Poppy nods, accepting her mission, and heads down the hall to the back entry and I hear the door to the garage open and shut.
After a couple minutes rummaging around in there, she’sback, crutches in hand. I take them from her, giving her a nod of thanks. I stand up and lean my weight onto them.
“I’m going to take a bath.” I tilt my head in the direction of the bedroom. Poppy shifts on her feet.
“Uh, okay…” Her gaze darts side to side. “Do you need help? Or…”
My mouth tilts upward. Despite my resistance to Poppy coming over after the event, and despite the lump of dread in my gut while I wait for Dan to text me with the final score, I can’t help but smile at Poppy’s offer.
“I’ll be okay on my own,” I say, a playful lilt in my voice. “But if you wanted to join me…”
Poppy’s eyes widen at the proposition. I’ve caught her off guard and she stammers, her mouth popping open in surprise.
“I’m kidding, Poppy. I’ll be fine.” I take a couple crutch-assisted steps toward my room, but I pause and look back at her as I reach the hallway. “You don’t have to stay, by the way. I know you’ve been wanting to get back to the café. Why don’t you take this time to go home, and check in.”
A feeling of wanting to hide away in my house like the Beast in his castle washes over me. I’m not used to anyone seeing me in this state. Not my family, and I don’t really have friends outside of Beck. Even they don’t see this side of me.
Fame is a lonely thing, and when you live with the reputation I do, it’s even lonelier. Only Mark has seen me at my worst during my rehab days, and even then, it’s strictly professional. We have one goal in mind, getting me back onto the slopes and getting me to Worlds.
Clearly, that’s easier said than done.
“The café can wait.” A smile softens Poppy’s face. “I think Ethan and Jaime are enjoying not having me hovering around them. I’m a bit of a control freak when it comes to the café and the store.”
“No…” I say, astonished. “Not the Miss Bossy Boots I met in the car earlier…”
She laughs, and the sound of it does something funny to me. It makes a warm feeling bloom in my chest.
“Go have your bath,” she says, walking past me and into the kitchen. “Then you’re going to come and ice your knee.”
“Okay, Bossy Boots.”
I fumble down the hallway, getting accustomed to using the crutches again, and through the door to my bedroom. Somehow managing to get myself into the tub, I wash my hair and rinse off the sweat from my run, but all of it is much harder than I remember it being the first time around.
By the time I’ve towelled off, and clunkily walk down the hallway on the crutches, Poppy has set the living room up for me.
There’s a pillow on the sofa to elevate my leg, a cozy blanket all ready to crawl under, my usual post-competition snacks on the coffee table with a hot chocolate topped with whipped cream, and a movie ready to play on my flat screen.
She’s seated on the couch next to the spot she set up for me.
“Come sit.” She pats the sofa next to her. “You should rest your leg.”
That familiar warmth blooms again, the feeling of having someone care for you. I never had that growing up. After my mom died, my dad did too, in a way. He turned inward, shutthe world out and pored himself into his work at the clinic until Mason took over for him.
It’s not like any of my previous relationships have been anything this deep, either. I’ve denied myself that kind of connection for as long as I can remember. Connection requires vulnerability, and vulnerability is terrifying.
But I realize now how badly I want it, crave it. Deep down, I think I’ve always known this is what was missing. I was just too afraid to let my guard down so I could find it.
I sit next to her, and she gets up, taking my crutches from me and laying them on the floor in case I need them later.
She suddenly looks as if she’s remembered something, and she scurries off to the kitchen, returning a couple seconds later with an ice pack that she places on my knee. It’s already feeling better having taken the weight off it, but I know that the ice is crucial if I have a shot in hell at going to the World Cup Final.
“What happened out there today?” She asks, covering me up with the fluffy faux fur blanket.
I consider her question, still trying to make sense of it myself. It happened so fast, and I don’t think I even know. Nothing tore, nothing dislocated, but when I landed, a sharp pang shot up my leg. I know it compromised my landing and cost me points.
“I just landed wrong, I guess. Mark didn’t seem overly worried when he looked at it initially, but it hurt like a bitch.”
“You stiffened up when it happened,” Poppy points out.
