Chapter 12
Dan’s brothers-in-law, Jarrell and Marco, were always eye-rolling over how walking with small children anywhere took forever.
They weren’t wrong. But as Dan dawdled, stopped-started, and dawdled again next to Libby and Karim on the road that would eventually take them to the harbor, he decided that having his speed governed by a two-year-old, and whatever caught that two-year-old’s attention, was far better than being governed by the ache in his hips.
He really needed to ramp up his physio again, which was one of the reasons they were heading to the harbor. A swim would make him feel weightless as he loosened his body, and his exercises wouldn’t be so painful.
“I swear I heard you laugh back there with those kids,” Libby said as Karim picked up another stone off the road. “They were funny.”
“They were annoying,” Dan corrected. If he’d been by himself, he’d have shooed them away a lot sooner, but there was Libby, always with the questions—what’s it like living on this tiny island?
Where did they go to school? What subjects did they study?
—and they’d ended up staying for almost an hour, until someone called for them from across the bushes to come back home.
“But talking about your accident made you feel a little better, didn’t it?” Libby said.
“Yeah.” Dan frowned. He’d surprised himself with those kids earlier, answering their questions so honestly.
Talking about the accident had actually been okay, probably because—much like Libby—those kids didn’t care who he was or what he did.
They weren’t out to make a load of money off the back of his injuries. “I suppose so.”
Since he’d spoken to his mum last night and had taken off on this side trip to Atiu with Libby, his heart was feeling a lot lighter. Especially now that he could relax here, without the risk of a journalist sneaking around him for a story.
Now that the announcement about his and Issy’s split had been made, he could only guess at the crap that was being written about him.
No doubt the media had dredged up a few photos of him looking glum and depressed, maybe even a few of him in a wheelchair or on crutches.
The speculation as to the real reason they’d broken up would be rife and going viral.
Not that anyone would know about Hunter.
They’d all blame the accident for their split, not the fact that squeaky-clean pop princess Isabella had fallen in love with a married man. A super-famous married man.
Everyone would be focusing on Dan and his being changed as the real reason for their split.
They wouldn’t be far wrong, either. When the cast on his leg and the bandages around his shoulder had come off, the look in Isabella’s eyes wasn’t quite repulsion, nor quite disgust. But more like, Fuck, I’m trapped.
He’d hated her politeness, her disappointment, and he’d hated himself even more for pushing her away with his mood swings.
None of it had been easy for her either. Had he expected too much from her?
“If talking about your accident helped, then maybe you should do it more often?”
Dragged out of his thoughts, Dan glanced across at Libby, who was patiently waiting for Karim to drop another stone into his pushchair.
“A problem shared is a problem halved,” she continued. “Talking is good therapy.”
“So I’ve been told.” He’d spoken to a few therapists after his injuries. Or rather, they’d tried to speak to him.
“Maybe if you talked more publicly about your accident and how you feel,” Libby said, “maybe it could help other people in the same situation.”
“Yeah, my agent, Suzanne, said the same thing a few months ago. She tried to coax me into giving a few interviews, but I knew it was only because the press was offering a lot of money.”
“And…um…you didn’t take the offer?”
“No, of course I didn’t. Just the thought of speaking to those obnoxious journalists makes me want to punch a wall. They don’t care about me or about helping other people. They only care about money.”
Libby’s brow creased. “Well, not all journalists are like that…”
“They make a living out of other people’s misery,” Dan continued.
All the violation he’d experienced came flooding back.
“Two weeks after I came out of my coma, a photo of my leg, all mangled, still in stitches, hit the internet. A journo paid a hospital porter ten grand to take it. It’s disgusting. ”
Libby chewed on her lip. “I guess you can still talk to other people, though—if you wanted to. Someone who’s not like those reporters you keep mentioning. Someone who’s more like a friend.”
Dan shrugged. “Maybe.”
But what was there to say, anyway? He’d woken from a coma. Discovered he could no longer do the one thing he was born to do. Lost his career, the full use of his left leg, and his fiancée.
Where were the words to describe how that felt?
Mostly, he didn’t even want to think about it.
And at the end of the day, it was nobody else’s business but his.
