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“Will be in a minute.” He forces a smile, which quickly turns to a grimace as he tries to ease himself back into the seat.
“Christ, Elliot. You’re stuck. Is it your back?” I race over and place my hand on the upper arm I’ve been admiring. “Let me help you.”
His muscle tenses under my fingers. “My back, yeah, a bit,” he says, trying to smile again like he’s in a perfectly normal position and everything is just dandy. “It’ll be okay in a minute.”
It looks like it will very much not be okay in a minute. Nor in sixty of them.
I wrap my fingers farther around the inside of his arm where the skin is extra smooth and warm. “Maybe if you could stretch out, it would be better. Can we get you to the bed? It’s just a couple of steps.”
He looks at me over his glasses. “Sure, yeah.” But there’s something in his usually calm warm eyes I’ve never seen before. It could be a hint of panic. And he likely thinks he’s hiding it.
I let go of his bicep and slip my hand under it and around his back, leaving his arm with no choice but to rest across my shoulders. He smells of delicious warm sleep. “Can you take one hand off the chair and lean on me?”
“Yup.” He might think he’s convincing, but I know his face and the sound of his voice well enough to spot the lack of surety in that answer.
“Just give it a try.” I rub his back, stroking the tense muscles. “Go slowly.”
He presses his lips together and scrunches up his eyes as he releases one hand’s grip on the chair.
“Good, now lean on me and let go with the other hand.”
“It’s okay,” he says, that forced smile back on his lips. “I can do it on my own.”
As he attempts to straighten, his entire body tenses and freezes.
“Don’t be silly, Elliot. Just put all your weight on me and let go of the chair.”
“I’m heavy.”
“And I’m stronger than you think.”
Gradually, more of his weight transfers to my shoulders as he loosens his grip on the chair.
My knees buckle a little under his weight. It’s been a few years since I helped my brother around the house all the time, but I can definitely do this.
I slide my arm lower down his back so I can grab his waist and get a better grip. “We’re just going two steps to the end of the bed. Ready?”
His chin brushes the top of my head as he nods.
He holds his other arm straight out as if balancing on a tightrope and puts his right foot in front of his left. He snatches in a loud breath. “Yup, it’s fine. Totally fine.”
Clearly it isn’t, but I’m not going to argue. “You’re doing really well. One more.”
He shifts his weight and takes another step, this time without wincing.
“Great. Now can you reach down and lean on the bed?”
“Of course.”
The confidence in his voice is belied by the gingerliness with which he reaches his outstretched arm down and leans on it. The pressure across my shoulders gradually lifts as he eases off me.
“Yes,” he says. “This is good. Much better already.”
“Yes, Elliot. I’m sure you’ll be heading out for a jog any second.”
“It’s not as bad as you think.” He looks up at me from his crooked position, one arm still around me. “I’ll be fine in a minute.”
“If you insist. For now, let’s just get you onto the bed.”
