Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Nash
Lucy didn’t tell her parents she was living with me. And on the one hand, given everything she’s said about them, I get it.
On the other?
I don’t like being kept a secret. I’ve brought her to family dinner and she hasn’t even told them my name. Something about that sits a little funny on my heart.
But I brush it under the rug because clearly, Lucy’s relationship with her parents is complicated.
It’s also not about me. And I know how much the distance between them bothers her.
So, I play mediator over ice cream, quietly listening as her mom gives overly positive remarks to balance her husband’s surliness, only intervening now and again to steer the conversation away from potential disasters.
Lucy’s demeanor changes. A little less like the woman I know, bright and warm and real, a little more like her mom. Smile wide and painted on. Too animated. Everything gets spun into a positive.
The ankle injury? Actually the best thing that ever happened to her because I’m the best physical therapist ever, who rehabbed her into the best shape she’s ever been in.
Her roommate in Los Angeles? Not a backstabbing, role stealing witch.
Lucy describes her as a force to be reckoned with, someone who kept her on her toes and pushed her to be her absolute best. Their apartment was wonderful.
The two jobs she worked? So much fun. Her financial situation? Nothing to worry about.
I watch this mask go on and my heart aches for her because I know all she wants to hear is that they’re proud of her. That they see how hard she’s worked and they respect what she’s done. She’s tapdancing around reality and I don’t even think she knows she’s doing it.
For her parents’ part, Lucy’s mom exaggerates surprise and wonder over everything Lucy says while her dad asks pointed questions, subtly undermining her accomplishments. I stand up for her every now and then, hold her hand the entire time.
“So, you’re a physical therapist?” Russ asks.
“Doctor,” I correct. “Emergency medicine.”
His brows furrow and his eyes darken. “But I thought you were rehabbing Lucy’s ankle.”
“That’s what makes him so amazing,” Lucy coos. “Listen to this story. Nash was my doctor the night I went to the ER, and, get this. You’ll never believe it. Do you remember Bennett? Kincaid? From middle school?”
Mom bobs her head. “He was always such a sweet boy. At one point, I thought you two might start dating when you got older.”
“Well, Nash is Bennett’s older brother.” Lucy slaps the table with her jaw dropped and an exaggerated smile.
“Can you believe the coincidence? Anyway, Bennett knocked me over a couple days after the accident and took me to Nash to make sure he didn’t hurt my ankle more.
It came out that I lost my insurance and wasn’t going to be able to afford physical therapy, so Nash, being the amazing guy he is, offered to cash in a favor with a friend who is a physical therapist and have him put together a program for me.
Then, when things got complicated with his schedule at the hospital and me not being able to drive without asking Stella for help, Nash offered me his spare room so he could help me get back on my feet. ”
Hearing the story told like that, it is quite clear why Bennett has been teasing me about Lucy from the start.
The look on her parents’ faces agrees. What kind of man goes out of his way for a patient like I have for Lucy?
A smitten man, that’s who. A man who knew exactly what he was doing, even if he didn’t admit it to himself.
“That’s incredibly kind of him.” Lucy’s mother turns to her husband who looks less convinced about my kindness than his wife and daughter.
Oblivious, Lucy beams at me. “Nash has been my guardian angel from the start.”
“How long until you’re back on your feet?” Russ asks, like there’s only one right answer and he already knows what it is. “You’re out of the boot and the crutches are gone. You seem to be walking just fine. You’ll probably be going back to Los Angeles soon.”
Lucy turns a vibrant red. “We just started calf raises with support. The ankle feels real strong, but I don’t know when I’ll be ready to go back to LA.”
Russ narrows his eyes, then turns to me. “How long until she can dance again? I mean really dance. That’s what this was all about, right? The therapy, the spare room…”
Lucy swallows. Her posture stiffens slightly, like his question is a test she’s already preparing to fail.
I squeeze her hand and answer the question her father asked out loud rather than the one he implied. “Her progress has been impressive. She’s healing faster than I expected, and we’re incorporating more advanced movements every few days. Strength, stability, range of motion—it’s all coming back.”
“But dancing at a professional level takes more than calf raises, doesn’t it?” he presses.
“It does,” I say, careful to keep my tone even. “But we’re not skipping steps. Lucy’s been disciplined. She listens to her body. We’re pacing it smart.”
Russ looks between us. “Still seems like something a licensed physical therapist should be overseeing.”
Lucy jumps in before I can respond. “Dad, Nash consulted with a licensed physical therapist. He’s not just winging it. He’s smart and capable and takes exceptional care of me.”
“I’m sure he’s very capable,” her father intones, eyes locked on mine like a challenge. “But if your dancing career is on the line, why wouldn’t you want the best support you can get? Why not skip the middleman and go straight to the expert.”
Her breath hitches. “Because I lost my insurance, Dad.”
He nods slowly, almost like he forgot. Or was trying to force her to say it. “And you’re still planning to go back to LA? To what, exactly?”
The subtle change in direction feels like a man yanking his dog’s leash out of spite. Two minutes ago, Russ was pressing her to go back to Los Angeles and restart her dance career. Now, he’s injecting doubt. He says he’s trying to help, but his tactics feel less than helpful to me.
Lucy’s mouth opens. Closes. Her free hand fists on the table.
“There’s not really anything to go back to right now,” she admits. “My roommate sublet the apartment when she left on tour, so I’d be starting over again out there. Finding a place. A job, maybe two, while my agent lines up auditions.”
Russ’s brow lifts. “So, you’re stuck. No options for work as a dancer here, no education to fall back on, and nothing waiting for you in Los Angeles.”
Lucy flinches. I want to reach across the table and shake the man.
“I’m not stuck,” Lucy says softly. “Just… figuring it out.”
He leans back with a satisfied sort of smirk, like her floundering just proved a point he’s been trying to make since she left home. “You’re twenty-six. If you haven’t figured it out by now, when will you?”
“With all due respect,” I say with surprising restraint, considering I want to punch the man in his mouth, “I’ll remind you to keep things civil. Lucy didn’t ask to get injured. She didn’t quit her job. She’s one of the hardest working, most resourceful people I know.”
“And she has me to thank for that,” Russ mutters.
Lucy tenses beside me. My pulse spikes.
And that is officially all I can take. “If you mean your lack of true support meant she learned how to support herself, then sure. I guess I can see that.”
“That’s enough.” Lucy’s voice is sharp now. “This does not feel civil at all.”
Russ holds up his hands, mock surrender. “I’m not judging. Just making observations.”
Lucy stands. “Well, I’m done being observed. Thanks for the ice cream.”
Her mom rises quickly. “Lucy, wait—”
But Lucy’s already halfway to the exit. I don’t hesitate, standing to follow, but Russ catches my eye just before I go.
“You seem like a decent guy, Dr. Kincaid. And it seems like you’re going out of your way to help my daughter.”
“Lucy is a remarkable young woman.”
“I know.”
“If that’s true, maybe it’s time you started to act like it.”
Russ Calder makes a face I can’t unravel and that appears to be the end of the conversation.
I turn my back to the man and follow Lucy out of the bakery.
Despite my utter dislike for the man, I can’t deny that he asked good questions—hard questions, rude questions—but important ones about what comes next for Lucy.
I thought it would be as simple as rehabbing her ankle and getting back to work.
But what if there’s nothing in Los Angeles for her to go back to?