She nods. “I understand, but I’m not using any of it.”
I exhale and look to the ceiling. I’m not sure what I think I will find other than not the face of the woman who I’m trying not to be frustrated with, but it doesn’t help as my heartbeat pounds loudly in my ears.
“This is how I work. I come up with the ideas, and afterward, I make mood boards that show the ideas. I’ll make an entire slideshow presentation for the clients, but this is what I know how to do.” Rylee’s voice raises. She taps her pencil on her desk in frustration.
I rub my hands over my face. I don’t know what I expected, but this wasn’t it. I guess I thought she would come in and at least listen to my ideas.
“So you don’t want my input at all?” I narrow my eyes.
“No.” She bites out. Her head tilts as she looks at me as if this shouldn’t be a surprise, but this is my business. I should get a say. She sighs. “How about you go for a run and clear your head? I’ll work on showing you exactly the ideas I have. If you still don’t like them, then we can figure something else out. But I don’t want to design a space I don’t like. You want my help, and this is what I offer.” She spreads her arms out, motioning to her iPad and computer. “I’m not designing a space for you. It’ll be for the client.”
Fuck, I’d love to go for a run, but I haven’t been able to do that in over three years. The screws in my knee prevent that from happening. I breathe in for four seconds, hold it for four seconds, and release it for four seconds. I continue to do this three more times. Keeping my eyes closed, my thoughts calm, just like I always do. I almost forgot Rylee’s still in the room. Ever since my accident, my therapist has helped me come up with other coping mechanisms to help me clear my head since running is no longer an option.
“What are you doing?” Rylee interrupts my fourth exhale.
Keeping my eyes closed, I say, “Breathing.”
She chuckles, and I open my eyes to find her facing me like she’s been watching me this entire time. “No shit.”
My lips flatten into a straight line, and I raise an eyebrow.
“Why don’t you go for a run?” Her voice softens like she isn’t sure if this is a safe topic.
I rub the back of my neck before saying, “I had an accident.”
She waits for me to continue, but when I don’t and turn my focus back to my papers, she groans. “What kind of accident? I didn’t hear about one.”
My heart sinks as concern flashes in her eyes. I don’t like talking about what happened. Her parents know what happened, and it wouldn’t be hard for her to find out the details through someone else. I take a breath and fold my hands into my lap. “I was shot. They were able to save me, but when the bullet hit me, I fell off a balcony. I had to get a few screws put into my knee, and I haven’t been able to run without pain since. I can walk fine for the most part, but I’ve found that running isn’t an option anymore.”
Her jaw falls open, and she gasps, covering her mouth. Her eyes drop to my knee, then scan my body as if she could tell where I got shot. “You got shot?” she yells. “What the hell happened?”
I shake my head, not wanting to talk about this, but when I go to change the subject, her eyes turn sad.
“You can’t run?” she rasps out, and I swear I can see tears forming in the corner of her eyes.
After all those years watching me run and eventually joining me, she remembers what it did for me. Day after day, she sat on the bench at school while I ran. Each stride made thinking easier, made breathing easier. It’s been years since the accident and hours upon hours of therapy. I worked through my emotions, losing something so important to me and my health. Rylee, however, hasn’t had that time. The strong emotions of devastation, turning into anger, flash across her face before finally landing on pity. It’s the one emotion I can’t stand to see when people look at me.
“It’s fine. Let’s get back to work.” I stand and pick up papers to mindlessly put them in a different spot, just so I can try to remove myself from this conversation.
“But—”
I level a hard look at her, and she stops mid-sentence. “We have a deadline, and honestly, I don’t want to talk about this.”
Her sad eyes lower before slowly nodding as she forces herself to get back to work.
I take a deep breath of relief before forcing myself to do the same. I’ve learned to cope with not being able to run, but having to tell Rylee isn’t something I thought would be this hard to do. Running was such a huge part of our relationship, and it’s almost like now that she knows, another piece of our past has died. We’ll never be able to get that part back, and I wasn’t prepared for how hard it would be to come to terms with that. I glance at her and watch her swipe under her eyes, and it seems I’m not the only one struggling with this new reality.
17
RYLEE: NOW
Pushing the shampoo pump,I collect enough in my palm before lathering it between my hands and massaging it into my scalp, all while I sit on my shower floor, avoiding standing at all costs. It’s another thing I’ve had to adjust in my life after the accident. After staying up abnormally late reading, I’m running late for work. I start to rinse my hair when there’s a noise from my water pipes, the water sputters and shuts off. I groan. I don’t have time for this. I need to leave in fifteen minutes. Messing with the handle to turn on the water, it does nothing. Even when I beg it to turn on. I open my shower door and wrap a towel around myself. Hopping to the sink, I turn the knob, thinking I could rinse my hair in there if I’m desperate enough, but it doesn’t turn on either.
Securing the towel, I grab my crutches and go into my garage to see if I can find anything on the breaker that would turn off my water. After not finding anything, I sigh and grab my phone, clicking on Clayton’s contact.
“Hello?” his deep voice echoes through my ear.
“Um. So my water is out. I wanted to let you know I’ll be late for work. I have to call a plumber, and I’m not sure whenthey’ll be able to get here.” The water drips from my hair onto my floor.
