“PT,” I say simply, then await judgment.
“PT?” Bennett’s eyebrows draw together. “Likephysical therapy?”
“Self-directed. YouTube is a blessing for the chronically independent.”And financially ruined, I mentally add.
He scrubs a hand over his face, chuckling to himself as he shakes his head. “Nash is gonna kill you.”
Nash’s words come back to me again.I will personally make sure you regret it.
Surely that was just a cute thing he says to all his patients. He didn’t really mean anything by it.
Right?
“Why would he have anything to say about this at all?” I ask, cocking my head as I shift on my crutches. I hate these things with a fiery passion. “It’s not like he’s ever going to know.”
Bennett grins again, and I swear we might as well still be twelve, it’s that easy to be around him. “Oh, he’ll know.”
“Excuse me?”
“I saw your face when your foot hit the ground. It hurt enough to scare you.” He points at the boot. “That ankle needs to be looked at.”
I freeze. “I wasn’t?—”
“You were,” he says gently. “Still trying to power through hard things, I see.”
“You caught me before I even fell.”
“Not taking chances. Not when I know a guy.”
Yeah. Sure. A guy I shamelessly hit on after questioning his medical advice. A guy who probably can’t wait to tell me exactly how stupid I was to tackle rehab myself because he’s never been in a situation where he was the only person coming to save him.
That’ll be a no thank you from me. I don’t need the embarrassment or the judgment.
I scoff. “I’d rather crutch home.”
“Nash is off today. No ER. No paperwork.Just a quick once-over to make sure you didn’t screw anything up worse.”
“I’m not going to his house or wherever you’re thinking of taking me. Stella’s coming to get me.” I check my phone. Still nothing. Not even asorry, on my way. “I think.”
He lets out a low whistle. “Classic Stella.”
“She’s just late.”
“She’s just Stella,” he says, with a roll of his eyes.
There’s something in the way he says it—familiar, resigned, maybe even a little fond, though he’d fight me if I called him on that last one. We were all friends for a year or two and then, something happened and our little group fell apart. Probably just part of growing up. Boys and girls separating into young men and women.
“You two never could get along,” I say quietly.
He doesn’t argue. Just stands there, offering his hand. “You coming or what?”
I hesitate. Every warning bell in my body goes off. This is a bad idea. A hundred kinds of complicated. But Bennett’s steadier than I remember. There’s a calmness about him now, less pre-teen chaos, more grown-up gravity. I don’t know when that happened. Or why it matters.
I bob my head. “Fine. But only so you’ll stop acting like I’m made of glass.”
He grins. “You’ve always been more of a hammer.”
The corner of my mouth twitches. I remember that line. He said it once in seventh grade, after I hurled a dodgeball at a boy who grabbed Gabby’s butt. Helaughed then too. Just like now. I shake my head at the memory, and he starts toward the exit.
