‘Aye.’ I don’t move. Her fingers are still clamped around my arm. ‘You awright?’
She doesn’t answer straight away. Her gaze drops to her foot, then to the icy tarmac stretching toward her Volvo tucked away at the very bottom of the row. The distance might as well be a mile.
‘The tendon,’ she says quietly. ‘If I slip and fall on it wrong, I’m done. Not six weeks. Months. Maybe forever.’
She strips all the inflection from her voice, matter of fact, but I detect the edge underneath.
‘How bad is it, really? Your injury.’
‘Posterior tibial strain.’ She still hasn’t let go of my sleeve. ‘It’s the one that holds your arch up. Every time you point your foot, it takes the load. Every relevé, every jump, every single thing I do for a living.’ She exhales. ‘I landed wrong, and now I’m watching someone else rehearse my part while I’m doing physio.’
‘Right.’ I crouch before I can talk myself out of it. ‘Hop on.’
Her hand drops from my sleeve. ‘What?’
‘Piggyback. I’ll carry you.’ I throw a look back over my shoulder. ‘I’m not letting you destroy your future. Unless you’d rather crawl to your car on your nipples for safety reasons?’
‘You’re not serious.’
‘Do I look like I’m joking?’ I stay crouched. ‘You weigh about as much as one of my legs. Get on.’
‘Scottie, I’m not—’ She stops and bites her lip. Her gaze flicks to the frozen ground, then back to me.
‘I promise not to drop you.’
‘That’s not?—’
‘And I’ll walk slowly. You’re allowed to steer, but no yeehaw.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ she mutters.
‘Your point?’
She lets out a sound that might be a laugh or a groan.
‘Ava,’ I say evenly. ‘Get on my bloody back.’
The resistance cracks, and she comes closer. Her hands land on my shoulders, light and hesitant. I feel the press of each finger through my jacket.
‘Ready?’ she asks.
‘Sure.’
‘Here I come.’ She jumps, a small hop, and I catch her thighs.
Her arms wind around my neck, and her weight rests against my back. I hook my arms under her thighs and grip the hollows of her knees to keep her in place.
‘Okay there?’ I straighten.
Her breath fans past my ear. ‘Define okay.’
‘Not falling.’
‘Then, technically, yes. Yeehaw?’
‘No.’
I start walking, picking my path across the ice, testing each step. Her chin rests against my head, and all I can think is how right she feels held there. She’s the lightest but also the heaviest thing I’ve ever held, because she’s lowered her guard a bit more and I want to deserve it. I want to deserve her trust.
