Chapter 3
The physical therapy center was a symphony of quiet suffering: the low hum of treadmills, the rhythmic stretch of resistance bands, and the muffled groans of athletes pushing past their limits.
Harper was in her own world, focused on the agonizingly slow extension of her knee, her face a mask of concentration.
The air smelled of antiseptic and sweat.
She blocked out everyone, especially the obnoxious laughter coming from the corner where Liam, the hockey captain, held court with his buddies, turning his own recovery into a performance.
Each degree of bend felt like a tiny victory, a defiant act against the metal and screws holding her leg together.
She inhaled deeply, bracing herself against the burn, willing her muscles to cooperate.
Almost there, she thought, picturing the angle her therapist, Dr. Reese, wanted her to reach. Just a little further.
The sound of a hockey stick banging against the floor echoed through the room, followed by a burst of male laughter.
Harper’s jaw tightened. Liam. He was like a human noise machine, radiating an energy that felt almost personally offensive.
He had no idea what it was like to truly lose something, to have your entire identity ripped away.
She focused on her breathing, willing herself to ignore the distraction.
Ballet required an unparalleled level of concentration, and she wasn’t about to let some loudmouthed jock derail her progress.
Even if that progress felt agonizingly slow, a glacial crawl compared to the leaps and turns she used to execute with ease.
Just when she thought she could manage another millimeter of extension, Dr. Reese, a woman with a no-nonsense demeanor and kind eyes, clapped her hands to get everyone's attention, silencing the gym.
"Alright, everyone," she said, her voice carrying a gentle authority. "I have an important announcement regarding a new initiative we're launching here at the center."
Harper sighed inwardly. Just what she needed – another disruption to her already fractured routine.
She glanced around the room, noticing the mixture of curiosity and apprehension on the faces of the other patients.
A basketball player with a knee brace, a gymnast with a wrist injury, a football player with a concussion – all united by their shared experience of physical limitations and uncertain futures.
"As you all know," Dr. Reese continued, "recovery can be a long and isolating process. It's easy to get discouraged, to lose motivation, and to feel like you're facing these challenges alone."
Harper knew that feeling all too well. The endless hours of solitary exercises, the constant reminders of what she could no longer do, the gnawing fear that she would never dance again – it was a heavy burden to carry.
"That's why we're implementing a new program designed to foster mutual motivation and combat the isolation of long-term recovery. We're calling it the 'Peer Accountability Partnership' program."
A collective murmur rippled through the room. Harper frowned, her mind already racing with objections. She didn't need a partner. She needed solitude, space to grieve, and the freedom to push herself at her own pace, without the added pressure of someone else's expectations.
Dr. Reese smiled reassuringly. "The idea is simple: we'll be pairing you up based on your individual needs and personalities. You'll be responsible for checking in with your partner, offering support and encouragement, and holding each other accountable for meeting your therapy goals."
Harper's stomach dropped. This was a disaster. She could already envision the forced conversations, the awkward silences, the constant comparisons. It was going to be a complete and utter nightmare.
Dr. Reese picked up a clipboard and began reading the pairings. "Sarah and Michael, Emily and David…"
Each name felt like a countdown to her own personal doom. She clenched her fists, willing Dr. Reese to skip over her, to somehow forget that she even existed.
"…Harper Quinn and Liam Hayes."
A flicker of shock, then horror, crossed Harper's face. Her breath hitched in her throat. No. This couldn't be happening.
She instinctively looked over at Liam, who caught her eye and gave her a broad, infuriatingly charming grin and a thumbs-up. He looked utterly delighted, like he'd just won the lottery.
Harper wanted to scream. Or throw something. Preferably at his head.
Dr. Reese continued, oblivious to the internal turmoil she had just unleashed. "These pairings are designed to complement each other's strengths and weaknesses, to provide a balance of different energies and perspectives. I'm confident that you'll all benefit from this program."
Harper seriously doubted that. In fact, she was absolutely certain that she would be worse off.
The group was dismissed, and a wave of chatter erupted as people began discussing their new partnerships. Harper remained frozen in place, her mind struggling to process the sheer absurdity of the situation.
She watched as Liam made his way toward her, weaving through the maze of equipment with an easy confidence that made her want to trip him. He was like a golden retriever bounding across a field, radiating an enthusiasm that felt entirely misplaced in a physical therapy center.
Before he could reach her, Harper intercepted Dr. Reese, her voice low and tight. "Dr. Reese, can I talk to you for a minute?"
Dr. Reese nodded, her expression calm and understanding. "Of course, Harper. What's on your mind?"
Harper pulled her aside, away from the prying ears of the other patients. "I don't think this partnership is going to work," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I work best alone. I need to focus on my own recovery, and I don't think Liam's… circus act is going to be conducive to that."
