“It hurts, but I’m used to that. My doctor warned me some of that pain won’t ever go away. It’s the nerve damage. Mostly, it pinches.”
She nodded. “We can work on shaping the limbs and desensitizing the leg.”
“And my balance. That’s the main problem.” It was taking too long to figure out. More than anything, Jett would love to master the basics of sitting and standing. Forget driving, he just wanted to be able to get into the car without tripping over his own feet. The frustration of not being able to do a simple task was overwhelming.
Her eyes went to his prosthetic. “It takes time to learn how to maneuver the new joints. It’s just like learning any new tool. It’s a pretty nice prosthetic. You mind telling me about it?”
Jett scratched at his neck, feeling self-conscious like he did whenever it was brought up. “It’s a modern miracle of bioscience—Hugh Herr came up with the first of these inventions. It can move bidirectionally and provides its own energy. I’m basically part cyborg.” He demonstrated by concentrating on pushing down his foot. The ankle joint bent reactively.
She touched it, running her hand down the smooth blue metal, almost unconsciously. Her earlier reserve had melted away. “It’s a lot better than those wooden pegs pirates had to wear. It’s better than a lot I’ve seen.”
His guilt ate at him. “It hardly seems fair, doesn’t it? That I have this and others don’t … just because I have the money.”
“It definitely gives us a lot to work with.” Her eyes lit up eagerly, her smile accentuating the soft curves of her face. His breath caught. Hannah had no idea how lovely she was. She touched his hand, only making things worse. “Why haven’t you worked with the engineers who designed this?”
He struggled to gain his composure. “And put you out of a job?” The truth was that he’d been horrible to work with.
She didn’t push it, however; she only nodded and found a ball, dragging it over. “We’ve got to teach you how to trust the prosthetic, so it truly becomes a part of you.”
The more excited she seemed, the more reluctant he was to try it and dash her hopes.
She gave him the ball. “Stand in one place and bounce this.”
Praying for patience, he planted his feet and bounced. Of course, he had to start somewhere, but this was child’s play.
“Now walk and bounce the ball,” she challenged.
That was far more difficult. Of course, she was trying to distract him from overcompensating while he walked, but the moment he took a step, the ball went rolling across the floor.
She dashed to get it, and he was jealous of her agility. She pressed it into his hands, her smooth fingers sliding through his. “Again.”
This time he went slower.
She wrapped her arms around him, her soft skin driving him crazy while she ran her hand down his back. “Straighten your trunk.”
That seemed easier to correct, but he still felt like he was skipping over the prosthetic leg to get to his own leg. His concentration felt off. It didn’t help that she was the most gorgeous woman he’d been this close to in a long time. The smell of lilacs and mint overwhelmed him.
“Use your prosthetic more,” she said. “You’ve got to trust it to hold you.”
“I’m a big guy.”
She didn’t argue with that.
He bounced the ball once more and took a step and missed the ball on its way up. He grappled with it and the ball shot to the ground, rolling right under his prosthetic leg just as he stepped down on it and got knocked off-balance. The harness kept him upright, and he stumbled into her, getting an armful of Hannah just like he wanted … but no. Not this way.
He was so tired of this. He just wanted his leg back. This new one—no matter how advanced—just got in the way.
She steadied him, her arms fully around him. Her chin was smashed into his chest, and she pushed her face out to study him. “Well, you’re definitely pushing your body to the limits … both of ours.” He slid his hands under her arms to gently set her back on her feet. That made her breathless for some reason. She ducked her head, not looking him in the eye, before she cleared her throat. “Let’s start at the beginning.”
“I can’t. This leg doesn’t feel like a part of me. It just feels weird and foreign and cold. It’s making me feel claustrophobic. The thing just gets in the way.”
She tried to fight him. “It’s not about the leg right now—it’s about your heart, your gut instincts, your will to succeed. That’s what’s getting in the way.”
“I don’t even know how I’m going to walk in this thing,” he said stubbornly, “let alone climb.”
“Well … maybe you won’t.” She’d surprised him with that, and she quickly clarified. “Climb … in that thing. I mean, Jett, I’ve seen your videos. You said it plenty of times. If you want something, you have to make it yourself. Men froze to death before they came up with clothes and fire. In this age, we can be as fast as cheetahs and fly like the birds … and do whatever you need to do. So Jett, you’re an inventor. You have a problem … why don’t you do something about it?”
“Did you really just say that?”
“Yeah.” Her smiles were gone. His stomach dropped when he saw that her eyes were bright with sudden panic, like she’d said too much. Before he could reassure her, her gaze narrowed on his leg. “You know what? There’s nothing holding you back.” Her breathing hitched, and she licked her lips and tried again. “If the animals can climb better than we can, then why don’t you make something better than an actual human leg?”
His heart pounded as he got caught up in the excitement, and then almost immediately he felt ashamed. He didn’t deserve to move on. He got distracted by her beautiful eyes, her soft, velvety voice, her sweet and gentle touches. And he had no right! How could he go on with his life so easily when his friend was dead?
