Page 38 of Colliding with Ten

Lennox also lived a life far from mine. Our lives didn’t overlap. So, no, I wasn’t waiting for or expecting a call from him. We weren’t some star-crossed anything. And more importantly, I didn’t care. I snapped the laptop shut. My cheeks warmed as I sighed in the dark.

The next day, I went back online, determined to avoid all things Lennox and find answers for myself. This search led me to the clinics. They were movement-based rehabilitation centers that focused on rebuilding artistry alongside stability. I found a clinic in Denver, Colorado.

Testimonials came from a range of athletes, including ballet dancers and Olympic figure skaters. A list of contemporary dancers appeared, and I recognized their names. It occurred to me that this place was big within the community, so much so that people stripped away their privacy to share their journey.

Halfway down the page, there was an introduction to the person behind it all. Director of Movement Rehabilitation: Athena Ronan, DPT, OCS. I had to look up her titles. She was a Doctor of Physical Therapy and an Orthopedic Clinical Specialist. She described herself as a former professional dancer turned movement rehabilitation specialist.

Her bio said she spent a decade working with ballet companies. She developed protocols for ligament injuries in dancers. I scrolled through before-and-after stories and videos of dancers returning to rehearsal. By now, I was grinning.

I grabbed my phone.

“Ronan Movement Institute. How can I help you?” a voice answered.

“Hi. I’m calling to ask about scheduling an evaluation with Dr. Ronan.”

“Do you have a referral?”

My heart sank. “No.”

A pause followed as the keyboard clicked in the background.

“And where are you calling from?” the receptionist asked.

I perked up. “New York.”

“No. Are you from a dance company or an Olympian, maybe?”

“Oh,” I said, feeling stupid. “I’m a cheerleader for the New York Hawks.”

Another pause.

“Dr. Ronan is booked several months out. She prioritizes company referrals and long-term cases.”

My smile faltered. “Oh. I . . . okay. Is there a waitlist?”

“There is. But it’s competitive.”

“Is there any way to—” I stopped myself before I sounded desperate. “Any earlier consultations? Virtual? Anything?”

She hesitated. “Those are usually reserved for dancers referred by companies or medical teams.”

I thanked her and hung up.

Okay, so it wasn’t simple, but that didn’t kill my excitement. My mind spun with possibilities. I brainstormed ways to get a referral and whose name to drop. Someone had to know someone. I sank into the couch, plotting how to make it happen.

I waited until AJ was in a good mood. The best time was post-workout, after his protein shake, and a talk with Meadow on her break at the café. If that conversation didn’t happen, he turned into a moody bitch, and I wasn’t trying to die on this hill. Luckily, he did, so his endorphins were high, his ego soothed, and his personality tolerable.

I perched on the couch arm. “AJ.”

He flipped the television channel.

“I need a favor.”

“No.”

“But I haven’t asked it yet.”

“You’re up to something.”