The warning look I flash him is a dare to finish that sentence with the deprecation I’m sure is about to follow. Mom is always telling me that people don’t think about the impact of the words they choose, which I translate as my being sensitive. It’s difficult not to be when people have no concept of what your day-to-day life is like.
“You know how to work out better than I ever would, Chris.” The confusion I find on his face isn’t what I expected to see, nor is the sincerity in those words. “But maybe you don’t know how to work out with a broken back. There are still some things you can do that might help with your quality of life.”
“If this is a peace offering for the other night, don’t worry about it. I’m a big boy. I can handle it.”
A rush of pink tints his cheeks. His mouth parts, but then he presses his lips together and shakes his head. “It’s not about the other night.”
I believe him, but damn, that rubs an entire bag of salt in my self-inflicted wound. An awkward explanation would have been better than this reality check. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I face the wall of windows, my pride refusing to let me look at him anymore.
“Well, newsflash—I’ve tried it all. Surgeries. Nerve ablation. Hot tubs. Hot stones. Massage chairs. Therapy pools.Acupuncture. If there were a fix, I’d have found it by now. And excuse me if I don’t sound grateful, but if you came all the way over here just to make me your pity case, then you can scratch me off your list and keep hunting for a different project.”
I wait for the sound of his feet to scrape against the floor and make his exit. They scrape, but the noise comes closer. Why is my body still so in tune with him that I can sense his presence at my back?
“It’snotpity,” comes a subdued voice, and yet there’s conviction behind it. “That’s not why I came, but I get it. You don’t want anyone to feel sorry for you.”
I will never understand how this fractured shell of mine that fails me almost every single day can also be as strong as prison bars, holding in the boiling pressure of my endless frustration. Sometimes I think I could combust from having no outlet for my misery. I count to ten, hoping it will make the air easier to breathe and keep the moisture in my eyes from turning into tears.
My silence and complete lack of acknowledgement must be the breaking point for Remy to give up on his offer. The sound of his shoes crunching over the concrete grit on the floor comes as he heads out the door. Will it be another fifteen years until I see him again—or never? Friday night was probably as awkward for him as it felt for me afterward. Common sense tells me that a person would actually have to truly care about someone else to come all the way over here after an uncomfortable meeting like we had. I don’t ever remember him being a liar. If I never see him again, the least I can do is leave him with the truth.
“No,” I call out. “I don’t want to feel sorry formyself. That’s more dangerous than what anyone else thinks.”
The understanding in his eyes when I turn around both releases the pressure in my chest and has me feeling gutted.Hedging a few steps back in my direction, he stops at a safe distance as though I’m a frightened animal caught in a trap.
“I don’t know if anyone but yourself can help you with that, but if you let me, I think I can help you feel at least a little better physically.” I want to say yes just so I can find out what he’s been doing for the last fifteen years, but it’s difficult not to see it as charity. “And,” he adds, doing that blushing thing again and stuffing his hands in his pockets, “I wouldn’t mind the company.”
He flashes me a nervous smile that clearly required some courage on his part. Am I really seeing this? If his idea of good company is a man who makes involuntary grunting noises every time he moves, I almost feel sorrier for him than I do for myself.
“You must have some pretty tiresome friends then.”
Screwing up his face, he shrugs. “Well…have youmetJamie?”
I snort because I’m still not capable of laughing at the moment. My reward is the smile that cracks on his face.
“I go for a jog at six o’clock every morning, or…if afternoons are better for you, I get off work at four.”
I’m too baffled by the hopefulness in his tone to form words. He wants to help me…just because. And he’s what? Lonely for company? Who wouldn’t want to spend time with him? I want to say yes, but doing so would commit me to subjecting him to more ofme. He’s only seen a fragment of this Chris. If I show him more, he might stop looking so excited about the prospect.
“I’ll think about it.”
CHAPTER 8
Remy
Is it acceptable to be grateful for your new job and also wish that the fundraiser banquet you were required to attend was over with like two hours ago? Granted, I know this big to-do is a one-time thing, but it doesn’t mean I’m miraculously comfortable trying to sound like a subject matter expert for the people who funded my place of work. I’ve felt like I had to recite my resume all night, leaving me with a dirty wash of insecurity. I managed to answer everyone’s questions about the center, the staff, and our available methods of treatment so far, though, so I hope my doubts are just a case of imposter syndrome. Luckily, some of the school’s athletes who’ve sought treatment with us are here to help schmooze with the donors, letting them know their money went to a good cause.
After answering questions about the equipment we have for a middle-aged couple who run a law firm in the area, I thank them again for their contribution before they move along. Something nudges my elbow, and I mentally cringe that it likely means I won’t be getting a breather in between conversations. When I turn, however, I find Miles smiling at me, holding out a flute of champagne.
“Thought you could use this.”
“Thanks.”
I’m not a big fan of the stuff, but I have to say, he’s been thoughtful and attentive all evening. He’s interjected smooth comments here and there that I suspect were meant to be confidence boosters whenever I downplayed my role at the center while talking to guests. I take a drink of the bubbly alcohol, the tart liquid bursting over my tongue, and nearly choke on it when I feel an arm slink across my shoulders. His contented smile and relaxed posture might lead anyone to believe it’s a natural gesture. With his thick head of blonde hair and striking green eyes, he’s fetching in his suit. There’s this unabashed presence to him, making him look like he belongs in this fancy banquet room. As his Rolex digs into my shoulder, however, I know that calling the way he put his hand on the small of my back each time someone approached me earlier wasn’t attentiveness. I was too distracted to give it more thought and was trying to think polite thoughts. Now that there’s a lull and we’re alone, I’m keenly aware of the way his thumb is tracing circles over my arm. I think I’m in danger of slowly being claimed when I thought I made it clear that this was just a work function, not a date.
“You know, the Westin is nice,” he points out, looking like he’s admiring the sleek design of the bar back near us, “but wait until you get a load of Porter Plaza. If you come out to visit me, my company holds a lot of its functions there. We could hit up this jazz club nearby afterward. It’s not far from my house.”
Maybe a few weeks ago, I might have felt the lure of possibilities over that comment. Right now, a sleeve of suffocation wraps around my neck. I just started getting good at being single, or at least, getting used to it. The thought of hitching my wagon to anyone only makes that sleeve cuff tighter. My quest for an eternal fizzle doesn’t seem as pressing anymore. I have my yard to clean up and cookbooks I want to read. My entryway looks a bit outdated and could use a new coat of paint.What if I want to go visit Jamie? What if Chris decides to show up to work out?
And if he doesn’t… I’ll need time to be depressed about it. Alone and at peace.You know?
