Page 7 of Tethered Hearts

Matt

Drumming his fingers on the arms of his chair, Matt frowned at the subtitles scrolling across the bottom of the television screen. The volume was turned so low that he couldn’t hear the news report, yet the captioned words were all jumbled, as though a toddler had been put in charge of the computer to interpret the spoken words. Slumping in his chair, he sighed. Was it really so hard to get things right? It was a simple thing, but in his dreary world, surely he could expect to listen to, or watch, a news report to pass the time. It seemed everything was getting on his nerves lately. Even more so now that he had nothing else to do but notice every detail about his surroundings. He was becoming a cantankerous old man.

The past few days had disappeared in a blur of nothingness. Even the weekend had slipped by without much of a fanfare. Days blended into one another without so much as a hint of excitement. A routine of eating and sleeping on repeat. Throw in a few appointments, and that was his life in a nutshell. He’d lost track of time a while ago. What was the point of counting the days when there was nothing to look forward to?

Aunt Helen had tried to get him to go to church on Sunday, as she did most weeks, but he’d refused. Again. He could’ve gone, just to pass the time. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do. But the thought of being around other people wasn’t high on his bucket list. Especially in a church. The pastor had visited him several times during his initial recovery phase, probably out of obligation more than anything else. He was a nice enough guy and had chatted to Matt about a lot of things, hardly mentioning his athletic career, which Matt appreciated because he hadn’t wanted a counselling session to discuss his feelings. But it had become weird when he’d prayed. Matt recalled praying as a child, but that had always been before meals and at bedtime. Nothing as personal as what the pastor had done. Talking as though God was sitting right there in the room and they were carrying on a normal conversation. It had unsettled Matt, and he’d spent the entire time with his eyes open, scanning the room in case God was going to miraculously appear. So, the thought of church and being around that weird prayer stuff was too much to deal with.

“Good morning, Matt.”

He glanced up. His pulse thumped below the surface of his skin as his gaze landed on Brie standing near the reception desk. He shifted in his chair, shoving down the unfamiliar feelings stirring in his gut. It was crazy. She was his therapist, not someone he should be attracted to. Unlike other women who had caught his eye over the years, she was by no means glamorous – dressed in capris, a collared shirt, and her dark wavy hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. But it was her smile that drew him in. So effortless, yet it lit up her entire face, as though she was really happy to see him and not just another client to cross off her list. He’d been a grouch at his last visit, and she’d continued on with her bubbly chatter regardless of his abrasiveness. And here she was again, smiling as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

“You’re stuck with me again. Martin’s going to be away longer than we thought.”

Matt nodded and wheeled ahead of her toward the large treatment room that had become so much a part of his life over the past few months. The waft of vanilla and fresh flowers filled his senses as he wheeled past, and his eyes briefly shuttered closed as he inhaled the delicious fragrance of Brie’s perfume, reminding him of sunshine and blue skies. He could almost feel the warmth on his skin and could easily breathe in her scent all day.

Get a grip, Matt.Perhaps it would be wise to ask for another therapist, given the way his veins were fizzing in anticipation of spending time with her. He used to dread Mondays and Thursdays, but he found himself eager to attend this session. Not because of the exercises. No one in their right mind would look forward to thirty minutes of torture. But simply for the way Brie made him feel. Her joy reminded him of a field of sunflowers, or sunshine breaking through the darkest of storm clouds. Crazy how after only meeting the vibrant therapist, he was suddenly eager to experience every ounce of delight she brought into the clinic.

Engaging the brakes on his chair, he shook his head at his sappy thoughts. Perhaps it was time to get out more. Find a hobby. Something that didn’t involve flowery thoughts about the first woman his age he’d interacted with in months.

Brie closed the curtains and busied herself as he hauled himself from the chair to the table, a move he’d become adept at over the past few months. He eyed her as she prepared the equipment for his session. A light dusting of freckles swept across her nose, and dark curls escaped her ponytail. Her delicate hands belied the strength she possessed, and Matt’s skin buzzed in anticipation of feeling them on him again. He ran a hand across his jaw and fixed his gaze on his sneakers, one of the many pairs he’d been gifted from his sponsors. He shouldn’t be noticing such intimate details about Brie. Was he that desperate for human connection, or affection, that his insides lit up like the Sydney Harbour Bridge on New Year’s Eve at the mere sight of his therapist?

“I thought your last session went really well.” Brie turned to face him as she squirted some lotion onto her hands. “But given that Martin is going to be away for some time, I can refer you on if you’d rather have someone else while he’s away.”

“No,” Matt barked. Had she noticed him watching her? Brie’s hazel eyes widened, and he didn’t miss the way her shoulders hitched at his harsh tone. “No, sorry. I mean, it’s okay. I’m happy for you to continue. I don’t want anyone else. You’re fine.” Great. From mute to a raving lunatic. She’d be getting a psychiatrist on speed dial soon. Thing was, he didn’t want to meet another physiotherapist. Martin had been good. Clinical and straight to the point. But Brie … she was something else. It was as though she saw him as more than just a client to cross off the appointment book. She seemed to care about him beyond his injuries. He huffed out a breath at the same time he swung his legs onto the table and waited for the physical torture to begin.