He sighed. Everything she said was impossible anyway. He’d tried to soar with the eagles, and look where that had gotten him. “No, Hannah.” He caught her chin lightly with his fingers, his heart thumping hard in his chest as he tried to resist her allure, the light she was. Her concern was touching, even more so because she seemed so nervous about trying to reach him, but her faith in him was misdirected. “No,” he said. “That’s all behind me now.”
Chapter Eight
She’d been so close. Hannah saw that flicker of hope in his eyes, and almost at the moment it flamed into brightness, he snuffed it out just as quickly. Something was stopping him from wanting to be better. He had all the advantages, superior surgeries on his leg and cutting-edge prosthetics, but it was like he had lost his will to fight. Why?
Her cheeks still felt hot. Her whole body burned up from the warmth of his hold. He’d set her so effortlessly back on her feet, and yet he refused to reserve any of that strength for himself. She had to know why.
“What changed?” she asked him. “Jett, your accident doesn’t define you.”
He dropped his hand and scowled. Her stomach tightened, but he wasn’t Ryan; he wouldn’t lash out the same way. Jett just didn’t like being reminded of the man he used to be.
She fought against her racing pulse to give him back his identity. “You’re Jett Eastwood, and you lost your leg. You’re still the same person you were before. You’re the man who saved me yesterday.” Her chest constricted at the memory, and a wave of gratitude flooded her. “And … you’re pretty cool too.”
He tilted his head, slanting a dangerous grin her way. “Are you trying to give me back my identity?”
“Yes. Is it working?”
“How about I tell you who I really am?” His voice turned rough. It took everything in her not to step back, though she could tell most of this anger was directed at himself. “I’m the man who killed my best friend.”
Survivor’s guilt. It all made sense now, why he hadn’t advanced like the others, why he pushed away anyone who tried to help him. He was holding emotional scars that were far deeper than the ones she saw on
the outside.
“You can’t do anything for a man like me,” he said. “I’m broken.”
“Broken?” she repeated. All her fear for her own welfare faded with the pain she saw etched across his face. How could she reach him? How could she make him see the man he truly was? Her eyes latched onto the beautiful porcelain dishes set on a side table with tiny red and white flowers painted on the outside. The wheels of her head began to spin as she stomped over to them, her fingers curled into fists. Her gaze went from the bowl to the cup to the plate, and finally, she clutched the plate, swinging around with sudden caution. “Do you care about this plate?”
“Um, no. Why?”
She dashed it against the side of the table, and it broke into smithereens.
He grabbed the walker to the side of him and started unhooking his harness. “What are you doing?”
“That’s broken,” she said.
“Yeah, it is. Why’d you break it?” He watched her like she’d gone insane.
Maybe she had. Her hands shook as she realized a move like this had consequences. Even if Jett didn’t have Ryan’s temper, her job was on the line, but she had to do the right thing. “Because … I want you to put it back together.”
“Are you playing with me now?” He pushed his walker closer, but stopped just short of the mess.
“It’s useless, right?” She let the sarcasm seep through her voice, not able to modulate it like she wanted in her growing panic. He towered over her. How had she forgotten how tall he was? Her hip ran up against the table as she tried to put some distance between them. Feeling threatened by a stronger physical presence was a learned behavior, but she couldn’t let that stop her. “You think that plate is useless because it’s broken?”
“I don’t know what you’re saying. Let’s just clean it up.”
“Why? It’s art. It’s kintsugi. You know what that means?” She explained quickly, nervous that she didn’t have much time left. “The Japanese break the dish, the bowl, the cup, on purpose, and then they put it back together. The lacquer used to glue it can be gold plated. The Japanese like to celebrate the history of how the pottery became broken—each chip, each fracture—instead of something to disguise … because that’s what makes it beautiful and unique.”
Hannah couldn’t let the analogy end there. She had his attention, and she wasn’t going to let that go to waste. Despite her stomach tangling into nervous knots, her eyes drew to the sand pile at the climbing gym, and keeping the table between them as if he was Ryan himself, she snatched up the bowl and edged around the circular tabletop to get to the sand.
“No, no, I get it.” He laughed a little. “Don’t break that too.”
“You don’t get it.” She hurried to the climbing wall, and used the bowl to scoop up some sand. “I don’t have any gold sealant or jewels, but I can still make something new out of broken glass.”
He settled onto a seat at the table, his head tilting. Grateful that he seemed far less intimidating there, she set the bowl next to him, reaching down to pick up pieces of the broken dish. He watched her silently. It was impossible to know what was going on in his mind, but his expressive brows were doing all sorts of things to her insides that had nothing to do with her fear. The connection she felt with him was stronger now that he’d confided with her. Her attraction wrestled with her nerves as she set the first piece of porcelain into the sand, followed by another.
“Nothing is going to be the same,” she said. “Whatever I say won’t make it better. I honestly have no idea what you’re really going through. Only God knows.” She worked while she let her heart take the lead, making a pattern in the sand with the broken pieces, and picking up more. “No one should have to go through what you’re going through. It’s hard and … and horrible. You shouldn’t have to lose a friend that way. And it’s okay to mourn what used to be.”
