“Oh! This is perfect. And it keeps the party under budget without cutting into profit, which is great because I was starting to worry we were going to end up way over, and I’d have to pull from the fountain budget to cover things while we wait for the balance of the payment, but it looks like we’ll be fine.”
“What about the alumni association? That contract should help balance things out, right?”
London’s smile drops, and she waves a hand around in the air. “Oh, it’ll be fine, especially now that we have a new plan, and this is a much cheaper option than anything else they’ve proposed. Besides, you know me, I always try to stay under budget. Anyway, have I mentioned how glad we are you’re not all drugged up on painkillers anymore? We really needed your brain for this one.” London melts back into her chair. “Honestly, I had no idea how much work went into the customer relations side of things. I have a new appreciation for how much time you spend fielding phone calls.”
“Just start passing things over to me. I’ll make phone calls, that way you can focus on the other stuff. And soon I’ll be able to come back at least part-time. Maybe when I see the doctor this week, I can ask about coming in a couple of days a week?”
“I’m not going to lie, it would be great to have you around, especially to deal with client requests and issues.” London bites her nail, looking cautiously optimistic.
“I’ll ask my doctor what’s reasonable, and we can go from there.” I shift around on the couch, adjusting my leg on the stack of pillows.
“Do you want us to take you to your next appointment?” London asks.
“It’s okay, Declan and I already have things set up. Besides, the back of his SUV has way more room than your Mini.” Since the accident, she’s been incredibly protective. I think it comes from a place of fear, but I haven’t broached it with her, aware she’s under more pressure than usual with Spark House.
“Okay, well, let us know if anything changes.”
“I will.” I roll my head on my shoulders, stretching my neck. The hardest part about having broken limbs is how unbalanced my body is. You never really know how hard it is to be down an arm and a leg until you can’t use the ones you have. “Honestly, at this point the boredom is really the biggest obstacle, so being able to come back to Spark House, even if it’s only once a week, would be great.”
“Well, if you feel up to it, maybe you could start documenting your recovery more regularly?” Harley suggests. “The posts you’ve put up over the past couple of weeks have gotten great traction.”
London nods her agreement. “We’ve had a lot of people asking about you. I bet they’d love more regular updates.”
“Do you really think people want to know what shows I’ve been binging while my bones are healing, or the challenge of washing my hair with one hand?” I’m half joking, but at the same time, it doesn’t actually sound like a bad idea.
“Honestly? Yup.” Harley’s eyes dart around, and she taps on the arm of the chair. “People love the personal posts, and they love it when they see people overcome adversity. Those physical therapy videos you posted last week had more than three thousand views.”
“That’s because I videoed Declan doing shirtless push-ups.” And not the regular kind. The ones where he pushes up, claps, and then alternates one arm and then the other. It was impressive.
“Declan’s push-ups aside, I think it would be a really great way to show our followers that you’re doing well. And it’ll help keep you occupied while you’re recovering and give us extra content for our social media.”
She holds out her phone and shows me a post she put up less than an hour ago. It’s of me, on the couch, hair pulled up in a messy bun, my tablet in my lap, laughing at something Harley or London said.
It already has close to a thousand likes and a hundred comments, many of them wishing me well and happy to see that I’m back in action.
“We can call it your recovery journal. Maybe you can start with a couple of days a week on your profile and you can share it with the Spark House account. If you find it therapeutic, you can post more often,” Harley says, her expression hopeful.
“I love the idea.” And it’s a great way for me to contribute in a meaningful way. For the first time since I came home from the hospital, I have something to be genuinely excited about and a sense of purpose again.
12
I PROBABLY SHOULD HAVE KNOCKED FIRST
DECLAN
I try to time getting home from work and running errands so that I don’t run into London and Harley. Is it a wuss move? Yup. Do I feel bad about avoiding them? Not particularly, no.
I can handle Harley because, well, she’s Harley. She’s soft and sweet and understanding and forgiving. London and I pre-Avery’s accident used to get along fine, but London post-accident is like an angry mama bear. I get it, the three of them are super tight and always have been, and the accident scared them.
So I understand why London is pissed at me, but it’s been weeks and I still get the death glare every time I see her. Our regularly scheduled finance meeting is coming up, and suffice it to say, I’m not looking forward to it. I sent London the latest reports and told her they were not going to have the margin they planned for. But London has been dodging me, quick to tell me we can deal with things later, when she isn’t pulling double duty.
Avery said it really isn’t like London to hold a grudge and reassures me that she’ll get over it. I’m not so sure I agree, but I’m figuring by the end of the next decade, she may find it in her heart to forgive me. Hopefully. If I’m lucky.
Thankfully, they’re getting ready to leave when I walk in the door, so I don’t have to deal with London’s frostiness for too long.
“We’ll be back on Thursday morning, okay? And remember, if you need us to handle appointments, or you want us to pick up any other things you might need, just let us know.” London leans down to hug her sister. “You’re almost out of crunchy peanut butter, FYI.”
