Page 7 of The Way We Fell

I smile, thinking of my three-year-old goddaughter and her wide-eyed, toothy grin—the bright green eyes that match her dad’s, and the grin that matches my best friend’s. The grin that turned a previously confirmed bachelor pilot into a lovesick fool of a man, and a girl-dad extraordinaire. He fell in love with his daughter the moment he met her; it didn’t even matter that he’d missed out on three years of her life. He’s more than making up for it now. Their love, the way it transcends the physical barriers between them, the way it crosses oceans, is a thing of envy.

“I know,” she whispers. “And I—I’m so in love with him, Katy.” Her hazel eyes bore into mine, pleading. “I love him so much.”

“I know, love,” I whisper back. Our hands find each other, fingers tangling together. “You’ve got him.”

“I just don’t want this to be too much.”

I wrap my arms around my best friend and rest my head on her shoulder. Her chestnut curls mix with my blonde waves, and I smile. The mix of colours looks the same way it’s looked since we were eleven years old. Our hair has always reflected us. Dark and light. A perfect balance.

“Love, I don’t think anything could be too much for that man. He’s moving across the world. He’d move to Saturn for you and Maisy, and he wouldn’t ask for a thing in return.He loves you.And you love him.”

“I love him,” she agrees, a slow smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “I love him so much.”

After we’ve all stuffed ourselves and returned for seconds, my belly is about to burst and I’m ready to go home and lie down in a dark room for a few hours. I make my rounds to say goodbye, finally catching up with Jay just before I retrieve my coat and head out to my car.

“Hey, give me your number, let’s try that beer place,” I say, holding out my phone. He hesitates for a moment, but then he takes it and taps at the screen. When he hands it back, I use the number he just saved to call him, and he waves his phone at me.

“Gotcha,” he says with a tight smile. “Just text me.”

Two nights later, I’m wrapped in a towel after a long, candlelit bubble bath. I stretch out a leg on the edge of my bed, about to begin massaging lotion into every inch of my skin, when my phone buzzes on the bedside table. It’s a marketing message from the new brewery, announcing some special offers in their bistro. I smooth the lotion over my legs, then settle against the pillows.

Katy

Hi Jay, it’s Katy. Wanna do that lunch?

Jay

Sure. When?

Katy

Sunday? Working in the morning but finish @ 12. Does 12:15 work?

Jay

Sure. See u then.

Chapter three

Jay

Itakeshort,carefulsteps down the long corridor, one hand ghosting over the rail along the wall, not quite using it for support, but ready to grab it, just in case. It’s been nearly five months since my injury, but more than a few minutes of walking is often still a struggle. And as someone who used to be able to run ten miles with a weighted backpack and barely break a sweat, it’s more than a little frustrating. I reach the end of the corridor just as my leg buckles. I catch myself on the rail, before slamming an open palm against the cool, white plaster on the wall.

The physiotherapist might be pleased with my progress, but I’m sure as fuck not. It’s been long enough. Surely I should be able to walk for more than a few minutes by now. I feel weak. Useless. I miss being able to just walk places—around a supermarket to buy food, even. I miss going out for a run, sweating out the stress of the day and clearing my mind of everything but my feet on the pavement.

Fuck, I miss sleeping through the night and not waking up with numbness and pins and needles in my leg.

“You’re doing great.” I know my physiotherapist’s tone is supposed to be encouraging, but it sounds more patronising than anything else. Cody, a small, skinny brunette with a septum piercing and tiny stars tattooed on each knuckle, crouches at my feet and holds her hands inches from my leg. I lean back with both hands on the rail, supporting my weight against it and balancing on my left leg. My right foot rests against the floor without bearing any weight.

“May I?” She looks up at me with cartoon-large brown eyes behind Coke bottle glasses. I nod, pushing a heavy breath through pursed lips. If it’ll get me out of here quicker, she can do whatever she needs to. Her cool hands make contact with my skin and I hiss, my leg trembling as I force myself not to pull back.

“Did I hurt you?” She lifts her hands away immediately.

“No,” I sigh. “It’s…” It’s what? I don’t even know. “It’s tender.”

“That’s normal,” Cody says to my shin, chilly fingers probing gently at the freshly-knitted scars. “Put your foot down.”

I shift my weight onto my right leg, trying not to grimace.

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