the Dance

by Alison G. Bailey

  My heart was pounding against my chest. “Is that why you were speeding?”

  He didn’t say anything. The look he gave me answered my question. Guilt and obligation flooded me in equal parts.

  “Okay, I’ll stay until you’re recovered.”

  “And let’s keep this quiet from everyone, especially our parents. No need for them to know what our plans are right now. Who knows, this may be a blessing in disguise.”

  Will picked up the remote and returned to flipping through channels. He wanted to keep up appearances for as long as possible. There was no tangible reason why I couldn’t play the dutiful wife for a few more weeks while he was recovering. It was a small price to pay to clear a guilty conscience.

  I followed closely behind the assistant as she wheeled Will into the brightly lit aquatic therapy room. He had been discharged to one of the best rehab facilities in town. Before we arrived I had a picture in my head of a drab and depressing sterile place. This was the complete opposite. The area we were in was buzzing with activity and laughter.

  To the right, large windows lined the upper wall while the bottom half was reserved for equipment. I recognized barbells and exercise bands. Then there were other things that I was clueless about as to their purpose in the water, for example the multicolored belts that hung like a rainbow along one wall. At first glance the pool looked like any other giant pool but on closer inspection it was anything but. The steps were a lot wider, there were more of them sinking into the water, and the railing was a lot thicker than normal. At one end there was a lift that lowered wheelchair-bound patients into the water. Every patient in the pool got the undivided attention of a therapist.

  I glanced over at Will to gauge his reaction to how he’d be spending his time for the next several weeks. Somehow he had convinced himself that he was being discharged to home and I’d be hauling him back and forth each day for therapy. He was not happy when he was informed otherwise. He was pouting at the moment, his expression nonexistent as he ignored everything and everyone around him. He’ll get over it.

  “As you can see we have a pretty aggressive program,” said Kim, the therapy assistant giving us the tour.

  She whirled the wheelchair around pointing Will toward the pool for him to get a better look. He stared blankly ahead.

  “Will, you love swimming, now you’ll get to do it every day.” I worked hard to sound cheery and optimistic like any good wife.

  “We have a pool at home,” he grumbled.

  Kim plastered an understanding smile across her face. “Well, this concludes the grand tour. I’m sure you’re pretty tired and would like to get back to your room.” She gave me a sympathetic glance. “Will, would you like to wheel yourself back to the room?”

  “Isn’t that what they pay you for?”

  “Will!” I snapped.

  “It’s okay. You’ve both been through a lot lately.”

  I took my position a few steps behind Kim as she pushed Will’s chair toward the exit. As we rounded one corner of the pool a high-pitched squeal caused me to turn around. Another high pitched giggle accompanied by a head tilt came from the very young brunette at the other end of the pool. She was holding two small aquatic barbells and obviously playing up that they were too heavy. I followed her gaze curious to see who her performance was for.

  The second I saw her audience I froze. Blinking several times, I tried to clear my vision. But each time I opened my eyes the same figure was still sitting on the side of the pool. Hart Mitchell.

  Just like in the hospital cafeteria and at the traffic light, I couldn’t help but stare as Hart encouraged the giddy girl to continue with her exercise. He was wearing a fitted black tank with black long board shorts. His hands clutched the edge of the pool causing his muscles to flex. I knew back in school he had some bulging happening underneath that flannel shirt. My gaze landed on the chain tattoo wrapped around his bicep and just above it was a series of numbers etched across his arm I hadn’t noticed during the drive by. The time since high school had been really good to Hart. He no longer looked like a bad boy. He looked like a badass.

  Before my brain had a chance to catch up with my body, I found myself walking toward him. I was completely clueless as to what I would say. It had been a little over nine years since we last saw each other. Our encounter was so brief, I wondered if he would even remember me.

  “Bye, Hart. See you Wednesday,” the high pitcher squeaked.

  I should’ve turned around and left. I was still a safe distance and hadn’t been noticed. I could leave without him ever knowing I was here. Besides, ambushing Hart this way could be extremely awkward. We shared an incredible moment at the dance. We also never spoke to each other again. My body and mind seemed to be working independently of each other. Because before I knew it I found myself at the point of no return. Hart’s head turned in my direction and our gaze locked.

  “Hart?”

  Shock slapped across his face.

  Placing my hand on my chest, I continued. “It’s Bryson Walker.”

  “I know who you are.” His expression changed but I couldn’t read whether it was good or bad.

  I nervously shifted from one foot to another. “I can’t believe after all these years. And here of all places.”

  “Small world.” Hart was still a guy of few words.

  “What are you doing here? I hope it’s nothing serious. God, I can’t get over running into you.” I was rambling and I needed to be stopped.

  “I work here.”

  “Really? That’s a relief. I mean the only other reason you’d be here would be if you were a patient . . .”

  “I’m the head of the physical therapy department.”

  My gaze roamed down his bare arm. “Well, I can certainly see why.”

  Did I say that out loud?

  A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest. “You look very . . . healthy. Why are you here?”

  I hesitated for several seconds, debating whether or not to bring up Will. If I didn’t I’d look like a perverted creeper who stalked rehab facilities in search of my next victim. “Will. Do you remember Will from school?”

