The movement was violent. She pushed against his shoulders, hard.
Ryder, balanced precariously on his good leg and the crutches, stumbled backward. One crutch slipped on the sawdust-covered floor. He flailed, fighting for equilibrium, his broken leg swinging wildly.
He caught himself just before he went down, jamming the rubber tip of the crutch into the floor with a jarring thud that sent a spike of agony up his femur.
He stood there, swaying, breathing hard, the adrenaline of desire instantly replaced by the adrenaline of pain.
The people around them stopped dancing. A circle of silence formed in the middle of the waltz.
Elena stood three feet away. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with horror. She wasn't looking at him. She was looking through him, at something terrifying that only she could see.
"Elena?" Ryder whispered, bewildered.
She shook her head.
"No," she said. Her voice was strangled. "No. I can't do this."
"Lena, it's just a dance. It's just us."
"It's never just us, Ryder!" she hissed, stepping closer so only he could hear, her voice vibrating with a furious, terrifying intensity. "It’s everything that happensafter."
She looked at his leg. Then she looked at his face.
"You think this is romantic," she accused. "The broken cowboy coming back for the girl. It's a game to you. Another adrenaline rush."
"It's not a game," he argued, desperation creeping into his voice. "I feel it. You feel it."
"Feeling it isn't enough!" she cried, her voice cracking. "Feelings don't pay the mortgage. Feelings don't... they don't stay when things get hard. You leave. That's what you do. You break things, and then you leave."
"I'm not leaving this time."
"You will," she said. The certainty in her voice was devastating. "The second that cast comes off, the second you hear the buzzer, you'll be gone. And I will be left here to clean up the mess."
She took a deep, shuddering breath, pulling the doctor mask back into place, though it was cracked and crooked now.
"I can't afford your mess anymore, Ryder. I have too much to lose."
Too much to lose.
The words hit Ryder like physical blows. He knew what she meant. It wasn't her job. It wasn't her reputation.
It was the boy with the red boots and the plastic bull.
Elena looked around at the staring crowd. She smoothed her dress, gathering her dignity like armor.
"Don't touch me again," she whispered. "Don't come near me unless you're bleeding out."
She turned and walked away.
She didn't run this time. She walked with a stiff, rigid spine, cutting through the crowd, heading for the exit. Paul the science teacher watched her go, looking confused and relieved.
Ryder stood alone in the center of the dance floor.
The music started up again—an upbeat two-step that felt grotesque in the sudden silence of his world. People started dancing around him, their eyes sliding away, pretending they hadn't just watched the town's biggest drama play out in real-time.
Ryder gripped his crutches. His knuckles were white. His leg was throbbing with a dull, sickening ache.
He had cut in. He had gotten the girl. He had almost gotten the kiss.
