Mrs. Peters nodded and inched her hands along the bars, supporting herself that way before they took another step. “A good reason to keep going.”
“You can wait a bit more if you want to. It’s probably only...six more steps to the end. That was one. Five more.”
Other physical therapists on staff came and went with their patients during the day, but the facilities came with the kinds of equipment that made it possible to do this kind of work with only one therapist. She had safety harnesses and leads that hooked to the ceiling if the client was too heavy for the belt, but Grace preferred the belt. She’d liked it best when she’d been rebuilding her own muscle after her accident. It was smoother than the cables. Felt more secure, even if that was the opposite of true. Being connected to a person rather than some apparatus brought trust into the equation, and she’d swear that patients who could use the belt with her help got better faster.
Together they counted the steps, and once Mrs. Peters got to the end, Grace helped her turn and sit in the chair that she’d already placed there. “Let me get you some water. Don’t go walking around while I’m gone, now.”
She stepped into the storage room and snagged a cold bottle of water from the cooler. Her phone rang when she was in there. She glanced at the screen and rolled it to voice mail.
She didn’t want to talk to Nick. She was having a hard enough time finding ways to not think about Liam, without Nick talking about anything. He invariably talked about his best friend.
And she was a terrible liar, and what was she supposed to say if he asked about her weekend? Great. I went to New York and made out with your best friend who I’d currently like to strangle because he’s being a big taciturn jerk?
After the steamy kiss in the back of the limo he’d gone to his room and she to hers, and she hadn’t seen him again until the morning when Miles came to knock and give her the ten-minute warning before they went to the airport and she’d gone to Liam’s suite to wrap his ankle.
Yes, he’d accepted the ice.
He’d been polite but had slept most of the flight.
He’d taken the anti-inflammatories when she’d foisted them on him.
But what he’d refused to do was talk. He didn’t actually say, I don’t want to talk to you. There had been no yelling. He’d just failed to engage about anything.
“I’d like to watch television for a bit, Grace,” Mrs. Peters said. “I didn’t sleep well last night and feel tired today, but my son isn’t coming to pick me up for another half an hour.”
Grace flipped the brakes off on the chair and wheeled the small, frail woman around to a wall-mounted television above where the treadmills faced. She confirmed that Mrs. Peters wanted her to phone her son to come and pick her up.
She didn’t have any other clients this afternoon as her clients had been shifted to other therapists—she’d only had Mrs. Peters because of a scheduling misunderstanding.
What she should do was call Liam and check on him. Even if he didn’t want to talk to her about anything else, he was the one who had dragged her into this patient-therapist relationship, so she’d do the job she was supposed to do.
She dialed.
Liam answered on the second ring. “Afternoon, Grace.”
“Hi. Just checking on the ankle. Doing all right? Keeping it elevated? Heat instead of ice?”
“Doing all prescribed actions.”
She opened her mouth but heard Liam’s name on the television and turned to look at it.
“You’re on TV. Mrs. Peters is watching something. Interview.”
“I had a couple of interviews this morning.”
“Did you use your cane?”
“I did. And they came to the house so I didn’t have to go to them. Foot elevated and all that. I told you I’d do what you told me as soon as I was able to.”
A picture of Grace flashed up on the television, all decked out in her beautiful deep taupe, sparkly halter gown. “They asked about me?”
Watching the interview and talking to Liam at the same time was...weird.
“Is that you, Grace?” Mrs. Peters asked. “You know that Liam Carter?”
“Yes. And it’s... Yes.” She answered Mrs. Peters first and then added into the phone, “Why were they asking?”
She stopped when Liam’s eighteen-inch head began laughing off the idea of dating her. Just his physical therapist. Just a friend from childhood. Just there to make sure he didn’t do anything silly with his ankle in wraps.
“Wow,” she said into the phone, not even sure what she felt about the denial. The way bighead TV Liam phrased it, the notion was laughable. Like there had been no kissing. No history worth mentioning aside from having been childhood friends. Nothing romantic at all.
“It’s just the way you handle the press, right?” he said, trying to lead her to the same conclusion.
But all she could say was, “Wow.”
Mrs. Peters’s son arrived, having just wandered back inside from the grounds. She needed to go.
“I’ll call you tomorrow to set up your first appointment in two days.” Before he could say anything, she hung up and stashed her phone.
The chair her patient was currently using belonged to the facility, so she needed to transfer her back to her own chair and remove the belt once she was securely seated. She could think about Big Laughing Head Liam later.
Right now she didn’t have room inside her own small head for all...that.
* * *
“What the hairy hell, Liam?”
Liam winced into his phone at his best friend’s voice crackling down the line, loud and sharp enough to peel the eardrum from his ear. He’d been expecting Nick to call all afternoon, but he’d expected to get a greeting out before the expletives came into play.
It took a little effort, but he kept his voice steady and calm. He deserved his friend’s wrath, but knowing that still didn’t make it easier. “Hi, Nick. I guess you’ve been watching the gossip blogs.”
“No, television, actually. And there you were with my sister in New York. Together. Holding hands, and then more... So let me ask again, what the hairy hell, Liam?”
“I sprained my ankle.” Liam had expected a call, but for some reason he hadn’t expected anger. Even in the rare instances that he and Nick had disagreed, it had only ever gotten physical once. And that time? His temper had started it, over nothing of consequence, and it had ended after they’d exchanged punches.
He’d always skipped this part during his Interlude with Grace fantasies. Consequences were rarely fantasy material, so he’d cut off anytime his imaginings had strayed in that direction.
“And?”
