Page 5 of Tethered Hearts

Matt

Matt wheeled up the ramp in front of Aunt Helen’s house and through the front door as the taxi pulled away from the kerb. His parents’ one-bedroom apartment in Sydney wasn’t suitable for his recovery, and he’d moved into his aunt’s oceanside house at Sea Haven Beach after his accident, selling his bachelor pad overlooking Sydney Harbour not long after. He’d always enjoyed visiting his mother’s sister, and when she offered for him to stay and recuperate for as long as he needed, he’d jumped at the chance. Or he would’ve if his legs worked. She’d installed ramps out the front and back of the low-set house to make it easier for him to manoeuvre around with the hideous metal contraption. Something he appreciated, but wished wasn’t necessary.

Wheeling through the house, his stomach growled after the morning’s physiotherapy session. Who knew thirty minutes of stretching could make him famished? Grabbing some bread and leftover roast beef from the fridge, he wheeled to the table to slap a sandwich together. At least Aunt Helen hadn’t needed to take out a second mortgage on the house just to feed him. His appetite had diminished now that he was no longer an elite athlete consuming ridiculous amounts of carbs and proteins every day. Still, his physio appointments made him hungry.

Much to his surprise, the morning’s session hadn’t been too bad. He’d been less than enthusiastic when the female therapist,Brie,had called his name in the waiting room. Even more so when he’d eyed her petite frame. He’d wondered how on earth she’d have the strength to manouevre his limbs through their range of motion. But his fears were soon dispelled as she ran through the session with ease. She was efficient and considerate in her care, and sure knew how to talk. Even if he’d wanted to, he wouldn’t have been able to get a word in. He’d been tempted to ask for earplugs but figured he may as well listen to her ramblings. And somehow, her smooth lilting voice had eased his frustration and lured him into a semi-relaxed state as she worked his muscles. She’d ignored his brush-offs, his grunts, and insolent behaviour, and talked to him as though they’d known each other for years. She was friendly and cheerful, and there was also something about her that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. In some ways, she reminded him of Aunt Helen, which was silly, given they were decades apart in age and looked nothing alike. Perhaps it was her calming presence, or the happiness that seemed to shine from within. Still, if she’d only talked as a means to distract him from his constant pain, then she’d done her job and then some.

The therapy sessions were never enjoyable. He’d rather not succumb to the twice-weekly torture. But if he came away feeling a small semblance of improvement, or a lightness in his spirit after just one session with Brie, then he would eagerly jump out of bed on his therapy days and make an effort. Ha. Who was he kidding? He wouldn’t be jumping anywhere any time soon. He couldn’t even walk ten steps without falling flat on his face.

“You’ve had a few phone calls this afternoon,” Aunt Helen said, coming into the kitchen as Matt ran a knife through his sandwich. “Did you know you left your phone behind?”

“Yeah, I realised when I got to the clinic. Sorry.” He whirled back to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of lemon and ginger kombucha from the supply in the door. He craved something stronger but didn’t want to alarm his aunt or bear the brunt of her disapproval by drinking so early in the day. He did his best to hide his drinking from her, keeping it mostly to his room once the sun had gone down. A closet drinker, of which he wasn’t proud, but for now it helped him deal with the wretched disappointment eroding every area of his life.

“It’s no skin off my nose.” A gush of water streamed from the tap as Aunt Helen rinsed the morning’s dishes. “I just hope it wasn’t anything important.”

“Doubt it.” He snatched his phone off the counter.

“Well, I’m off to Bible study now. Can I get you anything before I leave?”

“No, thanks.” What else did he need besides food and a bed? Aunt Helen already did enough for him. More than enough. He hadn’t asked her to sacrifice her time or open her home to help him. That was just her nature. Generous to a fault. Even though she’d been through her own battles, she was still the most selfless person he knew.

With his lunch and phone on his lap, he wheeled out onto the back deck. If there was one good thing to come out of his accident, it was indulging in this view every morning. Views of Sydney Harbour had been nice, but nothing compared to the unobstructed vista of the Pacific Ocean glistening beneath the sun. Aunt Helen had inherited the simple low-set house dwarfed by renovated investment properties on either side when her father passed away, and she’d called it home for the past ten years since becoming a widow. The yard was simple with a grassy lawn, a vegetable patch in one corner, and a gate that opened to a path cutting through the seagrass-covered dunes to the beach. It was paradise, and besides Aunt Helen, being so close to the beach was the only good thing in Matt’s life now that he could no longer use his legs.

Curious about who would be calling him, he pulled out his phone and glanced at the number of missed calls from a private number. He frowned. He rarely got a call these days. Friends and teammates had gradually stopped calling him after the accident. Who could blame them when he was so disagreeable? No one wanted to keep company with a killjoy; an angry man wallowing in misery. And it wouldn’t be his lawyers calling, given that compensation from the accident could take months. It was most likely a telemarketer, or Blayne Thornton, his manager who’d continued messaging him every couple of weeks, even after Matt told him in no uncertain terms that he wouldn’t require his services anymore. Who would want an invalid representing their brand, or giving motivational speeches to high school students? He’d blocked Blayne’s number and told him to stop wasting his time and find another athlete who was worth something to him. But Blayne hadn’t taken the hint and still checked in with him every so often.

Finally, he swiped across the screen, and sure enough, Blayne’s cheerful voice sounded through the speaker. Matt frowned and replayed the message. There was Blayne’s usual check-in to see how he was going. Then … an awards ceremony? Ha. Yeah, right. A year ago, he would’ve eagerly accepted the offer to attend one. His social calendar had been bursting with a variety of functions. Guest speaker. Check. Photoshoots for different brands. Check. He’d even put in an appearance at the national music awards. But now? Why would anyone want him as guest-of-honour at an awards ceremony? And why would anyone want to listen to him give a speech? Especially when he had nothing worthwhile to say. If they wanted someone to talk about disappointment and broken dreams, then he was your man. Since his accident, he was an expert on those topics. Depression. Discouragement. Defeat. But if they were looking for motivation and inspiration, they could forget about him and find someone else. Those were foreign concepts to him now. What good were positive mantras and motivational quotes when his scarred and shrivelled legs were a constant reminder of all he’d never be?

Placing his phone on the table, Matt popped the cap off his drink and took a long pull of the cool liquid. His gaze zeroed in on an eagle soaring high above the water. He envied its freedom. To be able to soar high above his fears and doubts would be bliss, instead of being limited by his injuries and constrained to a wheelchair, relying on others to get him through each day. Had Blayne somehow forgotten about his accident? Had he forgotten that Matt was no longer an athlete, and wouldn’t even be able to walk onto the stage? The thought of speaking in front of an audience of elite athletes churned his stomach. He’d kept a low profile since the accident, preferring to wallow in solitude. Journalists had eventually left him alone, and he’d even stopped posting to social media. What would he post about anyway? Photos of his wheelchair and his mangled legs? No one wanted to see such ugliness in their newsfeeds. His peers in the sporting industry would be shocked to see him now, and he couldn’t bear their sympathy. He already struggled with disappointment and discouragement; he didn’t need to carry the weight of others’ pity.

No. There was no way Blayne was getting him anywhere near a stage or a microphone again. There would be plenty of other suitable, able-bodied athletes to choose from. That part of his life was well and completely over.

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