Page 6 of The Last Pirouette
He gestured around the room with a flourish. “I’m thinking Rocky IV. We can race each other on those stationary bikes. Winner gets… bragging rights. And maybe I can fashion a trophy out of popsicle sticks or something.” He grinned again, a hopeful, almost boyish expression on his face.
Harper stared at him, her expression unchanging. "No, thank you."
He blinked. “No, thank you?” He repeated, incredulous. “That’s it? No witty retort? No cutting remark about my artistic abilities? I’m almost disappointed.”
Harper reached for her earbuds, a clear signal that the conversation was over. She slipped them in, the familiar strains of a Bach cello suite filling her ears. The music was severe, disciplined, demanding – a stark contrast to Liam’s lightheartedbanter. She focused on her movements, each stretch, each flex, executed with a grim, almost punishing precision. She was building a wall of silence, brick by agonizing brick.
Liam watched her for a moment, his good humor visibly deflating. He opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it. He let out a frustrated sigh. After a moment, he grabbed a resistance band and started his own exercises, his movements powerful but lacking Harper's sharp precision.
The only sound in the room was the rhythmic whir of the exercise machines and the faint, tinny music leaking from Harper’s earbuds. The silence was heavy, charged with unspoken resentment and a growing sense of misunderstanding.
Harper was working on a hamstring stretch, her leg extended, reaching for her toes. It was a movement she had performed thousands of times, a fundamental part of her daily routine. Now, it was an exercise in frustration and pain. Her muscles screamed in protest, tight and unyielding. She pushed harder, ignoring the warning signals, driven by a desperate need to reclaim some semblance of her former flexibility.
Suddenly, a sharp, searing pain shot through her leg. She gasped, her vision momentarily blurring. Her leg seized, locking into place with a sickening throb.
“Harper!” Liam’s voice cut through the fog of pain.
He was beside her in an instant, his hands reaching out instinctively to help. But as soon as his fingers brushed against her arm, she flinched violently, recoiling from his touch as if he had burned her.
“Don’t!” she snapped, her voice sharp and laced with a raw, almost frantic edge. “Don’t touch me.”
Liam froze, his hands hovering in the air. He stared at her, his expression a mixture of confusion and hurt. “I was just trying to help,” he said, his voice subdued.
“I don’t need your help,” she spat, her chest heaving. She focused on her breathing, trying to control the pain that was now radiating through her entire leg. “Just… back off.”
He hesitated for a moment, then slowly withdrew his hands. He took a step back, giving her space. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay, I get it.”
But she didn't think he did. How could he?
Harper bit her lip, focusing on the burning sensation in her leg. She forced herself to breathe slowly, deeply. The pain gradually subsided, leaving behind a dull, throbbing ache. She carefully straightened her leg, wincing at the movement.
Liam watched her, his eyes filled with concern. He remained silent, respecting her space, but his presence was a palpable weight in the room.
The rest of the session passed in strained silence. Harper continued her exercises, her movements stiff and mechanical. Liam went through the motions, his usual energy noticeably subdued. The air between them was thick with unspoken resentment and misunderstanding.
As the session drew to a close, Harper gathered her things with a brisk, efficient air. She avoided eye contact with Liam, her expression a carefully constructed mask of indifference.
“See you tomorrow,” Liam said, his voice tentative.
Harper didn’t respond. She just turned and headed for the door.
He sighed, a sound of pure frustration. “Seriously? Not even a goodbye? What is yourdeal?”
Harper stopped at the doorway, her back to him. She gripped the handle tightly, her knuckles white. “My deal,” she said, her voice tight with barely suppressed anger, “is that my career is over. My life is over. And this…” she gestured vaguely at the room, at the exercise machines, at him, “…this isn’t some game to me. So, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you’d just leave me alone.”
She turned to face him, her eyes blazing with a mixture of pain and fury. “You know, Liam, you remind me of one of those… those human golden retrievers. All sunshine and boundless enthusiasm. It’s… exhausting.”
Liam's face hardened. “And you’re an ice queen, all cold and untouchable,” he shot back. “It’s okay to let people in, Harper. But you keep building these walls, and soon enough, you’ll be trapped inside them.”
"Oh, I'm already trapped, Liam." She spat back.
He took a step towards her, his jaw tight. “That’s not true,” he said, his voice low and intense. “You don’t have to be.”
Harper scoffed. “Easy for you to say, hockey star. You’ll be back on the ice in no time, scoring goals and basking in the glory. Meanwhile, I’ll be here, hobbling around like some broken-down ballerina, trying to remember what it felt like to fly.”
“That’s not fair,” he said, his voice laced with hurt. “I’m not… I’m not trying to…”
“What, rub it in?” she finished for him, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Of course not. You’re just trying to be helpful. It’s what you do, right? Fix things with your golden retriever charm.”