I’m not sure what kind of things Avery might need that I can’t get for her, but I hold up a grocery bag, pleased with myself for noticing that we were low on the PB before I left this morning. “I picked some up on the way home.”
“Oh, well that’s good.” London almost seems disappointed by my competence and thoughtfulness.
“We still on for that finance meeting, or do you need a little more time to get things together?” I ask.
“Let me get back to you on that.” London turns back to Avery.
“Sure thing. I just don’t want to get too behind on the quarterly.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Avery asks.
“Oh no, I’ve got it handled.” She waves Avery’s worry away. “We’ll call you tomorrow to check in. And as soon as you get the go-ahead, we can plan an afternoon for you to come over or come to Spark House, or whatever you want. I’m sure you’re ready for a change of scenery.”
I relax a little once Avery’s sisters leave. It’s as if I’m being carefully observed when they’re here, and it makes me antsy.
While I prepare dinner, Avery fills me in on her visit with her sisters.
“Harley suggested I start a recovery journal, but more of a visual one that I can share on our social media.”
“That sounds cool; more like something that Harley would do, though, isn’t it?” I chop vegetables for the salad, making sure the pieces are all bite-sized.
“It usually is, but I’ve been helping out with that a bit since I’ve been home.”
“Oh?” I pause my chopping. “I didn’t realize that.”
“Other than physical therapy and doctor’s appointments, I’m lying around, waiting to heal, so I started managing some of the social media posts for Harley. She has this whole system set up where she creates posts and puts them in a document with the text and images. I followed her lead and started scheduling things for her and I, uh … posted a couple of videos last week.”
I resume my chopping. “Videos? Of
what?”
“Oh, you know.” She waves her phone around in the air and mutters, “Physical therapy stuff. You doing push-ups.”
I nearly take off the end of my finger and set the knife down so I can give her my full attention. “Did you say me doing push-ups?”
Her grin is cheeky, but she flushes, which is a very un-Avery reaction. “You were showing off. Besides, our followers loved it, and it takes some of the pressure off Harley. Plus it gives me something productive to do that isn’t watching TV and trying to fold laundry one-handed.” She motions over to the couch where a basket sits.
For the first time, I notice that it’s not her laundry, it’s mine. “You don’t have to fold my laundry.”
“I didn’t do a great job. And I figured you’d rather not have to put them on the refresh cycle and forget about them again.”
“Thanks, that was nice of you. And it reminds me that I should drop my stuff off at the dry cleaners after dinner. If they’re still open.”
“It’s already there. And I scheduled delivery.”
“How did you get my stuff to the dry cleaners?”
“I had London and Harley take me. Anyway, when we go to the doctor’s this week, I was thinking to ask about phasing in a day a week at Spark House.”
I slide the chopped veggies into the frying pan and nod slowly. “If you think you’re ready for that and you don’t feel like it’s going to set you back, I think that’s a great idea.”
“One day a week isn’t too much, and the sooner I’m back to work, the better it’s going to be for our bottom line. You know how London worries about the finances. She should feel better about that soon, though, especially with the alumni association coming on board.”
I bite my tongue. After avoiding the conversation, London finally spilled the beans a couple of days ago that they didn’t get the alumni contract, which explains why London is worried about staying under budget. I wanted to tell Avery right away, but London insisted that they wait, worried she’d try and jump straight back into working full-time and potentially set back her recovery. I don’t quite agree this is the right way to handle things, but I can see her point, so I’m keeping my mouth shut for now. “Well, London always is more conservative when it comes to money and runs a tight ship. Now she’s dealing with the other side of things, so…”
Avery makes a face. “Yeah, she likes working with other businesses, but problem-solving with bridezilla isn’t her favorite.”
“I don’t know how you manage to keep your cool through this kind of thing. Sounds like a good reason not to get married.” I bring the plates over to the couch. Avery has her lap tray set up, and I’ve cut the chicken into manageable-sized bites.
I learned that lesson the first time I made something that required a knife and fork and reduced her to tears of frustration. I can handle a lot of things, but seeing Avery cry is akin to drinking bleach. She doesn’t get emotional to the point of tears often, and she hates it when she loses control like that. She’s strong and proud and stoic in the face of a challenge, so seeing her break down over something as simple as not being able to cut her own food is not something I’d ever like to repeat.
She inhales deeply. “Oh man, this smells amazing. Please don’t be offended if I can’t finish it, though. London and Harley brought a charcuterie board with them, and I really went to town on it, especially all the stuff covered in chocolate.” She stabs a piece of chicken parm. “And a bridezilla is not a reason to swear off marriage. Besides, it would be a travesty if you didn’t share your culinary skill set with another person.”
“I don’t need to get married to do that.” I motion to her as she pops the bite in her mouth and groans her food delight. “Case in point. And my relationship history should be enough of a red flag to send any smart woman running the other way.”
Avery gives me a sidelong glance. “Hookups don’t really count as relationships, Deck.”
I point a forkful of fusilli at her—spaghetti is on hold until she has the use of both hands again. “My point exactly.”
“Just because you haven’t had a relationship with substance doesn’t mean you’d be bad in one.”
