Chapter 2
The physical therapy room was a symphony of sterile white and the low hum of machinery.
It smelled of antiseptic and quiet desperation.
Harper moved through her prescribed exercises with a chilling, robotic precision, her face a blank mask.
Each painful extension of her leg was a fresh reminder of the career she lost. She was a ghost in this bright room, treating her recovery not as a path forward, but as a punishment to be endured in silent, sullen compliance.
The stationary bike mocked her with its promise of movement, her injured leg a lead weight resisting every rotation.
She focused on the digital display, each number a tiny act of defiance against her body’s betrayal.
Ten minutes. Then fifteen. The clock ticked slower here than anywhere else in the world, each second an agonizing eternity.
“You’re going to wear that thing out, ice princess.”
Harper flinched, the unexpected voice shattering the fragile shell she’d constructed. She refused to look up. This wasn't a social hour; it was penance.
“Seriously, you’re like a machine. A very intense, very pale machine.”
The voice was laced with amusement, a bright, shiny sound that grated on her nerves. She pedaled harder, willing him to disappear. This was her time to suffer. Her private purgatory.
A hockey bag landed nearby with a muffled thud, the sound echoing far too loudly in the otherwise silent room. Harper gripped the handlebars of the bike, knuckles white. The air, already thin with the scent of disinfectant, now vibrated with an unwelcome energy.
“Hey, Dr. Reese! How’s it hanging?”
The voice again, booming across the room, followed by a series of rapid-fire questions about workout routines and protein shakes. Harper squeezed her eyes shut. He was like a human noise machine, a walking, talking violation of the sacred silence she craved.
“Alright there, Liam,” Dr. Reese replied, her tone laced with a weary good humor. “Knock it off with the gym-bro routine, okay? I’ve got patients trying to concentrate.”
Liam. Of course. She’d heard whispers about him in the hallways, the golden boy of hockey, sidelined by a shoulder injury that threatened his scholarship. She’d pictured someone stoic, a fellow sufferer navigating his own quiet hell. Not… this.
“Concentrating is overrated, Doc. Gotta keep the vibes high, you know? Positive energy only!”
Harper opened her eyes a fraction, just enough to catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye.
He was taller than she’d imagined, all broad shoulders and easy smiles.
His dark hair was tousled, as if he’d just run his hands through it, and his eyes were bright with an almost unsettling optimism.
He was wearing a hockey team t-shirt, the fabric stretched tight across his chest, and his easy confidence radiated like heat.
She hated him. Instantly.
“Alright, alright,” Dr. Reese chuckled. “Why don’t you hop on the leg press? Just take it easy, remember what we talked about.”
“Easy is my middle name, Doc. Liam ‘Easy’ Hayes, at your service.”
Harper felt a surge of irritation so potent it almost made her gasp. Easy? He had no idea what easy was. Easy was gliding across a stage, weightless and free. Easy was losing yourself in the music, every movement a perfect expression of emotion. This… this was anything but easy.
Dr. Reese, oblivious to the storm brewing within Harper, gestured towards the leg press machine directly to Harper's right. "Why don't you start there, Liam? Harper can show you the ropes."
Harper's head snapped up. Show him the ropes? Was she invisible? Deaf? Did she not radiate enough ‘leave me alone’ energy?
Liam grinned, flashing a set of ridiculously perfect teeth. “Sounds like a party. Ready to get those quads burning, ice princess?”
She didn’t respond, focusing her gaze on a spot somewhere over his left shoulder. She would not acknowledge him. She would not engage. She would simply endure.
He didn’t seem to notice, or perhaps he didn’t care.
He sauntered over to the leg press, his movements loose and fluid, a stark contrast to the stiff, deliberate way she moved.
He tossed his hockey bag onto the floor with another jarring thud, then began adjusting the seat and weights with an irritatingly casual air.
“So,” he said, his voice loud enough to carry over the hum of the machines. “You new here? I haven’t seen you around before.”
Harper remained silent, her jaw clenched.
