot prickling sensation swept up the back of my neck. My hands popped off the handles as if they were on fire and I stepped to the side. The last thing I ever wanted to do was offend him.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just . . .”

Wrapping his fingers around my wrist, he looked up with genuine sincerity. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. If I need help I know how to ask for it.”

My chest deflated with a long sigh of relief. We locked eyes for . . .

One Mississippi.

Two Mississippi.

Heat radiated from where his skin met mine, quickly spreading to every nook and cranny of my body.

It began to sink in that the car ride would be the longest time I’d spent with Hart. Up to this point, our encounters were brief, teetering between playful banter and innocent flirting. All the other times I was able to step away if my nerves got the better of me. It never happened but knowing the option was there kept me calm. We were getting ready to be in close proximity for an extended period of time with no out. My nerves hopped, skipped, and jumped all over the place.

The sound of a car horn blaring down the street broke the moment, causing Hart to let go of my arm.

We walked and rolled to my car in comfortable silence. Pointing and clicking the keychain, all four door locks popped up. I opened my back door, tossing my bag and purse in the seat before hurrying around to the passenger’s side. Hart was already placing his bag on the front floorboard.

I stood off to the side waiting for his instructions. “I’m right here if you need me.”

He nodded his response as he rolled up close to the car and locked his brakes. Bracing one hand on the car door while clutching the overhead strap with the other, hart hoisted himself into the seat. As he dismantled the chair I stayed in position, ready to lend a hand. After the first wheel came off, he glanced up at me and smiled.

Giving the wheel one good shove, Hart said, “Mind putting that in the backseat?”

As the large wheel rolled toward me, I lunged, grabbing it before it fell to the ground. Butterflies swirled in my stomach as a huge smile hit my face. He obviously didn’t need my help but I was thrilled he’d asked for it. We worked as a team to finish taking the rest of the chair apart. Once it was safely secured in the backseat, I slid into the driver’s side.

Fumbling to put the key in the ignition, I glanced out the corner of my eye as Hart was clicking into his seatbelt. He was so close. I took in a deep breath and tried to place his scent. It was a blend of cinnamon, ginger, allspice, cloves, and nutmeg. He smelled like warm pumpkin pie.

“You need some help with that?”

I blinked. “What?”

“The key . . . you need some help with it?” His cheeks popped with those swoony deep dimples.

I jiggled the key and finally got it to go in. “No, I got it. Do you need anything? Are you okay? Are you comfortable?”

“I’m good. Are you okay?” He teased.

I gave him a shy smile. “Sorry.”

The car remained quiet while I steered out of the parking lot.

“You want to make a right at the first light. After that you’ll keep straight for a few miles.” Hart paused for a second before continuing. “So . . . are you going to ask me?”

I knew he meant the wheelchair. He seemed fixated on my reaction to it.

I played it cool. “Ask you what?”

“Oh, I don’t know . . . What have I been up to since the last time we saw each other? How long have I been working at the rehab center? Or maybe how my ass turned into a set of wheels?”

I peeked over at him and then back at the road ahead. “So tell me . . . how long have you worked at the rehab center?”

He chuckled. “I’ve been there a little over two years. One year in the PT director’s position.”

“We’re the same age. How on earth did you snag a job like that?”

“Working my ass off nonstop.”

“Impressive. I have no idea what type of training you need for the job. With college and experience, that’s a lot to pack into a few years. And - -”

“Sorry, turn left onto Coleman Boulevard. I took some college level classes during my junior and senior years in high school. Gave me a jumpstart.”

“Really?” I squeaked.

“Don’t be so surprised. I’m more than just a hot bod.”

A prickling sensation ran up my arms, neck, and face. Hart Mitchell was definitely full of impressive surprises.

The car fell silent for a few seconds.

“Motorcycle accident. SCI at T5, incomplete,” he said in a low voice.

My gaze darted over, catching him staring straight ahead.

“What’s SCI?”

“Spinal cord injury.”

“When did it happen?”

“A week after we graduated. I spent my summer vacation in the hospital and rehab.”

Gripping the steering wheel tighter, I resisted the urge to place my hand on top of his. “I’m sorry.”

“Take a right at the next light.” He instructed.

We turned down restaurant row. As if on cue my stomach roared to life, reminding me it wanted food on a regular basis. Out the corner of my eye, I saw a set of broad shoulders trembling as Hart tried to suppress a laugh.

“Well, there’s no sense in pretending you didn’t hear that. You want to grab a bite to eat? We could catch up more,” I said, hoping he’d take me up on the offer.

He looked at his stainless steel Fossil watch. “I can’t tonight. I have an appointment.”

“What kind of an appointment do you have at nine o’clock at night?”