CHAPTER 4
Claire
Today’s a beautiful, sunny Thursday in January. It snowed last night, and the trees looked mesmerizing on my way to work this morning.
“So he’s doing okay during the day?” Gemma asks me, dressed in a nice burgundy pencil skirt and cream blouse.
Why doesn’t she simply ask him?
I mean, I feel like a part of me knows why she doesn’t. When I see them together in the morning before Gemma leaves for work, I can sense the tension between them.
He barely responded to her earlier when I heard them talking in his room shortly after I got here. I wonder if they’re fighting about her new job and if that’s why Harvey’s mood has been up and down.
“Yes.” I nod. “He is.” I don’t tell her that her boyfriend can be a pain in the ass. Instead, I smile sweetly, knowing she at least wants me here more than he does.
“Okay.” Her lip twitches, and she exhales loud enough for me to catch it. She stares at his bedroom door, pushing a strand of amber hair behind her ear.
She’s stunning. There’s no other way to put it. There’s also a serene, mysterious appeal to her. I find her genuine.
But by God, does she ask questions.
Harvey’s parents may be covering my pay, yet she’s asking all the questions. Some of them make sense. Some of them are pushy.
I mean, it’s clear to me as a nurse that Harvey could very well be at home independently every day. But it’s not my place to question their motives.
I leave Gemma be and head to their living room, placing the floor mats all over before setting up the parallel bars.
“I’m off to work,” she says eventually.
“Okay. Have a nice day!” She smiles back at me. It’s impossible not to notice how much weight she’s lost since I started working here. I told her so recently, though now I feel bad—it’s none of my business.
I might start bringing food over to make for myself and Harvey. I’ll keep the leftovers for her, in case she’s hungry. I’m sure she’ll settle into her job soon and realize that Harvey’s doing well.
My stomach starts growling, so I set off to make eggs, toast, and bacon for us. Gemma insisted that I can help myself to anything to eat, not that I’ll continue doing so. But Harvey must be fed. It’s rule number one that I learned with my dad and Audrey.
Food comes first. If not, beware .
This will energize Harvey and give him fuel for the rest of the day.
Once I’m done prepping and setting the food out on the table, I knock on his bedroom door and peek my head inside, not wanting to intrude on whatever he’s doing.
He’s playing the same video game, and it beats me how people can stand gaming. Audrey seemed addicted to Fortnite growing up, but she’s over it now, thank God.
“I made breakfast. Come eat, then we can start training.”
“You didn’t have to make me breakfast.”
“I know,” I tell him. “But I wanted to, and I made some for myself as well. Come, come!”
He doesn’t share my enthusiasm as he nods. I leave the door open and head back to the kitchen to take a seat at the lowered table.
The house is well equipped for Harvey. Gemma told me that after the accident, his mom wasted no time renovating their new home to fit his needs, and I think that’s great. I’m sure it made some things a little easier for him.
Ten minutes pass before he wheels himself next to the kitchen chair and swiftly transfers into it. He’s still in gray joggers, except today he’s sporting a long-sleeved burgundy tee.
I stare at his handsome face, then quickly look away before I annoy him.
He digs into his food, and with each bite, the shift in his expression is obvious. I would wager a hard bet that he’s underfeeding himself, and more PT means he’ll be hungrier as well.
“How did you feel after training yesterday?”
“Fine.”
“Alright.” I give him a small smile, taking another bite. Once I’m done, I rinse everything before placing the dishes in the dishwasher.
“I’m going to take a break to digest,” Harvey says, leaving me.
I frown when I notice that he left his plate, glass, and cutlery on the table. He didn’t even bother bringing them to the kitchen sink.
I follow him as he heads to his room. He turns rapidly then, not having expected me to follow.
“You should put your dishes away after someone cooks for you.”
He shrugs without a care in the world. “I never asked you to. Good to know your gesture came with strings.”
I scoff. “You can still help, Harvey. At the very least, you say thank you . It’s not that hard.” I release a shaky breath, knowing I shouldn’t have said that, but hoping to get my point across.
He raises his brow. “Think you have me all figured out now?”
I shake my head. “No, not at all.”
“Exactly. You don’t know a thing . And you know what else, Claire ? My ass in this chair means there’s a lot of things I can’t do!”
“That’s not what I… It doesn’t have to…”
That isn’t what this is about.
“Get out.”
His words hit me to the core, and my hands are trembling. How could I be so stupid? Everything was going so well this morning, and I had to mess it up.
I stare at the back of his head, seeing him shake it while he continues gaming, as if he can’t believe my audacity.
Neither can I.
I hate confrontations, I really do. But he’s often in a confrontational mood. It’s hard not to get myself worked up if I want to reach him.
I clear my throat. “Be in the living room in half an hour.”
“Fuck your training.”
“Harvey, please .”
I leave him be. Hoping that time will distance him from his ego.
I tidy up the kitchen and then finish setting up the rest of the equipment before I realize he’s not going to leave his room.
So I spend my time scrolling through Instagram, sending reels to my college friends. All of them took jobs out of state or overseas. Some days I really miss them. It would be nice to vent to them about how much of an ass Harvey can be, but I refrain. It’s not professional, plus I have my mom for that.
Surprisingly, not long after, Harvey shows up.
He avoids my stare and gets himself off his chair and onto the bars without much difficulty. I stand behind him, giving him some much-needed space.
And he goes hard at it.
And it makes me proud. That he’s taking his time, pushing through the trembling, letting it pass before moving forward at his pace.
His burgundy shirt is soaked with sweat at the end, so is his forehead. He’s red in the face, giving him a boost of color.
I wish he could see himself right now, the way I see him.
“You have it all wrong,” I whisper. “Not saying thank you or bringing your plate to the sink when you can, that can be avoided. But someone like you, in a wheelchair…” I laugh lightly, shaking my head. “The mental strength it takes each day to push yourself repeatedly while your body might not be cooperating, especially surrounded by judging eyes… Let’s just say the rest of us will never ever be able to comprehend that.”
His Adam’s apple moves, constricting in the middle of his sweaty neck. His blue eyes are blazing at me on full alert. He heard my message loud and clear, and, well, hopefully it gives him something to think about.
“Thank you for breakfast.”
I’m beaming, there’s no doubt about it. “My pleasure, Harvey.”