Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lucy
The gym doors hiss open behind me, releasing a wave of cool air that disappears the second I step into the heat. The sun hits me full-on, bright and brutal. I squint against it, awkwardly crutching my way toward the curb.
My ankle is throbbing, and not in that satisfying, “you pushed yourself and now you’re stronger” kind of way. More like, “you’re not exactly qualified to rehab a grade three sprain with nothing more than a few YouTube videos as guidance.”
Dr. Kincaid’s last words float back to me. “If you push it, you’ll risk permanent damage. And I will personally make sure you regret it.”
At the time, I’d felt seen. Noticed. But also, like Nash Kincaid didn’t know who he was talking to.
I mean, I moved to Los Angeles the summer after I graduated, after my father making it clear he wouldn’t be there to catch me if I failed.
Funny how that works, knowing you don’t have a safety net.
You find wells of strength and grit you wouldn’t know existed otherwise.
I’ve yet to meet a problem I couldn’t solve on my own.
Oddly enough, I spent the entire time in the gym, internally arguing with Dr. Nash Kincaid.
“If you push it, you’ll risk permanent damage.”
“Yeah, well, if I don’t push it, I risk bankruptcy.”
“I will personally make sure you regret it.”
“Yeah? Well, I will personally make sure you regret doubting me.”
Even I can see I was probably arguing more with Dad than my ER doctor. Daddy issues make life fun.
To make it worse, I can’t get Nash’s condescending smirk out of my head. Or his chiseled jawline. Or those stormy gray eyes.
Thank goodness I’ll never see him again.
I find my way to a bit of shade and scan the parking lot. No sign of Stella, my ride. The big black boot of death digs into my calf, my shoulders ache from crutching around too long, and my shirt is clinging to me in a very unflattering way. I take out my phone. No texts. No calls.
“Cool,” I mutter. “That’s fine. Being stranded in a parking lot is a vibe.”
Stella’s internal clock runs on… well… I’m not sure it runs on anything but Stella Time.
She’ll be here. There’s just no telling when.
I check my reflection in the black screen of my phone.
Frizzy hair. Shiny nose. Flushed cheeks.
Basically glowing, but like, medically. An incoming message lights up the device.
Mom.
I finally texted her the other day while Gabby and Stella were at Martha’s shower. I didn’t mention the ankle. Still haven’t.
Ridiculous, really. They’re going to find out eventually. It’s not like I can avoid them the whole trip.
Though… part of me wants to try.
I scan the message—her usual chirpy tone, happy, happy, happy, begging no one will notice how happy she’s not. I fire back an equally cheery, equally fake reply and drop my phone into my bag.
My chest feels tight. My ankle hurts. My brain buzzes.
What if I can't rehab this ankle? What if I'm trapped here, in Stillwater Bay, living on Stella's couch? Or worse, swallowing my pride and moving back into my parents’ house? What if Dad was right and I should have gone to college instead of pursuing dance?
That question totally justifies my attempt at self-rehabilitation.
I can’t lose this tour.
Without it, my future looks bleak at best.
You know what? It’s too hot to wait outside. I crutch my way back into the gym and head for the locker room to wash my face and tame the frizz. I round the corner when—
WHAM.
A body slams into mine from the side, and for a terrifying second, I wobble, dropping a crutch as I instinctively put my injured foot down. It throbs in protest, and I quickly lift it off the floor as my bag drops off my shoulder, intensifying the wobble.
A hand grabs my arm and keeps me from face-planting into the tile. “Shit! Sorry! I didn’t see you…”
I blink up at a guy—tall, broad, sweaty in a running tank.
Handsome. Dark hair, a little shaggy. Strong jaw. Kind, gray eyes…
“Lucy?” He cocks his head in question, his lips parting in surprise and suddenly, his face clicks.
My jaw drops as my eyes go wide. “Bennett?”
His name spills out on a laugh. I haven’t seen him in years, but somehow his face is still filed away under “safe,” despite the changes age has brought. My old best friend’s familiarity is somewhat disorienting.
Bennett looks horrified. “Holy shit, I literally just ran into you.”
“You did,” I say, wincing as my ankle throbs again. “Hi.”
He bends to retrieve the crutch I dropped, gathering my bag and my phone that flew out of it, then steadies me, one hand on my shoulder as I tuck my crutch under my arm while he rubs the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed.
His hair’s shorter and he’s taller than I remember.