The harbor was little more than a couple of concrete walls, about twenty meters wide. With no boats moored, Dan swam gently across, back and forth, warming up his body. Libby and Karim played at the water’s edge, counting pebbles as they made a little stone tower.
Man, she had patience.
And how did she do everything on her own?
Dan’s only experiences of parenting were his nieces and nephews—which he handed back to his sisters and their partners afterwards.
After losing Dad, he’d looked after Femi and Gabi during Mum’s bad days.
But his sisters hadn’t been little then, like Karim.
They’d dressed themselves for school, so all he’d had to do was make their lunch and check that they’d brushed their teeth.
Floating closer to Libby, Dan asked, “How old was Karim when you started to travel?”
“Twelve months.”
“What made you do it?”
“My parents, mainly.”
“That’s great they’re so supportive.”
“Oh, good god, no!” She laughed. “After living with them again for almost a year, I couldn’t wait to leave.”
“Don’t you get on?” Dan sat in the shallow water and stretched his hamstrings.
“We don’t not get along,” Libby said, “but they’re hard work.”
“How come?”
“Well, for one, they’re so negative. Like, everything is conspiring against them. Politics, law enforcement, any establishment or figure of authority. Mother Nature. You name it, they’ve got a conspiracy theory for it.”
“Seriously?” This wasn’t what he’d been expecting at all, not when Libby appeared to be so grounded, practical, and so full of positive energy.
“They don’t believe in the moon landings,” she added, “and they literally think the Earth is flat.”
“No way. You’re winding me up.”
“I wish I was, but it’s true. It’s one of the reasons I became…”
“What?”
She shrugged. “Why I became who I am.” Smiling at her son, she placed another stone on their already crumbling tower and added, “I think our parents shape us, one way or another. I just hope I shape Karim in a good way. I’d hate to screw him up.”
“I can’t imagine that you will. You seem like a good mum.”
“Thanks. You really think so?”
“I do.”
Her smile turned up several notches of brightness, lighting up her whole face.
Dan smiled back, and a glimmer of that first night when he’d arrived at Are Moana came back to mind.
Old Hehu had been right. Libby was very pretty.
Why had she worn those over-the-top, glittery eyelashes on the flight?
She didn’t need stuff like that, but before he could ask, she said, “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful to my parents.
They took me in and gave me a place to stay when Elliot dumped me and I had to move out of his apartment. ”
What? He’d made her move out when she was pregnant?
“Hey, don’t look at me like that, Cranky. I got the prize, remember?” Libby nodded toward Karim, who was now sitting between her legs and throwing his pebbles into the water. “I don’t want anything to do with anyone who rejects my child.”
There was a hint of bitterness there, quickly covered up with that dazzling smile and the obvious joy that lit her face up every time she looked at her son.
But what was it like to live such a nomadic lifestyle as a single parent? How did she support herself and Karim financially? Did her shitty ex pay toward Karim’s upbringing? Seeing as it didn’t sound like that turd was still involved in any way, the answer was probably no.
“So, you see, Cranky, to quote a very famous song, everybody hurts, sometimes.” Her tone was perky, all sunshine and rainbows and a hundred percent Libby Jones. “I hope you deal with your hurt like I dealt with mine.”
“By traveling the world?”
“By getting on with your life. By chasing your dreams.”
He snorted at that. “I’ve already chased my dreams. I became the fastest man in the world.”
“Then maybe it’s time you thought about what comes next.”
After their swim, Dan visited the island’s three shops and bought a few supplies for dinner while Libby stayed outside chatting with a couple of local women on mopeds.
When he joined her again, Karim had fallen asleep in his stroller, which meant they had more freedom to explore on the way back to their hostel.
They visited the Christian church, its cool, echoey interior a welcome relief from the midafternoon heat outside. Then they bought tickets to the charity dinner dance thing that Andrea had told Libby about.
Later that evening, back at their hostel, Dan cooked a stir fry with the vegetables and rice he’d bought. Cooking helped his mind switch off, but it was hard to shake Libby’s words from earlier.
What comes next?
That question had been rattling in his head since he’d woken from his coma.
What was a changed former athlete to do with the rest of his life?