Page 12 of Tethered Hearts

Matt

“So, what’s new in the world of Matt Dallimore?”

Matt grinned as Brie took him through his warm-up exercises. He liked the way she greeted him. The way his name rolled off her tongue. It was cute how she used his full name. He didn’t know why she did it, but it made him feel special.

“What’s new? Well, I’m now a dog owner.” He’d settled onWinstonfor a name. Although small, the dog looked intelligent and almost aristocratic in the way he trotted around the house with his tail and chin in the air. He’d adjusted well to his new family, keeping Matt company wherever he went, and even slept on an overstuffed dog pillow at the end of Matt’s bed.

“Really?”

“Yep. My aunt thought it would be a great idea to get a dog to keep me company,” he said with a shake of his head, still in disbelief that she’d even considered it. He’d heard of service dogs, or therapy dogs, but had never thought he’d need one. Aunt Helen had been right, though. The last few days had been spent getting to know the ball of white fluff, and he found himself forming an attachment that he didn’t know he needed.

“Well, I agree with your aunt. What a great idea.” Brie pushed to her feet. “My dog is the best company.”

“What type have you got?”

“A Labrador. He was quite energetic when I got him, but he’s outgrown that intense craziness of destroying everything in sight, thankfully. What type of dog do you have?”

“A Maltese Terrier. One of those fluffy white lapdogs. All I need now is an oversized handbag to cart him around in.” He would never have picked a small fluffy dog for himself. He used to laugh seeing people out and about with their small canines. What was the point of having a dog if you had to carry it everywhere, or if it couldn’t keep pace when out for a run? Now he appreciated his aunt’s choice. Winston was the perfect size for his lap.

“Oh, a manbag! Perfect to match those shorts you’re going to crochet!”

He couldn’t contain the laugh rumbling in his chest. Brie’s sense of humour was something else. The banter between them was easy, and an incredible warmth settled over him. He wanted time to slow down so they could continue this back and forth exchange. He could easily listen to her all day. The soft lilt of her voice. Her melodious laugh. With her cheerful nature, she was joy personified.

“Have you got a name for your new friend?”

“Winston.”

Brie snickered.

“What’s wrong with Winston?”

“Nothing. It just sounds so … debonair. I fully imagine him wearing a monocle and a bowtie.”

“I couldn’t exactly call him Butch.”

“True. Fluffy white dogs don’t exactly make a declaration of being big and tough.”

Folding his arms, Matt cocked his head to the side. This was getting fun. Who knew small talk about dogs could distract him from the intensity of his exercises? Who knew small talk was even fun? “What’s the name of your dog?”

“Rocky.”

“As in …”

“Yep. As in Rocky Balboa. My brother was a huge fan. We watched all the movies together when I was growing up.”

“Really? That’s pretty cool he let you watch those with him.”

“My mum didn’t think so, but hey, what can you do?”

Silence descended between them, and Matt got the impression that Brie no longer wanted to talk about her family. He folded his hands behind his head as she worked his muscles, and he wondered what her family was like. Were they all friendly and cheerful like her? How many siblings did she have? Where did they live?

All too soon, the session was over. Brie wheeled in the walking frame and helped him stand. “We’re going to try something different today. You’re going to walk out to the waiting area. Jeffrey and I will be with you, and I’ll follow behind with your chair in case you need to sit down.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope.” She shook her head. “I might laugh about other things, but not your treatment. I believe in you, Matt.”

That was all the encouragement he needed as he pushed to his feet. Beads of sweat formed on his brow and his palms grew slick as they gripped the handles. Could he do this? He didn’t want to draw attention to himself by stumbling out to the waiting room. There was a difference between marching on the spot behind closed curtains and walking into a room full of people who would all be watching his snail-paced progress.

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