“You grew up in a house with two parents who loved each other and treated each other with respect and consideration. My parents revenge-screwed their friends to piss each other off.” Their relationship is like something out of a soap opera. It goes on and on, back and forth, and three decades later, they still haven’t figured out that not talking to each other would be best for everyone, particularly me. “And I don’t do emotional connections.”
Talking about my lack of relationships with depth has never bothered me before, but then things have changed recently. Especially with how much time Avery and I have been spending together, and how much I seem to like it. We’ve always hung out a lot, but there is a certain level of intimacy that I’m not used to. And I’m reluctant to admit it, but I’m not immune to the way all that forced contact and proximity affects me.
That I willingly give her massages on a nearly daily basis without expecting anything in return—like a penis massage—says a lot about where I’m at with Avery, and I’d prefer to keep my head in the sand.
“We have an emotional connection.” She points at me and goes back to eating the dinner she didn’t think she’d be able to finish.
“It’s not the same.” I’m not wrong. My friendship with Avery means far more to me than every single girlfriend I’ve ever had combined. The possibility of messing that up with my hormones practically makes me break out in hives.
“Maybe not, but just pointing out that you’re capable of them, is all.” She nudges a piece of paper on the coffee table with her toe. “Oh, I got a little carried away and finished the first twenty across words, so it’s your turn.” Her smile holds an apology.
I’m grateful for the change of topic. “You’ve got some catching up to do so you might as well double down while you can. I can’t tell you how much it’s sucked having all these half-started crossword puzzles hanging around.”
“You could’ve just done them, and don’t get too excited. It looks like a kindergartner filled it out, so if you can’t read something, ask me and I’ll try to decipher my own writing for you, but no promises.” Sharing the weekly crossword from the newspaper has been our thing since college.
“I have the ones you missed saved, and I only did the first ten down on them, so you can jump in on those when you’re ready.”
“You saved them?”
“Well, yeah. That’s our thing, right?”
She tips her head, a small smile pulling at the corner of her full lips. “Yeah, I guess it is. How frustrating was it for you to only be able to finish them partway and then have to stop and wait for me to be lucid enough to finish my part?”
I shrug. I ended up buying a crossword puzzle book and finished half of all the puzzles since Avery and I always share them. I do some of the down, she works on the across, and we usually stop after the first ten words, but with her out of commission, they’ve been sitting there, waiting for her.
I figure if her life is on hold, most of the things in mine should be too.
* * *
Since Avery moved back into her bedroom, having mastered the art of getting in and out of her bed with the assistance of a crutch, the living room is now back to its pre-accident state. The hospital bed has been returned, and most of the furniture has been moved to its original place, with a few modifications so there are more straight lines for her to travel.
As Avery’s injuries heal and she regains her mobility, her independence returns. At this point, she’s managing to get to and from the bathroom on her own. She would love to be rid of the wheelchair, but her muscles fatigue easily, and it’s a lot of work moving around a body with one arm and one leg out of commission.
It’s Wednesday morning and I’m not heading into the office until later, but I still get up at the usual time so I can fit in a short workout. I use the treadmil
l in the gym in the building and head back to our condo to finish off with mat exercises.
I’m in the middle of a set of crunches when I notice Avery standing at the end of the hallway, her phone in her hand, aimed at me. “What are you doing?”
“Entertaining my followers. I saved the last video in my highlights, and it has over six thousand views. I figured they could use another hit of your abs. Maybe you should do a few burpees, just for fun.”
“No one does burpees for fun, but I’ll do a few for the sake of your entertainment.” I roll to a sitting position and grab the towel at my side, swiping it over my face before I stand up and roll my head on my shoulders. “Ready for the gun show?” I waggle my brows and flex one of my biceps.
She shakes her head, but she’s smirking. “Stop stalling, McCormick, and show us what you got.”
I do a set of burpees, my sweatpants slipping lower and lower. I stop before I lose them and flash Avery. “How was that?”
“Good.” She clears her throat. Her gaze moves slowly from my waist back up to my face. “The fans will appreciate your dedication.”
“I’m gonna jump in the shower. You want pancakes or something for breakfast?” I grab the towel from the floor.
“Yeah. Sounds good.” She nods a few times, eyes bouncing around, face a little flushed.
“Do you need my help with anything first?”
She blinks a couple of times. “Uh, no. I’m good. I’ll get changed and put on a pot of coffee.”
“Sounds good.” I brush by her on my way to my bedroom. Usually she’d be grossed out by the fact that I’m sweaty, but today she seems distracted. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Fine. Just burpee envy.”
“Don’t worry, Ave, you’ll be back to hating burpees soon enough.” I kiss her temple and head down the hall.
Fifteen minutes later I’m showered, and I pass Avery’s closed bedroom door on the way to the kitchen, but pause when I hear a soft groan. I wait a few seconds, unsure if I’m imagining things, or maybe I stepped on the spot on the floor that creaks, but ten seconds later she groans again, longer and lower this time.
When Sparks Fly Page 11