Page 39 of His Reward
“It’s nothing, really,” I said instead, leaning my forehead against Boston’s chest for a moment before pushing back and smiling weakly up at him. “I was just talking to Oliver about everyone’s prep for the Winter Games.”
Boston nodded. “Oliver Sagwa is one of your besties, right?”
I laughed, loving the way he was so earnest in trying to learn my life. “Yeah. Are you ready to drive me over to the hospital?”
It was a blatant change of subject and Boston probably knew it. He cut me some slack and helped me into my thick winter coat before walking down to the parking lot with me.
I should have been happy about rehab that day. I’d hit a milestone. I’d gritted my way through all the pain and the fear as Dr. Barber’s team had gotten me over the first hurdle of healing and preventing my scar tissue from becoming a tight, restrictive mess. My therapy was stepping down another notch today.
“Your mobility is in the ninety percent range for people with similar types and severity of burns,” Gemma said enthusiastically as she massaged the tissue on my side. “You’ll probably end up more flexible than me.”
I laughed, but underneath that, I was worried. Skating at the level I was used to took so much more than muscles to jump with. It required flexibility and artistry. It didn’t matter how much I worked to keep my body pliable, there were certain spins I simply wasn’t capable of now. Spins were just as important as jumps to the judges.
“We’re so proud of him,” Mom said with a smile and a sentimental tear in her eye as she stood beside Boston, watching Gemma wrap up the treatment. “Lucien has come so far, and I know that the sky is the limit for him.”
Between Mom’s faith in me and Boston’s increasingly possessive presence, I was going to break down in tears again, a habit I’d worked hard to overcome.
All that sentimentality was blasted clean out of the water when my father marched into the therapy room. And he wasn’t alone. He had Jennifer Collier and a cameraman with him.
“There he is. Our little trouper,” Father said with a strange sort of pride that felt sharp and false instead of Mom’s warm and soothing pride.
“What the fuck, Father?” I blurted, reaching for the blanket on the side of the massage table where Gemma was working with me.
I had stripped down to my underwear so Gemma could get at all the scars. Mom and Boston were there with permission and I didn’t feel self-conscious around them anymore. Father hadn’t earned that level of trust, and inviting Jennifer and her cameraman in was a massive violation of my privacy.
“Pietro! What are you doing?” Mom snapped, sharing my aggravation.
Boston said nothing, but slipped into place between me on the massage table and the cameraman. He glared at the beta behind the camera and reached for the lens. The cameraman was smart enough to back away and lower the camera before Boston crushed it like it was made of sugar.
“Hi, Lucien,” Jennifer said in her usual bright and bouncy way. “Your father tells me today is a red-letter day for you. We wanted to come along and share it with you, and maybe share it with the entire skating world.”
“Excuse me,” Gemma said, coming to my defense as fiercely as Boston. “It’s a huge violation of medical privacy law for you to just barge into a treatment room like this. The hospital has a whole team of lawyers, and believe you me, we will not be afraid to use them.”
“I’ve spoken to the lawyers,” my father said, looking at Gemma like she was a bug. “We’ve been cleared to enter.”
“But you?—”
“So, Lucien,” Jennifer cut Gemma off, maneuvering closer to the massage table so that she could wedge Gemma out of the center of activity entirely. “How goes your recovery?”
I’d scrambled to sit and put my shirt and sweatpants on during everyone’s protests, but I was reasonably certain the cameraman had already gotten a quick but good shot of mymangled body. “It’s going fine,” I growled, then launched right into, “I don’t want you here. This is private. You have no right to surprise me like this, without warning or permission.”
Jennifer’s face pinched with desperate awkwardness. She glanced to my father, which was all I needed to know what was really behind this surprise. “I’m really sorry, Lucien,” she said, changing her tone to the off-camera way she’d always talked to me. “I wasn’t aware you didn’t know we were coming. Pietro said you were interested in doing a human-interest piece for us to air during the Winter Games about your recovery.”
“I’m not,” I said flatly, glaring at my father.
“I warned you about being difficult,” my father said with a scowl, not hiding his contempt for me, even from Jennifer. “Just do the interview so you can bow out of the sport gracefully.”
My eyebrows shot up, although the scarring on the left side of my face made the expression of shock lopsided and strange-looking. Even Jennifer looked uncomfortable with everything my father was saying.
I shifted to look Jenn in the eyes and said, “I’m not bowing out of professional skating. I fully intend to work with my therapy team to get my body back into competitive shape, and Iwillcompete at the Winter Games in three years.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Father said. He addressed Jennifer with all his charm turned up and said, “Lucien knows he can’t compete anymore. He’s dating the firefighter who pulled him out of the burning rink, Mr. Boston Fielding here.” He gestured to Boston who glared knives at him. “Things are going great between the two of them. We expect a certain announcement any day now. Lucien couldn’t have found a better alpha to settle down and start a family with. I’m sure I’ll have a whole team of skating grandchildren in no time.”
I narrowed my eyes at my father. His words seemed well-rehearsed and thought out, like a script.
“Is that true?” Jennifer asked, blinking genuinely at Boston. “Are you the firefighter who rescued Lucien?”
“I am,” Boston said, arms crossed, still standing half in front of me.
