Page 23 of The Last Pirouette
And then it hit him. He wasn't just seeing limitations. He was seeing a fight. A quiet, fierce battle waged in every strained muscle, every shaky breath, every determined step. He saw the beauty in their adapted movements, the strength in their resilience. They weren't dancers or athletes at their peak, but they were warriors, carving out new possibilities from the wreckage of their old lives.
A new sense of purpose surged through him, eclipsing the self-centered regret that had been gnawing at him all morning. He couldn't fix things with words. He couldn't rewind time and unsay his stupid, thoughtless comments. But maybe, just maybe, he could do something to shift the focus. To turn the spotlight away from what they’d lost and onto what they were fighting to regain.
He stood, his mind already racing, and made a beeline for Dr. Reese's office. He needed to talk to her. Now.
He found her reviewing files at her desk, her brow creased with the kind of focused intensity he usually associated with Harper. He knocked lightly on the open doorframe.
"Dr. Reese? Got a minute?"
She looked up, her expression softening slightly. "Liam. What can I do for you?"
He could tell she was surprised by his seriousness. Usually, he breezed in with a joke or a casual greeting. But the last few days had changed him, he thought. Or maybe they'd just peeled back the layers, revealing something he hadn't even known was there.
“I have an idea,” he said, trying to keep the urgency from his voice. “About the center. About… everything.”
Dr. Reese gestured to the chair opposite her desk. "Have a seat. Let's hear it."
He sat, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. “I’ve been thinking… we need to change the narrative here. Shift the focus."
"What do you mean?" she asked, her gaze steady.
He took a breath, gathering his thoughts. “Everyone here is working so hard, pushing themselves to overcome these incredible challenges. But all anyone sees – alltheysee – are the limitations. The things theycan'tdo anymore. It's… demoralizing."
He paused, searching for the right words. "What if we created something that celebrated their progress? Something that showcased their resilience, their strength, their… movement?"
Dr. Reese tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. "Are you suggesting some kind of performance?"
"Exactly!" Liam said, hope surging through him. "A 'Showcase of Movement.' A fundraiser for the center, but not just some boring gala. A real, honest-to-God showcase of what these patients can achieve. Not about perfect performance, but about celebrating the journey, the fight, the adapted movements that are just as beautiful, just as powerful, as anything they did before.”
He could see the skepticism in her eyes, but also a flicker of something else. Interest, maybe? Or at least a willingness to listen.
"Think about it," he continued, his voice gaining momentum. "Mrs. Davison on the treadmill, not just shuffling along, but conquering every step. That gymnast on the balance beam, not falling, but finding her center, her strength. We could choreograph routines, adapt exercises, turn therapy into art."
Dr. Reese steepled her fingers, her gaze fixed on some point beyond him. “It's an… ambitious idea, Liam. Logistically, it would be a nightmare. And then there's the issue of patient privacy, emotional vulnerability…”
He knew those concerns were coming. He’d anticipated them, wrestled with them in his own mind. "We'd get consent, of course," he said quickly. "And we'd be sensitive, respectful. But I honestly believe the psychological boost would be enormous. It would change the narrative from 'what we can't do' to 'look what we can achieve.' It would give them a sense of purpose, a reason to keep fighting."
He leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly. "And it would be a damn good show."
Dr. Reese was silent for a long moment, her expression unreadable. He could feel his hope dwindling, the initial surge of energy fading into a familiar sense of disappointment.
Then, she spoke, her voice softer than before. “You know, when you first came in here, all cocky smiles and effortless charm, I thought you were just another golden boy, coasting on your natural talent.”
He winced inwardly. He’d heard that before.
“But,” she continued, her gaze meeting his, “I’m starting to think there’s more to you than meets the eye.”
He held his breath, waiting.
“This showcase… it’s a good idea, Liam. A really good idea. It could be exactly what this center needs.”
Relief washed over him, so potent it almost made him dizzy. “So, you’re saying… you’re on board?”
She smiled, a small, impressed smile that made his heart skip a beat. “I’m saying I’m willing to consider it. But there are a few conditions.”
He’d expected that. “Name them.”
“First,” she said, ticking off a point on her finger, “we need to form a committee. Involving staff, patients, maybe even some community volunteers. We need to make sure everyone is on board and that we’re addressing all the potential concerns.”
