Page 5 of The Last Pirouette
Liam's smile faltered slightly, but he quickly recovered. "Come on, don't be like that. We're a team now. We have to support each other."
"I don't need your support," Harper said. "I just need you to stay out of my way."
He chuckled, seemingly unfazed by her hostility. "That's not very sporting of you. I was planning on being the best recovery buddy ever. I was even going to bring you motivational posters and healthy snacks."
Harper rolled her eyes. "Spare me."
"Alright, alright," Liam said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I get it. You're not a fan of the buddy system. But we're stuck with each other, so we might as well make the best of it. How about we coordinate our schedules? Find some times when we can work out together?"
Harper's dread deepened. This was even worse than she had imagined. "I'm not coordinating anything with you," she said. "I have my own routine, and I don't need you messing it up."
"Suit yourself," Liam said with a shrug. "But I'm going to be there for you, whether you like it or not. Consider me your own personal cheerleader."
Harper made the cold, deliberate decision to shut Liam out completely. She would be so uncooperative, so utterly resistant to his attempts at friendship, that he would be forced to request a new partner. It was the only way to salvage what was left of her sanity.
Liam saw the partnership as a new challenge and a welcome distraction from his own anxieties about his future. The therapy program was beginning to feel less like a route to recovery andmore like a prison sentence. The constant, repetitive exercises highlighted everything he couldn't do, every movement that caused a jolt of pain through his shoulder. The pressure from his dad to get back on the ice, to secure that scholarship, was relentless.
He interpreted Harper's overt hostility not as genuine dislike, but as a competitive fire he understood. She was hurting, he could see that, but she was also a fighter. And Liam knew how to deal with fighters.
He resolved to break through her icy exterior with relentless positivity, believing it was a game he could win. He'd seen that look in other players' eyes – the determination, the drive, the refusal to back down. It was the same look he saw in the mirror every morning.
He just needed to find the right way to spark it.
Harper finished her routine and packed her bag, pointedly ignoring Liam as he hovered nearby. As she struggled slightly with the weight of her bag while navigating her crutches, he moved to help.
"Got that for you," he said, reaching for the strap.
Harper yanked it away sharply, glaring at him. "I don't need your help," she bit out, before turning and limping out of the gym without another word.
Liam was left standing alone in the middle of the room, his hand still outstretched, the cheerful grin finally fading into a more thoughtful, determined expression. He watched her go, the silence of the gym suddenly amplifying the sound of her crutches against the linoleum floor.
He wasn't sure what he had expected, but it definitely wasn't that. He was used to people liking him, charmed by his easygoing nature and optimistic outlook. He was the guy everyone wanted on their team, the one who could always crack a joke and lighten the mood.
But Harper was different. She was like a locked door, guarded by a fortress of ice and sarcasm. And for some reason, Liam felt an almost irresistible urge to find the key.
Chapter 4
The physical therapy room was sterile, the air thick with the scent of antiseptic, a sharp, unwelcome contrast to the familiar rosin and sweat of the dance studio. Harper was already there, seated on a therapy table, her spine ramrod straight. She meticulously adjusted the Velcro straps of her leg brace, each movement precise, deliberate, a futile attempt to regain control in a situation that felt entirely beyond her grasp. A knot of dread tightened in her stomach.
The door swung open, a burst of hallway clamor momentarily shattering the oppressive quiet. Liam entered, seemingly propelled by the sheer force of his own boundless energy. He grinned, a flash of white teeth against tanned skin, and the boisterous cheerfulness of a hockey rink seemed to spill into the sterile room with him. Harper’s carefully constructed bubble of control popped.
“Well, hello there, partner,” he said, his voice loud, unapologetically optimistic. “Ready to get broken... I mean,bettertogether?”
Harper didn’t even bother to look at him. “Just getting started,” she muttered, her voice flat.
Liam didn’t seem to notice, or perhaps he just didn’t care. He bounced on the balls of his feet, surveying the room like he was sizing up the competition. “So, what’s on the agenda for today, Rehab Queen?”
She bristled at the unwanted nickname. “Don’t call me that.”
“Okay, okay,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “No need to get your leotard in a twist. Just trying to lightenthe mood. This place is about as cheerful as a dentist’s waiting room.”
Harper finally glanced at him, her expression one of thinly veiled irritation. "Some of us aren't here for a minor inconvenience, Liam."
His smile faltered for a fraction of a second, but he quickly recovered. "Hey, an injury is an injury, right? We're all in the same boat, paddling our way back to… well, whatever we were doing before we ended up here.”
"That's where you're wrong," Harper said, her voice barely a whisper, "we're not in the same boat."
Liam blinked, his usual playful demeanor momentarily subdued. “Right,” he said, a newfound caution entering his tone. “Okay. So, how about we make the best of it, yeah? Turn this… this torture chamber into, like, a training montage?”
