wrong answers. Just write how you feel.”
“But, Doctor—”
“No buts.” He took her arm and gently guided her toward the door. “You can do this, Vanessa. It’ll help you get better, okay? See you next week.”
Traffic was light, and the gods were kind. Forty-five minutes at mostly ninety miles an hour helped him reach the airport within minutes of Nicki’s arrival. Jennifer had suggested he send a car service. Much too impersonal for his queen, and for someone who’d experienced a career-threatening injury less than a week ago. He wanted to get her himself.
He parked the car and went inside, hoping she’d take his advice and use a wheelchair instead of trying to navigate the busy airport on crutches. So independent, his private dancer. A trait that over the years had often put them at odds. It had taken less coaxing than expected for her agreement to recuperate in Paradise Cove. And while he’d not promised that the specialist he’d lined up could cut her recovery from six weeks to four, it was a carrot he’d gladly dangled to bring her home.
Once inside he looked at the monitor for her flight number. The plane had landed. Most likely, she was on her way down. He checked his phone. There was a text from his mom.
Dinner with Nicki? Private room @ the club?
He quickly responded. Thanks, Mom. Not tonight.
Sunday brunch?
We’ll see.
He looked up just as a set of elevator doors opened. A heavily wrapped ankle supported by an Aircast was the first body part through the doors. It was Nicki, busily texting while the wheelchair assistant pushed her toward baggage claim. Just as she looked up, his phone dinged.
He walked to her, smiling. “Is that a message telling me you’ve arrived?”
“Yep.”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a wad of bills, peeled off a twenty and tipped the assistant. “Thanks, buddy. I’ll take it from here.”
“It’s okay,” Nicki protested. “I can walk.”
“Perhaps. But what you will do is accept the generous offer to be ferried in your silver chariot from this building to my car.” He leaned down and kissed her scowling lips. “You’re welcome. How was the flight?”
“Fine, since I slept through most of it. Doctor gave me pain meds. Can’t feel the throbbing ache in my ankle, which is great. But I end up not feeling much of anything else, either.” She pointed out a large piece of hard plastic luggage with a colorful strip of material wrapped around the handle. “That’s mine.”
Julian retrieved it. “How many more?”
“That’s it.”
“You packed clothes for a four-to six-week stay in one suitcase?”
“You said I’d be treated by the best...what did you call him?”
“An orthopedic specialist.”
“Yeah, him.”
“Even the most gifted doctor cannot make the body heal faster. Here, you roll the suitcase and I’ll roll you.”
“If you insist.”
“I do.”
Julian quickly got Nicki settled into the front seat, and less than an hour from when he’d arrived at Oakland International Airport, they were headed back to PC. With rush-hour traffic waning, he set the cruise control to a law-abiding seventy miles per hour.
“You were supposed to call me last night.”
Nicki spoke through a yawn. “Forgot.”
“That was disobedient. When we get home, I’m going to have to spank you.”
“Lucky me.”
Said so sincerely and with such deadpan disinterest that Julian burst out laughing.
“So...what’s the official verdict? Broken?”
“Technically, no, and did you know that an actual break or full tear of the ligament and tendons would have been better than the partial tears that I have?”
“I’d heard that before.”
“I hadn’t. Doesn’t make sense that a more serious break would heal faster.”
“Life doesn’t always make sense.”
Nicki fell silent. When they were together, she was usually the more talkative of the two. It was one of her traits that made them such a perfect couple. People didn’t recognize how quiet Julian was when he and Nicki were together. The rare occasions when she was quieter than Julian were very obvious. Like now, when the only sound was the neo-soul on Julian’s playlist.
He looked over. “You okay?”
She didn’t answer right away. While staring out the window she finally replied, “Not really.”
“I understand.”
Nicki made a skeptical snort. “Please.”
“I do, babe.”
“You have no idea what I’m going through.” Nicki’s piercing look was only matched by the ever-increasing volume of her delivery. “How could you? You’re not a dancer! You haven’t been working toward a dream for well over ten years and then right when you are just about there, so close you can throw a rock and hit it, and thirty years old, something happens that takes it all away. Unless that exact thing has happened to you, there is no way you can relate.”
Julian became silent, subconsciously and without thought interpreting the behavior from a professional perspective. Hurt. Fear. Disappointment. Misplaced anger. Nicki had lashed out at him, but her anger was actually toward the situation and the man on the bike who’d instigated it. Fear of the unknown and the unproductive projecting of a worst-case scenario upon an unpredictable situation. Understandable, considering the fickle nature of entertainment. In one day and out the next. That’s why he knew better than to comment. There was no right answer for this type of reaction.
The silence lasted through two more songs.
Nicki repositioned her leg. “I hate when you do that.”
“What?”
“Psychoanalyze me—and don’t deny it. Over there all calm and quiet. I know what you’re doing.”
“Okay.” Said low and drawn out, as if testing the word to see if any repercussions would come along with it.
“Stop!” Nicki punched his arm, but she was smiling. “Is there ever a moment when you’re not trying to figure someone out?”
“I can’t help being who I am, love.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“You’re