Some of the pieces were too big, and she broke them so that they were smaller and easier to work with. “Staying broken isn’t going to bring your friend back.” Her eyes flicked to his to see how he would take such a bold statement, but his face had gone impassive like it had turned to stone. Trying to get through that, she let more shocking things fly out of her mouth while she worked with the glass, like her hands weren’t a part of her anymore. “Staying broken won’t honor his memory. It won’t do anyone any good. God will make him whole one day; he’ll make you too. Until then … take your broken pieces and make something good.”
He craned forward to see what she’d made. “You’re saying I’m Humpty Dumpty?”
“No.” Her gesture was in vain if he made a joke out of everything. She pulled back from her creation and pushed it closer to him. “I told you that you were a butterfly. Remember?” She’d made a crude butterfly out of the glass. Miraculously, it was a delicate, pretty design against the brown sand. It was the best artwork anyone had gotten out of her under such duress.
“A butterfly?” He didn’t seem impressed.
So far, nothing she said felt like it had gotten through. His whole body was stiff with cynicism, and she felt herself shrink. He’d blow up at her and sack her. What did she have to lose now? She’d better say what was on her mind while she had the chance. “Jett,” she whispered hoarsely. “Your life hasn’t ended … unless you want it to end. And maybe that’s your problem? You’ve figured out what’s coming.” I know the feeling. Her shoulders felt weighed down with the stress of speaking so frankly. Pain had followed the last time she’d opened her mouth to someone she cared about. She took a deep breath. “Nothing’s going to be easy after this, and you’re smart enough to know it, but that’s when the brave dig in their heels and fight.” She had his attention now, and she held onto the table to steady herself, because she knew she had to be bold to the point of rude. “You can feel bad about living when your friend didn’t and squander your second chance at life, or you can take this new beginning and use it to really make a difference. If your friend cared about you at all, I can make a guess at what he’d want you to choose.”
He blanched, his face going pale, and she knew she’d reached him.
She scrambled to her feet. Her heart fluttered around her chest like it was also a butterfly intent on escaping. Her legs itched to follow their lead rather than face his tortured looks—whether they were caused by anger or sadness or both. Ryan would’ve hit her for saying less … and it was crazy that she was still afraid to say what was on her mind because of him. She’d been so full of courage before, so fearless, but maybe then she hadn’t known what could happen.
Even with the fear tingling through her spine, Hannah didn’t have it in her to leave without trying to comfort Jett first. With great daring, she touched his hand. A shock of awareness jolted through her at his warmth. She didn’t know what it was about him—his humor, the energy of his soul—but she was beginning to get attached to this man. Jett allowed her to squeeze his fingers. His muscular shoulders lifted as she stared into the tortured depths of his green eyes before she broke from him and rushed away.
She didn’t slow down until she found her room and slammed the door behind her, her chest heaving with her breaths. She almost hadn’t gone through with it, she’d been so frightened. Why had everything screamed at her to help him, even though it could have such horrible consequences? Now what? Did he have a temper? Would he come after her? No, no, he wasn’t like that. She buried her face in her hands. When would she stop thinking that way? Still, she’d gone too far, and he would send her away. Could she ever get away from Ryan after that?
Her heart was in her throat. She hated how scared she was; she was so weak, so paranoid, so broken … just like Jett. And yet he had so much potential. She wished she did too.
Chapter Nine
Veronica cleaned up the mess with pursed lips. She could’ve called in other staff to do it, but Jett guessed that she was trying to make a point with all the barbed looks she sent his way. Hannah made messes; Veronica cleaned things up. She bent over the last of t
he broken fragments in her tight skirt, sweeping the shards into a dustpan before getting ready to carry it away. “Hmm.” She brushed her hair back. “Would you like me to make all the arrangements to send her home? We’re not contracted to give her severance pay, but you don’t want the neighbors to talk.”
“I don’t care about the neighbors.” He shook his head when he thought of Hannah’s brightly glistening eyes. Were those unshed tears? His breath quickened. That woman had meant everything she said. “No.” It tumbled out of his mouth before he thought too much about it. Hannah was right. Horribly right. He couldn’t fire her for being right.
“No, you want to tell her herself?” Veronica asked.
“No, she’s staying.”
His personal assistant let out an annoyed sigh and gathered the bowl of broken fragments that Hannah had formed into a butterfly. “Shall I throw this away?”
There was something about Veronica’s tone that made him want to rebel. “No, I want it.”
Tossing her hair, she left with the broom and dustpan, making no further comment. Jett knew she’d be there with an “I told you so” after this all went south.
He set his elbows on the table staring at Hannah’s “art” as the sun illuminated the room through a window and slanted across the glass shards of the butterfly. He broke into a smile. She compared me to a butterfly. Coming from anyone else, he’d think it was sarcastic, but she’d been so sincere when she’d put that together. Her hands were shaking, with passion and … was it fear? Was she afraid of him?
His stomach tightened with discomfort. For some reason, she wanted this job. He couldn’t figure it out, but she’d been willing to throw her financial security out the window to try to reach him. Warmth rushed through him as he thought about what she believed she was sacrificing, and yet she’d done it for him.
Her Broken Hero Billionaire (Billionaire Bachelor Mountain Cove Book 8) Page 7