Dr. Reese listened patiently, her gaze steady and non-judgmental. "I understand your concerns, Harper. I know this is a change, and change can be difficult."
"Difficult?" Harper scoffed. "It's a disaster. He's going to distract me, annoy me, and generally make my life miserable."
"I chose this pairing specifically because I believe you can both benefit from it," Dr. Reese said gently.
"You have a remarkable level of focus and discipline, Harper.
You're incredibly driven and dedicated to your recovery.
But you're also isolating yourself, and that solitude is amplifying your despair.
Maybe a little bit of Liam's 'circus,' as you call it, is exactly what you need to break out of that cycle. "
Harper crossed her arms, unconvinced. "And what am I supposed to offer him? I'm not exactly a ray of sunshine these days."
"You can offer him your focus, your determination, your unwavering commitment to excellence," Dr. Reese said.
"Liam is a talented athlete, but he sometimes struggles with consistency.
He needs someone to help him stay on track, to push him to reach his full potential.
You can be that person for him, Harper."
Harper doubted that she could be anything for anyone, least of all Liam Hayes. But she could see that Dr. Reese's mind was made up. Arguing further would be futile.
"I'm willing to try," she said reluctantly, "but if it doesn't work, I want to be reassigned."
Dr. Reese smiled. "That's all I ask, Harper. Give it a chance. You might be surprised at what you discover."
Harper doubted that very much.
As she turned to leave, she saw Liam waiting for her by the water station, his energy practically vibrating in the air. He grinned as she approached.
"Looks like we're linemates, Ballerina," he declared cheerfully, completely misreading her stony silence. "Ready to get back in the game?"
Harper gritted her teeth. "Don't call me that."
Liam blinked, momentarily taken aback. "Sorry. Didn't mean to offend. So, uh, rehab buddies? Recovery partners? What's our official title?"
"I don't think we need an official title," Harper said coldly. "Just do your exercises and leave me alone."
Liam's smile faltered slightly, but he quickly recovered. "Come on, don't be like that. We're a team now. We have to support each other."
"I don't need your support," Harper said. "I just need you to stay out of my way."
He chuckled, seemingly unfazed by her hostility. "That's not very sporting of you. I was planning on being the best recovery buddy ever. I was even going to bring you motivational posters and healthy snacks."
Harper rolled her eyes. "Spare me."
"Alright, alright," Liam said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I get it. You're not a fan of the buddy system. But we're stuck with each other, so we might as well make the best of it. How about we coordinate our schedules? Find some times when we can work out together?"
Harper's dread deepened. This was even worse than she had imagined. "I'm not coordinating anything with you," she said. "I have my own routine, and I don't need you messing it up."
"Suit yourself," Liam said with a shrug. "But I'm going to be there for you, whether you like it or not. Consider me your own personal cheerleader."
Harper made the cold, deliberate decision to shut Liam out completely. She would be so uncooperative, so utterly resistant to his attempts at friendship, that he would be forced to request a new partner. It was the only way to salvage what was left of her sanity.
Liam saw the partnership as a new challenge and a welcome distraction from his own anxieties about his future.
The therapy program was beginning to feel less like a route to recovery and more like a prison sentence.
The constant, repetitive exercises highlighted everything he couldn't do, every movement that caused a jolt of pain through his shoulder.
The pressure from his dad to get back on the ice, to secure that scholarship, was relentless.
He interpreted Harper's overt hostility not as genuine dislike, but as a competitive fire he understood. She was hurting, he could see that, but she was also a fighter. And Liam knew how to deal with fighters.
He resolved to break through her icy exterior with relentless positivity, believing it was a game he could win. He'd seen that look in other players' eyes – the determination, the drive, the refusal to back down. It was the same look he saw in the mirror every morning.
He just needed to find the right way to spark it.
Harper finished her routine and packed her bag, pointedly ignoring Liam as he hovered nearby. As she struggled slightly with the weight of her bag while navigating her crutches, he moved to help.
"Got that for you," he said, reaching for the strap.
Harper yanked it away sharply, glaring at him. "I don't need your help," she bit out, before turning and limping out of the gym without another word.
Liam was left standing alone in the middle of the room, his hand still outstretched, the cheerful grin finally fading into a more thoughtful, determined expression. He watched her go, the silence of the gym suddenly amplifying the sound of her crutches against the linoleum floor.
He wasn't sure what he had expected, but it definitely wasn't that. He was used to people liking him, charmed by his easygoing nature and optimistic outlook. He was the guy everyone wanted on their team, the one who could always crack a joke and lighten the mood.
But Harper was different. She was like a locked door, guarded by a fortress of ice and sarcasm. And for some reason, Liam felt an almost irresistible urge to find the key.