Page 3 of The Last Pirouette
“No.”
Dr. Reese hesitated, her eyes searching Harper's face. “Alright. But please, listen to your body. Don’t be afraid to tell me if something doesn’t feel right.”
Harper didn’t respond, simply nodding curtly before returning her attention to the bike. Dr. Reese watched her for a moment longer, then turned away with a look of concern.
Liam, who had been watching their exchange with a curious expression, turned to Harper with a playful grin. “Wow, tough crowd. You’re giving off some serious ‘don’t talk to me’ vibes. What’s the deal, ice queen?”
Harper refused to meet his gaze. She pedaled faster, her muscles burning, her lungs aching. She was a dancer. Or at least, she had been. And dancers didn’t waste their energy on pointless conversations with loud, obnoxious hockey players.
Liam chuckled, then began loading weights onto the leg press with a surprising amount of ease. Harper stole a glance at him, her eyes narrowed. He was showing off, she was sure of it. Trying to intimidate her with his superior strength.
“So,” he said, positioning himself on the machine. “Rehab buddies, huh? That’s what the Doc said, right? Guess we’re in this together.”
He paused, waiting for a response. When none came, he shrugged. “Alright, whatever. Your loss.”
He took a deep breath, then began pushing the weight with a grunt. Harper watched him, her expression unreadable. He was strong, she had to admit. But strength wasn’t everything. Strength couldn’t buy you grace, or artistry, or the ability to express yourself through movement.
He did several reps, his muscles straining, his face flushed. Harper felt a flicker of something she couldn’t quite identify – envy? Resentment? Disgust? – before quickly squashing it down.
He finished his set with a groan, then sat back, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “Man,” he said, breathing heavily. “That’s… tougher than it looks.”
Harper remained silent, pedaling on, her face a mask of indifference.
He chuckled again. “Alright, ice queen. Keep your secrets. I’ll crack you eventually.”
Harper finished her session with a sigh of relief, her muscles aching, her mind exhausted. She slowed the bike to a stop, then carefully dismounted, her injured leg protesting with a sharp stab of pain.
She grabbed her crutches, then began navigating her way towards the door, moving stiffly and deliberately. She couldn’t wait to escape this sterile prison, to retreat back into the quiet solitude of her own misery.
As she passed Liam, who was now effortlessly pushing what seemed like a ridiculous amount of weight on the leg press, he called out, his voice casual. “See ya tomorrow.”
He didn’t look at her, his focus entirely on the machine. His tone was light, almost dismissive.
Harper didn’t acknowledge him, didn’t even glance in his direction. She simply kept moving, her gaze fixed on the door.
But as she pushed through the heavy metal frame and into the hallway, she couldn’t escape the sound of his easy laughter with Dr. Reese, a bright, cheerful sound that followed her out into the world, a stark contrast to the silent misery she carried with her like a second skin. His booming voice and easy laughter felt like a personal mockery. In that moment, she decided he was not a good person.
Chapter 3
The physical therapy center was a symphony of quiet suffering: the low hum of treadmills, the rhythmic stretch of resistance bands, and the muffled groans of athletes pushing past their limits. Harper was in her own world, focused on the agonizingly slow extension of her knee, her face a mask of concentration. The air smelled of antiseptic and sweat. She blocked out everyone, especially the obnoxious laughter coming from the corner where Liam, the hockey captain, held court with his buddies, turning his own recovery into a performance.
Each degree of bend felt like a tiny victory, a defiant act against the metal and screws holding her leg together. She inhaled deeply, bracing herself against the burn, willing her muscles to cooperate.Almost there,she thought, picturing the angle her therapist, Dr. Reese, wanted her to reach.Just a little further.
The sound of a hockey stick banging against the floor echoed through the room, followed by a burst of male laughter. Harper’s jaw tightened. Liam. He was like a human noise machine, radiating an energy that felt almost personally offensive. He had no idea what it was like to truly lose something, to have your entire identity ripped away.
She focused on her breathing, willing herself to ignore the distraction. Ballet required an unparalleled level of concentration, and she wasn’t about to let some loudmouthed jock derail her progress. Even if that progress felt agonizingly slow, a glacial crawl compared to the leaps and turns she used to execute with ease.
Just when she thought she could manage another millimeter of extension, Dr. Reese, a woman with a no-nonsense demeanorand kind eyes, clapped her hands to get everyone's attention, silencing the gym.
"Alright, everyone," she said, her voice carrying a gentle authority. "I have an important announcement regarding a new initiative we're launching here at the center."
Harper sighed inwardly. Just what she needed – another disruption to her already fractured routine. She glanced around the room, noticing the mixture of curiosity and apprehension on the faces of the other patients. A basketball player with a knee brace, a gymnast with a wrist injury, a football player with a concussion – all united by their shared experience of physical limitations and uncertain futures.
"As you all know," Dr. Reese continued, "recovery can be a long and isolating process. It's easy to get discouraged, to lose motivation, and to feel like you're facing these challenges alone."
Harper knew that feeling all too well. The endless hours of solitary exercises, the constant reminders of what she could no longer do, the gnawing fear that she would never dance again – it was a heavy burden to carry.
"That's why we're implementing a new program designed to foster mutual motivation and combat the isolation of long-term recovery. We're calling it the 'Peer Accountability Partnership' program."
