Page 33 of The Last Pirouette
She curled her fingers into fists, the leather of her crutch handles digging into her palms. It felt like watching a movie of her old life, the one where she moved with grace and ease, only now the starring role belonged to someone else. He was coming closer.
Harper ducked her head, trying to disappear further into the shadow of the oak, but it was no use. Liam’s laugh, bright and unrestrained, carried across the green. He spotted her. His face lit up, the easy, golden-boy smile that used to annoy her now twisting a fresh knife in her gut. He detached himself from his teammates, jogging the last few steps toward her. Each stride was a painful reminder of what she couldn't do.
“Harper! Hey!” He stopped in front of her, slightly out of breath, but radiating an energy she hadn’t seen in weeks. “Guess what?”
She braced herself, the words already forming a lead weight in her stomach.
“Dr. Reese said I’m officially ahead of schedule. She’s clearing me for light skating drills with the team starting next week.”
He beamed, clearly expecting her to share his excitement. “Can you believe it? I’m practically back.” His tone was optimistic and hopeful, as he talked about being "ahead of schedule," completely oblivious to how his words were landing like tiny daggers.
Harper forced a smile, but it felt brittle, like thin ice about to crack. “That’s…great, Liam.”
“Great? It’s amazing! I can’t wait to get back on the ice, feel the wind in my face again.” He gestured with his hands, his movements fluid and uninhibited. “You have no idea how good it feels to actuallymoveagain.”
Each word was a slap, a reminder of the freedom he was regaining while she remained trapped. Harper’s carefully constructed composure began to fray. She focused on a patch of wilting grass at her feet, trying to ground herself, but the jealousy was a rising tide, threatening to pull her under.
“Yeah, I can only imagine,” she said, her voice tight.
Liam seemed oblivious. “I was telling the guys all about the Showcase. They’re actually kind of psyched to see the hockey-meets-ballet thing. I think we might actually pull this off, Harper.”
She looked up at him, really looked at him, and saw the genuine excitement in his eyes. He was so close to getting his old life back. He was so happy. And she…she was still stuck. The contrast was too much. The dam inside her cracked.
Harper witnessed Liam's significant physical progress firsthand. He's not just walking better; he's joking with his teammates,moving with an ease and freedom that feels like a world away from her own painful, restricted reality. The visual proof of the widening gap between their recoveries acts as the catalyst for her emotional spiral.
“Liam,” she said, her voice trembling.
“Yeah?” He frowned slightly, finally noticing the shift in her mood. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything.” The word burst out of her like a sob.
He stepped back, his expression shifting from confusion to concern. “Hey, what is it? Talk to me.”
Harper stood up abruptly, the movement sending a jolt of pain through her leg. She gripped her crutches tightly, using them as a physical barrier between herself and him. “Don’t,” she said, her voice shaking. “Just…don’t.”
“Don’t what? Don’t be happy? Don’t tell you good news?” He was starting to sound frustrated, his easy optimism replaced by a bewildered defensiveness.
“Don’t pretend like everything’s okay when it’s not!” she snapped.
Liam recoiled, his face etched with hurt. “I’m not pretending, Harper. I’m just…excited. And I thought you’d be happy for me.”
“Happy for you?” She laughed, a short, bitter sound. “Why would I be happy for you, Liam? You’re getting everything you want. You’re back on the ice, you’re impressing your coach, you’re probably going to get that scholarship. Meanwhile, I’m still hobbling around on crutches, watching my entire future disappear down the drain . But I guess this is great for you, right? Your little 'project' is all better! You can check the box, tellyour friends you 'fixed' the broken ballerina, and go right back to your perfect life!"
"Project?" Liam's face went pale, his frustration instantly replaced by hurt and confusion. "What are you talking about?"
"I heard you, Liam! With your team!" Harper's voice was shaking with a new fury, the memory fresh and raw. "'It's a project.' Was I ever anything more than that to you? Or was I just something to fix to make you feel better about your own shoulder?"
“That’s not fair,” he said, his voice low, now reeling from the combined accusations. “I’m not the one who caused your accident. And I’m not the enemy here.”
“No, you’re not the enemy,” she conceded, her anger laced with a raw, self-deprecating honesty. “You’re just…a reminder. A constant, painful reminder of everything I’ve lost.”
Liam’s confusion deepened. He opened his mouth to speak, but Harper cut him off.
“I can’t do this, Liam.” Her voice was barely a whisper, thick with unshed tears. “I can’t watch you fly while I’m still learning to stand. I can’t be your cheerleader from the sidelines of my own life.”
The goal was not to find a solution, but to articulate her despair. The tone is raw, accusatory, and deeply vulnerable, effectively ending the conversation before he can truly respond.
Liam stared at her, his face a mask of disbelief. “What are you saying?”
