Page 11 of The Last Pirouette
Another shove from behind nearly sent her tumbling forward. She squeezed her eyes shut, her heart hammering against her ribs. For a terrifying moment, she lost her balance, her crutches flailing uselessly in the air.
Then, a presence materialized beside her.
Liam.
He didn't say a word, didn't even make eye contact. He simply positioned himself a step below her, creating a physical barrier between her and the surging crowd. Harper could feel the solid presence of his body, a reassuring anchor in the chaos.
He quietly, but firmly, said, "Watch it," and "Make some room," his voice a low rumble that somehow cut through the noise. People seemed to instinctively respond to his calm authority, parting to create a small, but significant, space around her.
Harper felt a surge of conflicting emotions. Relief, certainly. But also humiliation. And a simmering anger that threatened to boil over.
He continued to clear a path for her, his movements efficient and purposeful. Step by step, they descended, the crowd gradually thinning as they reached the relative calm of the concourse.
Once on the flat ground, Harper whirled on him, her voice a low, furious hiss. "What was that?"
She planted her crutches firmly on the ground, her body rigid with tension. She refused to meet his gaze, focusing instead on the faded logo on his hockey jersey.
"You think I can't handle a flight of stairs?" Her voice trembled, betraying her carefully constructed facade of indifference. "I don't need you to play the hero, Liam. Save the charity for someone who wants it."
Each word was a carefully aimed dart, intended to wound and repel. She wanted to see him flinch, to see a flicker of annoyance or frustration in his eyes. She wanted him to understand the depth of her resentment, the burning shame she felt at being reduced to this: a helpless, broken version of her former self.
But Liam didn't rise to the bait. He didn't defend himself, didn't offer a platitude about just trying to help. Instead, he met her furious glare with a calm, almost weary expression.
"It's not charity, Harper." His voice was quiet, but firm, devoid of any trace of mockery or condescension. "I just know what it's like to feel stuck while everyone else is moving."
The words hung in the air between them, a fragile bridge spanning the chasm of their animosity.
Harper's carefully constructed wall of anger began to crumble. His words were unexpected, a direct hit to the core of her pain. She had expected him to be glib, to dismiss her feelingsas melodramatic or attention-seeking. She had expected him to treat her like a charity case, someone to be pitied and patronized.
But he hadn't. He had spoken to her as an equal, someone who understood the unique agony of being sidelined, of watching life unfold from the suffocating confines of immobility.
For the first time, she saw him, not as a cocky hockey player, an obstacle to her recovery, but as someone else trapped in a similar purgatory. Someone who knew what it felt like to be left behind.
The realization was unsettling, a crack in the carefully constructed narrative she had built around their interactions. She had cast him as the enemy, the embodiment of everything she had lost. But now, she was forced to confront the possibility that he might be something else entirely.
Her anger faltered, replaced by a confusing, unsettling flicker of connection.
Liam held her gaze for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the throng of students heading back towards the gymnasium.
He made the deliberate choice not to engage with her anger, not to perpetuate their endless cycle of conflict. Instead, he offered a single, vulnerable truth and then retreated, giving her the space to process it, to grapple with the confusing emotions churning within her. It was a surprising display of maturity, a stark contrast to the boisterous, impulsive persona he usually projected.
Harper was left standing alone in the loud, echoing concourse. The roar of the crowd returning to the game was a dull buzzin her ears, a distant echo of a world she no longer felt a part of. She replayed Liam’s quiet statement in her mind, each word reverberating with a new and unsettling resonance.
I just know what it's like to feel stuck while everyone else is moving.
She watched his back as he disappeared into the crowd, the image of him clearing a path for her warring with her long-held resentment. Was it possible she had misjudged him? Was there more to Liam Hayes than the annoying, relentlessly optimistic jock she had initially dismissed?
The interaction left a crack in her defensive armor, a small, but significant breach in the wall she had so carefully constructed around her heart. For the first time, she questioned if she had been wrong about him.
Maybe, just maybe, he wasn't the enemy after all. Maybe he was just another casualty of fate, struggling to find his way in a world that had suddenly shifted beneath his feet.
The thought was both terrifying and strangely comforting.
Chapter 8
The physical therapy center smelled of antiseptic and quiet desperation. Fluorescent lights hummed over muted blue and grey equipment, where people worked through their private agonies with forced smiles for their therapists. Harper was grimly focused on her own leg exercises, the familiar burn a frustrating reminder of her limits. Her gaze drifted across the room and landed on Liam, who was working on his shoulder with Dr. Reese. He was laughing, his usual charming persona fully engaged, but Harper, a connoisseur of hidden pain, noticed the tension in his jaw.
While performing a series of prescribed stretches, Harper subtly watched Liam. She saw him go through a range-of-motion exercise with a resistance band. For a split second, as his back was partially turned to the therapist, his face contorted in a silent grimace of pain. He caught his breath, a sharp, invisible wince, before his cheerful mask slid perfectly back into place as Dr. Reese turned to praise his 'progress'.