  “Barely.”

  “Well, he’s a patient here. Was just admitted today, in fact. He was in a car accident.”

  “I hope he has a quick recovery.”

  “He’ll be fine.”

  The sexy dimples that had popped into some of my dreams over the years made an appearance. We stared at each other for several seconds before being interrupted by a deep voice.

  “Hart, you have a staff meeting in twenty minutes,” said a very cute, very tall dark haired guy.

  “Thanks, John. I’ll be right there.” He looked back at me. “I’m sorry but I have to go.”

  I frantically flailed my hands. “Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. You’re working. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  My insides got all warm and cozy.

  “Me too.” I smiled.

  “I’ll be seeing you around then,” he said.

  “That would be great.”

  That was a stupid response.

  “I mean, have fun at your meeting.” I giggled.

  Pivoting, I walked toward the exit as fast as my strappy sandals would carry me before I humiliated myself further. My heart was beating a mile a minute and my stomach felt as if a flock of hummingbirds had taken up residence.

  Pull it together, Bryson. You’re not a giggly schoolgirl anymore.

  Once I got to the door the urge to get one last peek overwhelmed me. Standing just inside the entrance of the therapy room, I grabbed one last eyeful. Seeing Hart again after all these years was shocking but it didn’t compare to what was happening in front of me.

  John, the cute therapy assistant, pushed an empty wheelchair up to the pool and positioned it directly behind Hart. Flipping two levers, John swung the leg rest to the side, giving Hart clear unobstructed access to the chair. Hart placed his hands on either side of the
seat and in one seemingly effortless move he lifted himself into the chair. As Hart finished drying his right leg, John pushed the right leg rest back into place. They repeated the same routine on the left side. Tossing the towel he’d used to John, Hart secured both legs with a strap across his calves. These two guys worked together like a well-oiled machine. Suddenly, the chair swiveled and a bluish gray gaze pierced mine.

  One Mississippi.

  Two Mississippi.

  Three Mississippi.

  I tore my gaze away and ducked into the hallway as quickly as I possibly could. But I knew it was too late. Hart had caught me watching him.

  With one eye on the lookout for Will’s room number and the other eye on the lookout for Hart, I walked dazed and confused through the maze of hallways. I didn’t want to run into Hart again until I’d had a chance to process what I’d witnessed. The babbling idiot inside me had already made a grand appearance seeing him for the first time. There certainly wasn’t a need for an encore performance so soon after finding out about the wheelchair. No telling what inappropriate nonsense would spew from my mouth.

  Each time the picture of Hart in the chair flashed through my mind I felt a twinge of guilt. It was irrational and ridiculous but I hated that I wasn’t there for him during what had to have been a devastating blow to his life. I mean, we weren’t friends back in high school or now. Maybe it was just residual guilt from Will’s accident spilling over.

  During the days and months after prom Hart Mitchell swirled around my head . . . a lot. Our time together was brief but he’d definitely made an impression on me. I never could put my finger on the reason why. Maybe it was just the mystery of him that intrigued me . . . and his smoky and smoldering blue gray eyes. And his blond scruff . . . and his deep dimples . . . and his lips wrapped around that cigarette . . . and that he said I was lovely.

  I remembered being a bundle of excitement and nerves as I walked into English class the Monday morning after the prom. It would be the first time since our moment Hart and I would see each other. God, that moment . . . it was electric and scary and fun and flirty. I didn’t want it to end so I kept it alive in my mind that entire weekend. But my teenage fantasies crashed in a heartbeat. As I walked toward my desk, I willed Hart to look up at me but he never did. Although I felt his gaze on me several more times throughout the rest of the school year, I never again got the chance to stare into his eyes.

  Hart was the unpredictable unknown. Even though our moment was the most exciting thing I’d ever experienced, it scared the hell out of me. So I went back to swagger watching.

  As I turned the corner to go down yet another hallway, I spotted a small group of people milling around outside what appeared to be a conference room. They were all dressed in dark pants and white polo shirts indicating they were part of the physical therapy staff. Kim, our tour guide, explained that other than the doctors and nurses, each therapy department had a different colored shirt—occupational therapy wore red shirts, aquatic therapy wore light blue shirts, and physical therapy wore white shirts. I wondered if this was the meeting Hart was attending. No sooner had the thought crossed my mind when he appeared bringing up the rear of the group.

  Hart had changed into black jeans but instead of the white shirt the others wore, his was a royal blue polo. Maybe that color stood for boss man. Even from this distance I could see the color brought out the blue hues in his eyes. The shirt was a perfect fit, melting across his toned chest and falling over his flat stomach. I stared as he gripped the wheels of the chair, rolling himself toward the meeting room. My gaze traveled up to his broad shoulders and continued the climb until . . . Shit! He caught me again.

  I started to shift my gaze above him, as if something else down the hall had caught my eye. But at this point the object of my ogling was pretty clear. Having no other options at my disposal, I slowly raised my hand, giving him a little wave and smile. The corners of his mouth twitched into a smirk, causing my cheeks to heat up. Not wanting to embarrass myself further, I spun to leave and crashed directly into the medication cart coming around the corner.

