“Come on,” he murmured. “Time to sleep it off somewhere a little more comfortable.”
As he stood with her in his arms, he could feel her braces digging into him. There had been times tonight when it had felt like nothing had changed between them. Then there had been the times when he was acutely aware that things were so different now.
Dancing with her had been one of them. The way she held onto him, the weight of her body against his, the knowledge that she was completely dependent upon him to keep her safe. The realisation was a sobering one. His reasons for wanting to dance with her were selfless, spurred on by the longing he had seen at Barneys. But when they were actually dancing, he had realised the magnitude of what he had done. It had reduced her to tears. He almost felt guilty that he had enjoyed having her so close to him.
And now, as he held her in his arms again, it was very different. Her small frame had been divided into two distinct parts; the strong shoulders he cradled in one arm, and the slight legs draped over the other. It wasn’t only her body that had changed, though. The inner strength she exuded seemed completely at odds with her delicate frame.
He carefully pushed her bedroom door open wider with his foot. Sidestepping the wheelchair next to her bed, he set her down on top of the covers. She stirred and he knelt beside the bed, waiting to see if she would wake.
“Dreamt I was dancing,” she smiled sleepily, eyes still closed.
His heart melted. “It wasn’t a dream. You were dancing.”
“I like dreams like that, better than the other ones,” she murmured into the pillow.
He brushed her hair tenderly away from her face. “What other ones?”
But she didn’t answer and after a few moments, her breathing became heavier. Maybe it was better he didn’t know. He sat there for a few minutes, watching her. She had said something about secrets earlier, and he wondered what she meant. Her secrets or his? He thought about everything he had put himself through over the past four years. How much of that did he actually want her to know? What would she think of him if he told her he had been fighting strangers for money? No – that part of his life was over. Knowing how he had spent the past year would only hurt her. This was a fresh start. And as for the other secret, the one that had driven him away from her in the first place, he promised himself he would tell her when the time was right.
He pulled the covers from the other side of the bed over her and stood up. Taking a step back, he almost tripped on her wheelchair, reaching out to stop himself from falling. He winced, waiting to see if she would stir, but she remained blissfully unaware.
He let go of the wheelchair, then frowned, reaching out for it again. He pushed it backwards and forwards a few times, surprised at how light it was. Leaning to the side, he inspected it closely. The seat back was much lower than he thought it would be, and there was a deep foam cushion on the seat, but no sides or arm-rests. Now curious, he sat down in it, a quick glance assuring him that she was still sound asleep. Hesitantly, he put his feet on the foot-rest and grabbed the push rims, propelling himself forward and then backwards. He pulled on one rim, turning, but not in the direction he had thought. After turning himself around in circles a couple of times, he was hit by an overwhelming sense of shame.
This wasn’t a toy.
He stood up and walked to the door, pausing for one final check to satisfy himself that she was sleeping soundly.
He sank into the couch in the living room with a heavy sigh. Part of their conversation in the bar earlier that evening came back to him.
“Everyone makes mistakes, nobody’s perfect. The key is learning what not to do next time, then moving on. You can’t wallow. It’ll kill you – trust me, I know.”
Leaning back into the cushion behind him, he stared at the ceiling. What would it feel like to not be able to stand up and walk away from that wheelchair like he had just done?
His heart hurt, a physical ache, not just an emotional one. Exhausted, he closed his eyes.
Three Years Earlier
“Have you talked to her?” Callum asked, pacing his kitchen. “I can’t get her on the phone – landline or cell.”
Tom sighed and he imagined him taking off his glasses and running a hand down his face as he had seen him do so often.
“No. I’ve been calling too – no answer. I went over there yesterday and her car was there but she didn’t answer the door. I thought she might be sleeping or something, so I didn’t push it.”
Callum paced his kitchen. “So when do we panic? Because it feels like now might be a good time.”
“Just – “