CHAPTER 2
Harvey
I’m hidden from Gemma’s view as she dresses in her bedroom Friday morning, picking out a black suit for her interview.
The look on her face last night when I rejected her keeps tormenting me.
She dared ask if I love her.
She’s my girl , of course I love her.
A knock at the door halts my line of thinking, and I wheel to the front door, letting in Claire, my new nurse and PT assistant.
“Harvey.” She bows her head slightly, a shy smile on her face, her cheeks red from the cold-ass weather.
“Claire,” I mock her, wheeling myself to the kitchen.
Hiring a nurse is the biggest waste of my parents’ money. It is helpful, though, to have her assistance for Stefan’s exercises, which, as my physical therapist, he hounds my ass to do.
“I was thinking we could get some fresh air.” Her eyes sparkle with glee.
I shrug, not too keen on freezing my dick off outside, when she throws me my winter coat, and I give in, heading to put on my black boots. She has no idea how many underclothes I usually have to wear to be able to stand the cold, but I skip all of that today, thinking we probably won’t be outside for long.
I take the ramp once we’re in the backyard, while Claire sits on one of the steps on the low deck.
“Gemma has a job interview?” she asks, and she must see a stunned expression on my face, since she adds, “I saw her pass by in the hallway in a suit.”
I look away. “Yeah, she does.”
An awkward silence greets us until I hear a chuckle and something hits me lightly in the neck.
What the…
I turn and see Claire tipping her head back as I push the snow off me.
I shake my head, laughing in disbelief as she holds another snowball in her mittened hands and cocks her head to the side. “What are you, twelve ?”
She throws another one against my coat, her brow arching up in defiance, her cheeks reddening by the second.
Her fiery red hair is in a bun atop her head with a satin headband near her hairline. She’s shorter than Gemma—a bit curvier too. Her brown eyes stare at me, and something about it bothers me.
One second I’m laughing, and the next I’m telling her it’s too cold to stay out any longer. Dismissing the shock on her face from the tone of my voice, I wheel myself inside and remove my winter layers.
That’s when I realize that Gemma left without saying goodbye.
I wheel in front of the fridge and notice her message on the whiteboard, reminding me of the charity event tonight.
“Here.” Claire hands me my pills, as if I can’t do this myself. “Don’t roll your eyes, Harvey. Gemma prefers I do this.”
“What about what I prefer?” I ask dully.
“That’s a valid point. You can take it up with her.”
Some days it’s like I have two mother hens catering to me, ensuring I don’t break. Don’t even get me started on my mom and her endless text messages.
“Ready to start?” Claire asks, and I meet her question with a shrug.
I so badly want to ask her what made her go to college and study hard, only to end up with a patient like me—one who can do loads on his own.
I doubt she’ll stay here long.
The long line of nurses before her certainly didn’t. Though the first nurse I had after the accident lasted a while.
Claire sets up all the PT equipment in the living room. Then she takes out an iPad, no doubt going through Stefan’s charts.
My parents are essentially paying for two physical therapists, yet they’re too obsessed with McKleen, despite my once or twice a month appointment, to let him go. He’s good at his job, but he’s pushy.
Claire’s new, and while my parents hired her for her nursing qualifications, it turns out she has the added bonus of being a PT assistant as well.
While I wait for her to finish setting up, I play a game on my phone.
“Did it feel good?” she asks suddenly.
I pull my eyes away from my phone. “Did what feel good?”
“Going outside, silly,” she teases with a small smile.
I nod, pocketing my phone.
I spend a long time stretching until we’re at the part of my training where I need to walk .
Some days I remind myself that life isn’t as bad as I make it out to be, while other days I want to vanish.
Claire hovers close to me as I slowly stand up. She holds on to one side of my waist, then my arm, to ensure I’m steady.
“I can walk to the bars myself,” I remind her harshly.
The distance is pretty minimal.
“Okay. I’m sorry.” Her cheeks turn red, and I disregard the tiny prick of guilt I feel at being rude. Then I walk slowly, one step at a time, toward the two bars.
“You’re good?” she confirms.
I nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
I wait for her to walk behind me, standing near enough in case I fall. Unlikely, but I never know.