Like, way taller. There’s something familiar in the sharp line of his jaw.
Not quite the same as Dr. Kincaid’s, but enough to spark a flicker of recognition.
“I told Nash I wanted to run into you while you were here,” Bennett says with a grin that feels like middle school days at the beach, “but I didn’t mean literally. I feel like such an ass.”
Surreal. The hot doctor I haven’t stopped thinking about was talking about me to my childhood friend. Life is really weird sometimes.
I laugh, breathless. “I’m fine, Bennett. Just rattled. Between you and that kid in the Audi, I’m starting to think I have a bullseye painted on my forehead.” I swipe at it with a grin. “I don’t right?”
“None that I can see.” He chuckles, shaking his head, then recoils, eyes narrowing. “Okay, hold up though. What exactly are you doing here, of all places?”
I lift my chin and prepare for a lecture.
So far, approximately zero people who’ve heard my plan have approved of it.
Not Stella. Not Gabby. Not even Trish, though she was the most supportive.
Probably because she’s the only one who understands the stakes.
The dance world is hard and second chances are rare. This is make it or break it time.
And I intend to make it.
“PT,” I say simply, then await judgment.
“PT?” Bennett’s eyebrows draw together. “Like physical therapy?”
“Self-directed. YouTube is a blessing for the chronically independent.” And financially ruined, I mentally add.
He scrubs a hand over his face, chuckling to himself as he shakes his head. “Nash is gonna kill you.”
Nash’s words come back to me again. I will personally make sure you regret it.
Surely that was just a cute thing he says to all his patients. He didn’t really mean anything by it.
Right?
“Why would he have anything to say about this at all?” I ask, cocking my head as I shift on my crutches. I hate these things with a fiery passion. “It’s not like he’s ever going to know.”
Bennett grins again, and I swear we might as well still be twelve, it’s that easy to be around him. “Oh, he’ll know.”
“Excuse me?”
“I saw your face when your foot hit the ground. It hurt enough to scare you.” He points at the boot. “That ankle needs to be looked at.”
I freeze. “I wasn’t—”
“You were,” he says gently. “Still trying to power through hard things, I see.”
“You caught me before I even fell.”
“Not taking chances. Not when I know a guy.”
Yeah. Sure. A guy I shamelessly hit on after questioning his medical advice. A guy who probably can’t wait to tell me exactly how stupid I was to tackle rehab myself because he’s never been in a situation where he was the only person coming to save him.
That’ll be a no thank you from me. I don’t need the embarrassment or the judgment.
I scoff. “I’d rather crutch home.”
“Nash is off today. No ER. No paperwork. Just a quick once-over to make sure you didn’t screw anything up worse.”
“I’m not going to his house or wherever you’re thinking of taking me. Stella’s coming to get me.” I check my phone. Still nothing. Not even a sorry, on my way. “I think.”
He lets out a low whistle. “Classic Stella.”
“She’s just late.”
“She’s just Stella,” he says, with a roll of his eyes.
There’s something in the way he says it—familiar, resigned, maybe even a little fond, though he’d fight me if I called him on that last one.
We were all friends for a year or two and then, something happened and our little group fell apart.
Probably just part of growing up. Boys and girls separating into young men and women.
“You two never could get along,” I say quietly.
He doesn’t argue. Just stands there, offering his hand. “You coming or what?”
I hesitate. Every warning bell in my body goes off. This is a bad idea. A hundred kinds of complicated. But Bennett’s steadier than I remember. There’s a calmness about him now, less pre-teen chaos, more grown-up gravity. I don’t know when that happened. Or why it matters.
I bob my head. “Fine. But only so you’ll stop acting like I’m made of glass.”
He grins. “You’ve always been more of a hammer.”
The corner of my mouth twitches. I remember that line. He said it once in seventh grade, after I hurled a dodgeball at a boy who grabbed Gabby’s butt. He laughed then too. Just like now. I shake my head at the memory, and he starts toward the exit.
“I’ll go get the truck,” he calls over his shoulder. “Text Stella you’re good and I’ll meet you at the door.”
I watch him go, then glance down at my phone again. Still blank. Still quiet.
This is fine. I’m fine. I’m always fine.
I haven’t seen Bennett in years and he’s just gonna drive me to his brother’s house like we’re still best friends. With Trish, there’d be an ulterior motive, but Bennett’s good people. Maybe that’s the difference between a small town and the big city.
Or maybe it’s the difference between having people around you who actually care.