“So, what’s been happening in the world of Matt Dallimore since I saw you last?” she asked.

With hands folded over his abdomen, Matt lay supine, staring at the ceiling as Brie massaged his quads, loosening up his muscles. He was always tense at the start of a session. That old chestnut of insecurity creeping in because of the state of his legs. He’d carefully watched Brie’s reaction the first time she’d seen them. Other than a quick blink, she’d given nothing away. No horrified gasp. No cringe. No frown. No grimace or look of disgust. And for that, he was grateful. It still didn’t stop him from feeling extremely self-conscious about how hideous they were, which put his wayward thoughts about the attractive physiotherapist into perspective. He was a cripple. She was a stunning, able-bodied professional. Out of his league. End of story.

But what had been happening in his world? Not a great deal. “Same old, same old, really,” he replied. Before his accident, he wouldn’t have hesitated to talk her ear off with all that he’d been involved in. But now? Things had changed. Gone were the days where every waking moment had been dictated by his athletics career. Up early for speed sessions. Weights at the gym. Followed by meetings, physiotherapy appointments, and massages. He’d attended events, and given motivational speeches at schools, sporting clubs, and corporate functions about working hard to achieve your dreams. Dreams which were all a distant memory now, and instead of living by a strict routine, his days blended into one another with no set schedule, no strict dietary plan, and no regimented bedtime. He spent his days reading, staring at the ocean, or on rare occasions, he accompanied Aunt Helen on an outing. He rarely ventured out. It was too much of an effort with his chair. Besides, he didn’t want people staring at his legs. Or bailing him up for a chat. Or asking too many questions. Aunt Helen said he needed to find an interest. Something to keep his mind occupied. Something to pull him out of his funk. But what could he do? He wasn’t exactly capable of anything physical. Gone were the days of running. Or surfing. Or rock climbing. Aunt Helen had suggested he take up painting, or drawing, or music. But it was the twenty-first century; he wasn’t some lord from the regency era attempting to win hearts with his knowledge of Mozart or Rembrandt. She’d even suggested crochet, which he’d laughed at.

“My aunt wants to teach me crochet,” he eventually said.

Brie’s hands paused around his ankle. “Crochet. That sounds like fun.”

Matt’s abrupt laugh stabbed the air. “Seriously? I’d rather poke my eye out with the needle or whatever it is they use than sit in a crochet or knitting circle with my aunt and her friends gossiping about the latest episode ofDownton AbbeyorThe Crownor discussing their age-related ailments.”

“I don’t know.” Brie tilted her head as she worked his muscles. “Women of that vintage are quite knowledgeable on all things to do with The Royal Family. Plus, I’ve seen some pretty groovy crochet creations. You could learn to make a pair of shorts. Have you seen those?”

“What?” He snorted, unable to contain the grin breaking on his lips. “People wear crocheted shorts?”

“I know. Not exactly my thing. But, whatever floats your boat. I’ve even seen crocheted swimwear.” She leaned forward and with an exaggerated whisper, said, “They’re hideous.”

Chuckling, Matt’s gaze drifted to the ceiling, trying to dislodge images of Brie in crocheted swimwear from his mind. He needed to focus on more mundane thoughts, like how long the water stain had been on the ceiling, or how often the curtains between the cubicles were changed.

“What about you?” he asked.

“Me?” She sounded just as surprised by his question as he was asking it. It must’ve been the pain medication he’d taken earlier that morning giving him loose lips, because he’d barely spoken to her the last time they met. His communication usually consisted of grunts and monosyllabic answers. But for some reason, he was curious about Brie’s life outside the clinic when she wasn’t treating invalids like him.

“Yeah. My life’s not too exciting,” he said. “Maybe I can live vicariously through yours.” Loose lips, alright. Maybe he really was desperate for human connection. When was the last time he’d enjoyed a light-hearted conversation with someone his own age? He loved his aunt dearly, but he missed conversing with people from the same generation. His own fault, obviously, for blocking everyone out of his life. He didn’t realise how much he missed it. Or needed it.

“Well, I’m not exactly the life of the party,” Brie replied, lowering his leg and gesturing for him to sit up.

“Hello.” He waved a hand over his useless limbs hanging limply over the side of the table. “I’m not exactly kicking up a storm on the dance floor.”

With one hand on her hip, Brie tilted her head. His insides flipped about as her gold-brown eyes locked with his. “I reckon you could pull some cool moves with your chair.”

Another short laugh burst from his lips. This would go down on record as the first time he’d laughed about his situation. Some light-hearted banter with a relative stranger, and all of a sudden, he wanted to stay all day. To keep talking and laughing in their own little bubble where there was no judgement, and he could pretend that everything was all right in his world.

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