Our bodies can be our best friends or most treacherous enemies.
Mine is even more fickle that way.
Sometimes it progresses, and then it takes several steps back, as if the hard work meant nothing.
“I’m right behind you,” she reassures me.
I place each hand on a bar, clearing my throat as I take one step forward. The leg that used to give out from time to time isn’t doing so lately. It’s getting stronger, hence why Stefan’s been pushing me harder.
My hands are sweating as I take two more steps, quicker this time.
The things I fucking took for granted.
My core muscles are spasming as I take a few more steps. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I knew that it was possible, but to have it come to fruition is a dream come true.
Due to my degree of spinal injury, with incomplete damage to the spine, I was able to take small steps here and there right after the accident to shower, get on my lowered bed, and eventually transfer myself to the passenger seat of our modified van.
But this is different, more . It’s so different indeed that I’m wiping the sweat off my face with my white tee when I finally reach the end of the bars.
We do a set of roughly ten other exercises, and I’m completely exhausted by the time we’re done.
Claire gives me a high five, and our hands lock for a second too long. I pull back my hand, needing a shower. “You did good, Harvey.” She gives me an encouraging smile.
“Thanks.”
The following Wednesday afternoon, Claire is still encouraging during PT, and I’m just as spent.
Gemma started her new job today. I mean, of course she got the job; they would’ve been stupid not to hire her. Still, my insecurities got the best of me all morning until I convinced myself that this was a good thing for Gemma and that I needed to be proud of her.
The smell of Claire’s cooking coaxes me to the kitchen after showering, which brightens up my mood a little.
“Claire,” I say, noticing the bacon and egg bagels with tomato and avocado, “you’re not my nanny. You don’t need to make me food.”
“I know.” She lifts her shoulder. “But I don’t mind. You must eat.”
“Well, thanks, as long as you have one too.”
“Okay.”
We eat in silence at the table, and it should be awkward, but weirdly it’s not. I was a little annoyed at her earlier because she’s here instead of Gemma, but it’s also not Claire’s fault.
“This is really good.” I lift the bagel, by way of an olive branch.
“One of my specialities.”
“What other specialties do you have?” I throw her way without even thinking about it. It’s not until I see her blush that I realize the possible insinuation. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”
She waves one of her hands in the air, telling me she loves cooking and baking. Then she asks me about my own hobbies. I reluctantly mention drawing as I finish eating, before heading to my room.
Despite feeling drained from PT, I take out my black sketchbook, knowing that Gemma would be in heaven if she saw me drawing again.
So for her I open the book and grab a charcoal pencil and start drawing. It’s literally dark chaos seeping over the page. The lines blur, the tip of the pencil adding a savage blend mixed with anger.
I stop what I’m doing eventually and reach for my phone to text Gemma to ask about her day. That’s when she calls. And I shut my eyes, letting her soft tone ease my guilty conscience.
Because I’m a prick to her sometimes, and I don’t know why. And then I wonder why she’s still here after everything I’ve put her through.
She asks what I’m doing, and I can almost hear the smile in her voice when I tell her that I’m drawing. After our call, I keep going. My art is a mess once it’s finished, yet I sign it, then throw the sketchbook on my desk.
Then Henrik calls me.
“What’s up, bitch?” he says when I pick up.
“You know that’s not how phones work, Hen. I’m supposed to greet you.”
He laughs. “How’s the first day without the lady? You watching porn on AirPlay?”
I laugh because my brother’s an idiot, but I love him to death. “No, dumbass.”
“Your loss. I have a break between classes.” Some days I’m surprised Hen takes college seriously enough to even attend class. “Wanna hang out for an hour or two?”
“Yeah, sounds good to me.”
We hang up, and when Claire leaves and Hen finally shows up, we play Call of Duty on the PlayStation in my room.
“How’s school going?” I ask him. I never know with him—he’s either barely studying and acing all his classes anyway, or he’s flunking the hell out of them.
“School blows, but again so do the ladies.”
This is what Henrik does—he makes people feel better.
I owe him my life.
Him and Gemma.
I don’t know what I’d do without them.
And I hope I never have to find out.