‘You know,’ a voice said, ‘it’s OK to accept a little help sometimes.’
She looked up abruptly. Brad was there, standing in front of her, framed by the soft, yellow lamplight.
She squinted at him for a moment, her head spinning; distracted by pain. Was he really here? Had Pete been? Henri? A strange sense of disorientation came over her.
‘Brad?’
‘That’s my name, don’t wear it out!’ he said, crouching down.
It really was him. He really was here.
‘What are you doing here?’
He looked awkward. Adjusted his stance a little. ‘I guess I came to meet you.’
‘You guess?’
‘No. I did. I came to meet you.’
She noticed then the guitar on his back. He saw her looking. ‘I guess… I was going to maybe play something for you,’ he admitted.
‘You were? What, like a serenade?’ She was joking, but he remained serious.
Surely he hadn’t been ready to whip out his guitar and sing in the street?
He shrugged. ‘I was thinking about it. I mean, I thought about you up there tonight, thought about how brave you’ve been.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah.’ He sat down next to her on the step, brought her injured ankle onto his lap and began gently massaging it. ‘You’re pretty impressive, you know.’
‘Now I know you’re joking.’
He looked at her. ‘Don’t do that.’
‘Do what?’
‘That deflection thing. I mean it, you know.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Better.’
He gently put her foot back on the ground then rose to his feet, sticking out a hand. ‘Let’s see if you can walk on that thing.’
She stood, tentatively putting weight on the injured ankle, but winced in pain and grabbed onto the stair rail. ‘Pretty sure it’s sprained or something.’
‘Right. Only one thing for it,’ he said. Before she could object, he lifted her in his arms, carrying her like a damsel in distress, shoulders against one of his arms, the backs of her knees against the other.
‘Brad!’ she said. ‘I don’t need… We can get a?—’
‘For God’s sake, Bella, not everyone is going to let you down. Let me look after you.’
‘But—’
‘You’re still the strongest woman I’ve met.’
‘I am?’