“I’m Liam, by the way. In case you were wondering. Which, you know, you probably weren’t. But hey, a guy can dream, right?”
She ignored him.
“Guess not. Okay, well, nice to… share this moment of awkward silence with you.”
He paused, seemingly waiting for a response that wasn’t coming. Harper pedaled on, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps.
Finally, he sighed. “Alright, alright. Play it your way. But just so you know, misery loves company. And we’re officially rehab buddies now, so you’re stuck with me.”
He winked, then turned his attention to the leg press, completely unfazed by her icy demeanor. Harper stared straight ahead, willing herself to disappear.
“Alright, Harper, how’s that leg feeling?” Dr. Reese asked, her voice gentle but firm.
Harper barely glanced at her. “Fine.”
“Fine? Or are you pushing yourself too hard?”
“Fine,” she repeated, her voice flat and devoid of emotion.
Dr. Reese sighed softly. “Remember, it’s not about how fast you go, it’s about consistency. We want to build strength, not cause more damage.”
“I know,” Harper said, the words clipped and precise.
“Are you experiencing any pain?”
“No.”
Dr. Reese hesitated, her eyes searching Harper's face. “Alright. But please, listen to your body. Don’t be afraid to tell me if something doesn’t feel right.”
Harper didn’t respond, simply nodding curtly before returning her attention to the bike. Dr. Reese watched her for a moment longer, then turned away with a look of concern.
Liam, who had been watching their exchange with a curious expression, turned to Harper with a playful grin. “Wow, tough crowd. You’re giving off some serious ‘don’t talk to me’ vibes. What’s the deal, ice queen?”
Harper refused to meet his gaze. She pedaled faster, her muscles burning, her lungs aching. She was a dancer. Or at least, she had been. And dancers didn’t waste their energy on pointless conversations with loud, obnoxious hockey players.
Liam chuckled, then began loading weights onto the leg press with a surprising amount of ease. Harper stole a glance at him, her eyes narrowed. He was showing off, she was sure of it. Trying to intimidate her with his superior strength.
“So,” he said, positioning himself on the machine. “Rehab buddies, huh? That’s what the Doc said, right? Guess we’re in this together.”
He paused, waiting for a response. When none came, he shrugged. “Alright, whatever. Your loss.”
He took a deep breath, then began pushing the weight with a grunt. Harper watched him, her expression unreadable. He was strong, she had to admit. But strength wasn’t everything. Strength couldn’t buy you grace, or artistry, or the ability to express yourself through movement.
He did several reps, his muscles straining, his face flushed. Harper felt a flicker of something she couldn’t quite identify – envy? Resentment? Disgust? – before quickly squashing it down.
He finished his set with a groan, then sat back, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “Man,” he said, breathing heavily. “That’s… tougher than it looks.”
Harper remained silent, pedaling on, her face a mask of indifference.
He chuckled again. “Alright, ice queen. Keep your secrets. I’ll crack you eventually.”
Harper finished her session with a sigh of relief, her muscles aching, her mind exhausted. She slowed the bike to a stop, then carefully dismounted, her injured leg protesting with a sharp stab of pain.
She grabbed her crutches, then began navigating her way towards the door, moving stiffly and deliberately. She couldn’t wait to escape this sterile prison, to retreat back into the quiet solitude of her own misery.
As she passed Liam, who was now effortlessly pushing what seemed like a ridiculous amount of weight on the leg press, he called out, his voice casual. “See ya tomorrow.”
He didn’t look at her, his focus entirely on the machine. His tone was light, almost dismissive.
Harper didn’t acknowledge him, didn’t even glance in his direction. She simply kept moving, her gaze fixed on the door.
But as she pushed through the heavy metal frame and into the hallway, she couldn’t escape the sound of his easy laughter with Dr. Reese, a bright, cheerful sound that followed her out into the world, a stark contrast to the silent misery she carried with her like a second skin.
His booming voice and easy laughter felt like a personal mockery.
In that moment, she decided he was not a good person.