Chapter 4 #3
Margaret didn’t move. She just stood there staring, her mind replaying the action as he’d levered himself upright.
She’d seen him do it a thousand times. It was how he got up from a prone position: shove himself up and then grab something to haul his body into his wheelchair.
But never once had his legs moved. Not to bend into a loose cross-legged position.
Not. Once. And had he felt it when she poked him in the leg? And…
“Um, how do your feet feel now? Still cold?”
He dropped his head into both hands. “A little, but warming up. Why?”
Her heart raced, and she clenched her mug of coffee until her knuckles went white.
Gary dropped his hand and frowned at her. “Margaret? You okay?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I’m fine. But how do you feel?”
“Like shit. Why?”
“How do your feet feel?”
He stared at her then abruptly down at his lower body. “They feel cold, Margaret. They feel cold!” He ripped the blanket off in one excited move, and there he was in all his naked glory. But the focus was on his feet.
“Can you move them?” she asked.
“I’m trying,” he said.
Nothing was happening.
“But you did a moment ago. I didn’t realize it at first, but you did. Your foot twitched.”
“Are you sure? I mean—”
“Yes, I’m sure.” She hadn’t imagined that, right? “Don’t think about this. Just do it.”
His expression said everything. How could he not think about it?
“I know, I know,” she admitted. “That was dumb.”
He blew out a breath. “No, it wasn’t.” He looked at her. “I’m going to think of something else entirely. I’m going to look at your beautiful face and your sweet smile.”
“Don’t look at me,” she said, though his words warmed her. “I’m a mess.”
“Never. Not even with your rat’s-nest hair, those wide eyes, that kissable mouth, and those breasts I’ve wanted to—”
“You moved! Your toe moved!” She focused on his feet rather than what he was saying. One problem at a time.
“I didn’t feel anything. Are you sure?” he asked.
No, not one hundred percent. “But you said your feet were cold, right?” She squatted down and wrapped her hand around his foot. “Can you feel that?”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Poke it or something. Don’t let me see.”
Hm. So he couldn’t feel her hand on his foot? She released him and stabbed her finger into the arch of his left foot, then waited, her gaze on his face.
No reaction.
The disappointment was crushing, but she didn’t give up. She took her nail and ran it up the sole of his foot. She’d barely gone halfway from heel to toe when he was twitching away.
“It moved! You moved!” she cried.
He opened his eyes, his expression confused. “But I didn’t feel anything.”
“Look.” She did it again, sharp nail straight up from the bottom to the top. He twitched away.
He didn’t say anything, just stared. So, she did it again, three more times with the same result.
“But I don’t feel it,” he said quietly. “I don’t feel anything.”
“But this is good, right? This is new.”
Gary nodded slowly, his gaze going to her face.
He opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out, and she saw confusion in his expression, coupled with hope and despair.
She knew what he was thinking. Sometime in the last two years he’d finally accepted that he was a paraplegic, with all the discomfort, lack of dignity, and problems that entailed.
He’d accepted, adjusted, and conquered. But now, suddenly, hope was being held out to him again? The possibility of normal mobility?
It was a struggle to believe. And, hope was the most dangerous emotion of all. What if it all amounted to nothing?
“No need to figure things out right now,” she said, squeezing his hand, trying with a touch to tell him that she was here for him. “We’ll go to the doctor. Maybe—”
“I need the bathroom,” he said, his voice flat.
“Don’t shut down on me, Gary! Don’t give up on this.”
“I’m not,” he said, though his voice belied it. “I just need the bathroom.”
Of course he did. So she leaned down.
He was a big man, but she was strong and helped get him into his wheelchair like she had a million times before.
She was about to say something funny—anything to get him to smile—when he wheeled himself into the bathroom and rolled shut the sliding door.
Cranky much? She was still dithering about what to do when she heard him cry out.
Not in pain, but in surprise and maybe a little fear.
She was at the bathroom door in a flash, but she hesitated to burst through. “Gary?”
“I’m fine,” he called, and she didn’t detect a lie. When he spoke again, his voice was clearer and calmer. “I’m fine.”
“Gary, talk to me. I’m freaking out here.”
The door rolled open and he sat there, his face pale but determined. “I felt the cath,” he said.
She grimaced. “I’m sorry. That probably hurt.”
He nodded. “It did. Like a bitch, but you don’t get it. I felt it.”
“Oh my God,” she breathed.
She reached out, and he gripped her hand. “Tell me everything, Margaret.”
“What?”
“Last night. Tell me everything.”
Memories flashed through her brain in a chaotic blur: his proposal, him as a bear, her covering him with a blanket and holding his hand through the night. “You want to know about…about you changing? You know…” She took a deep breath and voiced what they both knew. “Into a bear.”
He nodded, expression grim. “Yeah. About that. And about why you won’t be with me if you love me.”
Oh hell.