“But with you, he's different. He laughs and relaxes. He actually seems happy.” Danna crosses the kitchen and takes my hands in hers. “Whatever happens between you two, thank you for giving him that.”
My tears are close to falling. “I care about him a lot.”
“I know you do.” She squeezes my hands. “Now let's finish breakfast before the pancakes get cold.”
Jim joins us at the table in his wheelchair, looking better than he did in the hospital but still moving carefully. The surgery was successful, but recovery will be slow, especially with the MS complicating things.
After breakfast, I offer to help him with some exercises. He resists at first, that stubborn Ward pride showing through, but I'm persistent.
“Just some basic range of motion,” I say. “Nothing strenuous. It'll help prevent stiffness.”
“I have a physical therapist,” he grumbles.
“Now you have two.”
We settle in the living room, where there's more space. I guide him through a series of gentle movements, careful toaccommodate both his hip surgery and his MS symptoms. He's resistant at first, but slowly he starts to relax.
“You're good at this,” he says grudgingly, reminding me of Ethan.
I stifle a smile. “It's what I do.”
“Most therapists treat me like I'm fragile. Like I might break if they push too hard. You don't do that.”
“You're not fragile, Jim. You're dealing with a lot, but that doesn't make you weak.”
He's quiet for a moment, letting me manipulate his leg through a slow rotation. “How long have you been doing this?”
“Almost eight years. I worked at a hospital in Charlotte before I came to New York.”
“Are you from Charlotte?”
“Born and raised.”
“Family still there?”
“My parents are. My dad's a cardiologist. My mom is involved in charity work.”
“And you left all that to come fix hockey players in New York?”
“I left for a lot of reasons.” I help him lower his leg and move to the other side. “It was a new opportunity and a chance to prove myself in a more competitive environment.”
“Those sound like the reasons you'd put on a job application.” His eyes are sharp despite his weakened body. “What are the real reasons?”
I'm quiet for a long moment. This man has known me for three days, and somehow, he sees right through me.
“I was engaged, then I found out that he had been cheating on me.” No point in sharing the gory, embarrassing details of actually finding him in our bed with another woman.
“Ah.” Jim nods like this explains everything. “So you ran.”
“I didn't run. I left. There's a difference.”
He shoots me a skeptical look.
“Running implies I was scared, which I wasn’t. I was angry and hurt. So I took a job in New York and started over. That's not running.”
Jim studies me for a long moment. “You're right. That's not running. That's being smart.” He reaches over and pats my hand. “No wonder my son likes you. You've got backbone.”
“Thank you.”