  “Ma’am, are you alright?” the nurse asked.

  “Oh god. I’m . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t see you . . . I was just . . . I’m sorry,” I stammered while fumbling my way around the cart.

  I didn’t look back to see Hart’s reaction but there was no way in hell he didn’t see my graceful exit.

  A few minutes later I finally found Will’s room. My brain must have been fuzzy from the events of the day because I could have sworn I’d walked down this hall already. Getting semi lost at least gave me a better lay of the land. The atmosphere throughout the entire place had a positive vibe. Around every corner large windows let in massive amounts of natural light. They did their best to camouflage the medical equipment by having it blend in to the casual but tastefully decorated facility. All the patient rooms were private, which Will liked. Even though there were definite medical elements in the room like the hospital bed and table, the bright light, flat screen TV, and curtains framing the large window made it feel less sterile.

  A nurse was coming out of the room as I walked up. We exchanged passing smiles. Will had already transferred from his wheelchair into the bed and was flipping through the TV channels.

  “Where the hell did you go?” He snapped.

  I placed my purse down on the small corner table, walked over to the recliner next to the bed, and sat.

  “I was just exploring your new digs and got turned around. There are a lot of hallways in this place.”

  “Whatever,” he grumbled.

  Ignoring his mood, I said, “I thought I’d run home and get a few more of your things— workout clothes, pajamas, and your shaving kit. Is there anything specific you need me to bring back?”

  “My laptop and cellphone.”

  I inadvertently cringed. Even though our problems were due to the fact that the marriage had been a complete lie, I considered my discovery of Will’s online addiction to be the beginning of the end. Each time he asked for the laptop or cellphone it reminded me where his priorities had always been and were still. Somehow both things survived the accident with only a few scratches. Will probably threw himself over his beloved computer in order to save it.

  “I’ll have to ask if you can have them here.”

  Was I punishing him by exercising that I had control over whether or not to bring him his beloved items? Maybe a little bit.

  “I’m not in fucking prison, Bryson.”

  “I didn’t say you were. I said I needed to check first. You’ll be having therapy three and a half hours a day. You’ll probably be too exhausted. Besides, they have computers in the library here if you’re that desperate.”

  “Just bring my goddam cellphone and laptop!”

  “Fine. You don’t have to bite my head off.”

  He blew out a frustrated breath. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s just . . . I thought I’d be going home and we’d be able to . . .”

  “You need to concentrate on getting well as soon as possible.”

  He looked over at me and smiled. “Thanks, babe.”

  Babe?

  Wanting to change the mood and subject, I said, “Guess who works here.”

  “No idea.”

  “Hart Mitchell.”

  With pursed lips and narrowed eyes, Will shook his head. “Who?”

  “He went to high school with us. Remember, he transferred in senior year. Blonde, about six four, bad boy, loner, rode a motorcycle. You had to have noticed him.”

  “Apparently not as much as you.”

  “He’s the director of the entire physical therapy department.”

  “Well, goody for him.”

  I’d forgotten just how pissy Will could be when he was injured. During junior year he’d sprained his ankle and had to sit out a few games. He was an absolute horror to be around, pouting, bratty, and acting as if his hurt ankle was the worst thing that had ever taken place on God’s green earth. We’
d only been dating for a couple of months so I was still blinded by puppy love and let his bad mood roll off my back.

  Having had my fill of his attitude, I stood abruptly, and announced, “I’m outta here. I’ll be back in an hour or so with your stuff.”

  Before I could step away from the bed, he grabbed my hand. “I really appreciate you helping me. I wouldn’t be able to make it through this without you.”

  “You’re a strong and determined person. You can do anything you set your mind to regardless of whether or not I’m in the picture.”

  Sad dark brown eyes looked up at me. “I still want you in the picture.”

  I pulled my hand back. “Will, let’s not get into this right now.”

  “I’m not getting into anything. I just want you to know my picture isn’t complete unless you’re in it.”

  Oh, dear lord.

  “I’ll be back in a little while.”

  The second I stepped out of the room I glanced back and forth down the hallway to make sure the coast was clear of muscular torso and blue-gray gazes.

  I only made one wrong turn while on my way to the front entrance. The red exit sign glowed brightly over the door like a beacon guiding me to freedom. I passed several rooms that appeared to be administrative offices. As I walked by the last office I heard a raspy voice call my name.

  “Bryson.” Of course it was Hart.

  Flutter.

  Flutter.

  I peered around the door into his office. “Hey.”

  He was behind his desk, a stack of files in front of him, tapping a pen between his thumb and index finger. “Did your friend get settled in?”

  It dawned on me that I’d failed to mention Will was my husband . . . technically . . . for now.

  Stepping just inside the doorway, I said, “Yeah, he did. Thanks. Everyone has been great.”

  “Good. Glad to hear it.”

  My grip tightened around the strap of my purse. “I still can’t get over running into you.”

  I already said that when I first saw him.

  “I didn’t mean that literally, of course. Obviously, I didn’t run into you. I recognized you from across the room and ran over to you. Again, not literally . . . ran. I walked . . . quickly.”