Page 95 of Where We Belong

Once I’m done counting the ceiling slats for the millionth time, I switch to the X-ray, staring and staring again. I can’t cry about it anymore. I’m all emptied out.

My phone vibrates once more, and again, I ignore it. Even knowing it might be Josie who’s calling can’t get me to stand up. I called her from the hospital right after I was seen by the emergency room physician, and after making sure she wasn’t in immediate danger, I told her I’d have to think about her text and would get back to her soon. Since then, I haven’t even looked to see if she’s texted or called. What I don’t know can’t hurt me. I still don’t know what I’ll do about her birthday or about the Kyle situation because I can’t think of a scenario that would solve all our problems. I’m useless to her, as much as it kills me to admit it.

A sharp knock comes from the front door a single second before light pierces the room and makes me squint.

“Jesus, are you trying to become a vampire?”

“Not funny,” I tell Finn as he walks my way. When he’s close enough, the clean scent of his shampoo hits me, and I realize I don’t remember the last time I showered.

“Don’t come too close.” I sniff. “I think I smell.”

“Damn right you do,” he says before dropping a kiss on my forehead. “Lucky for you, I don’t give a damn.”

I groan. I should probably feel embarrassed, but I don’t have enough energy to care.

“What are you doing here?” I ask softly as I curl myself into a ball, tucking the covers closer to my chin.

“I came to bring you food,” he says, the same thing he’s told me every time he’s visited since my accident, meaning every single day. I’m not sure I wouldn’t have starved to death if it weren’t for him, but again, too tired to care. “Martina madesancochofor you. Said nothing makes her feel better than when she eats this.”

As he says it, the smell of the Dominican stew reaches me, and my stomach grumbles. From the few times I’ve had the chance to taste Martina’s cooking, I know this will be as delicious as it smells.

“That’s nice of her. Tell her thanks for me?”

“Why don’t you tell her yourself?” Finn says, his hand clutching my thigh and rubbing in slow circles.

“Maybe,” I lie. We both know I’m not getting out of this place. Maybe ever.

He smiles. “I also came to tell you that’s enough.”

“Huh?”

“You’re done with this,” he says, gesturing at the entire cabin. “I gave you ten days, and those ten days have come and gone.”

My brows furrow. I lift myself on my elbows, wincing when I move my foot too fast. I’m still supposed to wait another four-and-a-half weeks before I can freely weight-bear.

“I can’t do anything, Finn.”

“Yes, you can.” With a swing of his legs, he’s on his feet, dragging all the curtains open, blinding me with the early summer sunlight. “You can get out of this cabin and have dinner with me. You can get some fresh air. You can stretch so getting back to it in a few weeks will be easier.”

I was about to answer that I could have dinner with him here, but the words die in my throat with his last sentence. I lift myself even more, so I’m sitting, my swollen, purple foot dangling off the bed.

“Finn,” I say. He halts with the half-full laundry basket in his arms. “I don’t think I’m going back.”

“Of course you are,” he says, then resumes his decluttering of my place.

“Finn,” I say, jumping on one foot while trying to locate my walking boot. “You don’t understand.” Once I find my boot, I lean against the wall and put it on. I have a feeling he’s going to make this difficult, and I need to be able to run if he does.

“I understand enough to know you’re not quitting.”

“We’re a little over three months away from the World Championships, I can’t walk, let alone do basic training for weeks, my foot will probably be all stiff and screwed up by the time I start using it for high-impact again, and I’m too old to tell myself I’ll just try again next year.” I blink repeatedly, hoping it’ll make the emotion in my eyes disappear. “Maybe it’s time to come to the realization that gymnastics is over for me.” I bring my fist in front of my mouth to hold in a sob. I’ve been thinking about this from the second I felt my foot crack under my weight, but saying the words out loud hurts more than I could’ve imagined.

Finn’s gaze is blank as he straightens and says, “No, it’s not. Those are just excuses.”

I sigh. Of course he has to be unreasonable about this.

Wobbling to him, I grit my teeth against the pain and say, “You’re not listening to me.”

“Iamlistening, Lex.” He lets the laundry basket fall to the floor and bounds my way. “But you told me you needed this. Winning. And I’m not standing there and watching you give it up. Fuck no.” His head shakes, determination etched into every pane of his face, then he puts his hands on his hips like I’m a kid in need of a scolding. “You’re getting back out there, and you’re doing this shit, so help me god.”

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