Page 21 of Beach B!tch
9
Dean's identical chocolate eyes stared up at me from the wheelchair as Stefan studied me. He had Dean's coloring, but looked younger with a rounder jawline and smaller physique. He had a muscular upper body, smaller than Dean, but he was clearly no slouch where the weights were concerned. His eyes trailed over my body, ending with a significant look at Dean's hand resting on my lower back. Stefan looked back up at my face and broke out into a big grin.
"Nice to meet you, Brinley." He reached his hand out and I clasped it in mine for his strong handshake. He didn't let go, instead pulling me closer to him as his grin turned naughty.
"Dean's nice to look at, but when you're ready for a sensitive man with all the time in the world to woo you as you so deserve...I'm here for you." He finished with a dramatic kiss to the back of my hand. I smiled at him, charmed by his outrageous flirtation. He may be in a wheelchair, but his male magnetism was bigger than the room.
Dean cleared his throat. "Unhand my woman, would you?" he growled at Stefan.
Stefan didn't seem like he was planning on letting go of my hand anytime soon. He smiled at Dean's grumpiness like this was a normal exchange for these two. I didn't want to get in the middle, but I had to admit that I was curious about Stefan. How he came to be in a wheelchair, why he was so flirtatious and what stories he could tell me about Dean.
"You're the one who brought me here to meet Stefan. We're just getting to know each other." I glanced at Dean, smirking at his dark expression, enjoying the fact that it looked like I now had a partner in crime in the game of 'who could annoy Dean the most'.
"Whoa! Step back, Dean...she likes me!" Stefan whooped and hollered, teasing Dean, and I couldn't help but laugh. "Roll with me, will you, my beautiful Brinley?" Stefan asked, looking up, waggling his eyebrows at me and gesturing to the room behind him.
I chuckled. "Lead on, Stefan." We moved further into the house, to what I believed was the living room.
"I'm watching you two!" Dean hollered from behind us, which only made Stefan cackle more.
Rolling his chair next to me, Stefan led me to the couch and gestured for me to have a seat. "So, all joking aside, what brings you here today, Brinley?" His smile remained, but I saw a serious side to him now, the flirting just a fun way to break the ice and get past the fact he was in a wheelchair.
"I'm not sure why I'm here, to be honest. Dean said he had someone he wanted me to meet and here I am." I wiped my hands on my legs, suddenly nervous and wondering if this was some kind of test I needed to pass. Wasn't it a big deal to meet family? This was Dean's best friend. Maybe he wanted Stefan to approve of me.
Dean stepped into the room with bottles of water in his hands. He gave one to both of us, then sat down next to me on the couch. His hand found its way to my thigh, the warmth of his touch boosting my courage, while also setting off dozens of butterflies in my stomach.
"I wanted you to meet Stefan, because he's important to me, but also because he knows what it's like to fight your way back. If anyone can get through that beautiful, thick skull of yours, and get you to have more patience while you recover, it's Stefan," Dean explained. His thumb stroked the side of my leg, taking the sting out of his reprimand.
"Hmmm...you don't look injured, my sweet Brinley. Tell me what's wrong and I'll make you feel better." Stefan was back to flirting, leaning forward and looking at me eye-to-eye. Dean's hand tightened its hold on my leg, but he remained silent.
I figured it was safer for all parties to ignore the flirting and just tell Stefan what was going on. "I rolled my ankle in a volleyball game a week or so ago. But I have another tournament in three weeks that I need to be in top shape for. I'm set to be seeded in the top brackets, which means if my partner and I play well, I could get into the pro bracket for the first time. And it's been my dream, since I was a little girl, to become a pro volleyball player. I need to be back on the sand practicing, like, yesterday."
"I see. All your hopes and dreams are wrapped up in this tournament and you feel like it's being ripped away from you all because your own body has failed you. And without winning this tournament, you'll be nothing and have no one. Right?" Stefan's quick and accurate assessment shocked me, his intense stare pinning me to my seat. I shifted uncomfortably, not liking the way he said it, but knowing it mirrored exactly what was in my head.
"Um, well...yeah. I guess that about covers it. I'm betting you have experience with feeling the same?" I ventured a guess how he could know what I was thinking. Plus I figured it was time to turn the conversation back to him. He was hitting a little too close to home for my comfort level.
Stefan nodded slowly, frown lines marring his tan forehead. He looked so similar to Dean, it was heartbreaking to imagine what his life would be like if he wasn't in the wheelchair. I felt a quick shot of gratitude for my athletic, capable body.
"I wasn't always in a wheelchair. I have vague memories of playing outside as a kid, running, jumping, riding a skateboard. My father was taking me to soccer practice when another car hit us. I woke up in the hospital and thought someone was sitting on me since I couldn't seem to move. I spent weeks in the hospital, the doctors, nurses and therapists becoming my friends. I was in so much pain, all the time. I was scared. What the hell would happen to me? I mean, I couldn't even move my legs and my arms weren't much better. I couldn't go back to school like that. Eventually, I came home and things got worse." Stefan glanced over at Dean, anger and sadness dancing across his face. "Our dad left when he couldn't handle the stress of everything. Mom was working all day and night to support us and pay off my ridiculous hospital bill. Dean had to take over all the chores at home and take care of me."
"I just wanted to go back to kindergarten. I wanted to be a kid again," Stefan's voice trailed off as he got lost in memories.
A wave of shame rolled through me. I couldn't believe I was complaining about a stupid sprained ankle. Here's a guy who didn't even have a childhood. Couldn't move his legs. His family was torn apart. Tears blurred my vision as I felt just a fraction of his pain. Crazy how a little perspective could change your thoughts about your own situation.
Dean wrapped his arm around me and pulled me in close. Stefan looked up at us and smiled a sad smile. "It took me years to get my arms functioning again in any useful way. I still, to this day, work on my dexterity so I can brush my teeth and fix a sandwich by myself. All the timelines I had in my head for getting better got tossed out the window multiple times over. And every single day I spent working on it, for years on end, was worth it."
"Stefan." I reached forward and took his hand in mine. I kept blinking to keep the tears from escaping my eyes, but I was losing the war.
He squeezed my hand back. "I guess if I could offer you one piece of advice, it's to just keep plugging away, day in and day out, with no expected outcome. Do what you need to do because it's the right thing to do. Before you know it, you'll look up and be shocked by how far you've come. There's no need to beat yourself up over the timeline. You can't rush these things. Trying to rush it will only set you back and make you crazy in the process."
I nodded to let him know I heard him. Actually understood him. "So what do you do to pull yourself back from the edge when you're super frustrated?" I needed pointers, and I figured Stefan would have some for me.
"I talk to people I know have my back. People who will tell me what I need to hear, even if it's not what I want to hear. Their advice is invaluable." At that, he looked over at Dean and they shared a head nod. "And more than anything, I find things I can do, things I enjoy. And I do those, because it's really all about just enjoying your life, right?" His smile was back, and he looked pretty damn happy for a guy in a wheelchair.
I thought about what I enjoyed in life and, with a sinking feeling, came up blank.
"I'm not too sure what things I like to do, since I've been so focused on my volleyball goals. For, well, forever. That's always been my go-to outlet for everything that's troubling me." I put my head in my hand and thought about what else I liked to do. Cook? No. Work out? No, that's along the same lines as volleyball.
I sighed out loud as I came up empty-handed. How could I have let this happen? I literally had no outside activities or hobbies. No life outside of volleyball. What the hell?
