Page 160 of Frozen Flames

I’m glad he didn’t snitch. I asked him to keep my stuff private from Gemma, and I told him that I didn’t want others to know about my mobility improvements.

Setbacks are real in my world, and they happen. It’s one of the things I’ve had to accept about my new life.

Some days are great and pain-free, some aren’t. Some days my legs won’t cooperate and using crutches is a no-go, as they require too much upper body strength to continue using for long periods of time.

I’ve learned to embrace all stages, thanks to my newfound perspective on life, aka Claire, but also thanks to McKleen and Dr. Lee.

“You didn’t want to jinx it.”

I nod. “Yeah. I guess that’s it.”

She’s teary, but I don’t comment on it. It’s obvious she’s pregnant, so that may be part of the reason for the emotion.

“Gemma, don’t cry.”

“I know. Pregnancy, you know?”

“Congratulations on the baby.” I smile, happy for her.

She thanks me, and we talk back and forth about her little boy, Blu—weird-ass name, if you ask me—and my son, Finn.

I can sense the pride I feel as I speak about my son, and he’s literally done nothing but come into this world. And still, he changed our lives. We adore him and his little feet and his big blue eyes.

“Hen told me you were the executive director at the firm.”

“Yeah.” She rubs her stomach. “Some days I want to kill my husband, but overall, we work well together.”

“Well, that’s good. Don’t let him boss you around,” I tell her, not knowing what else to say.

We check out our grocery items at separate cashiers before meeting up again in the parking lot, where I open the trunk of my Jeep to put things away.

“Henrik told me you started going to schools and workplaces to give motivational speeches.”

I scoff, since of course Hen got some of the information wrong. I do go to schools, not workplaces. I place my grocery bags in the trunk of my modified car, taking a sip of my waterbottle as I shake my head. “Hen loves that title: motivational speaker.”

The truth is, it all started when McKleen asked me to speak to a group of newly injured patients at the rehab center.

Then another group and so on.

I decided then and there that I liked it—maybe even secretly loved it. If it wasn’t for Claire, I would’ve probably refused McKleen’s offer, but I’m glad I did it.

Somehow that led to one of Claire’s contacts asking me to speak at their school. From there, other schools heard about me and invited me to speak at theirs.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m even the right person to speak to these kids and show them the obstacles I’ve faced. I mean, it’s clear that most of them will never end up like me, but the kids seem to enjoy asking me questions afterward, so maybe I’m helping them more than I think.

But really, they’re helping me—I healed even more once I started helping people.

“I’m happy for you. And I heard about your art. You’re becoming famous,” she teases.

Fucking Hen.

It seems he hasn’t been able to keepeverythingfrom Gemma.

I wave her off. “Not even. I’m just doing what I enjoy, I guess.”

I draw, I paint, and I sell my art online. There’s nothing more to it. I’ve been lucky enough to have sold all my drawings so far. It gives me confidence to keep going and do the whole artsy thing my way.

I’m still working at the tattoo parlor, though I’ve recently thought about applying to a teacher’s college to become a teacher. I might even work with my dad again in the meantimeto help pay for school. I’m still figuring out my next steps, and I’m okay with that.

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