I shook my head automatically, shutting it down before it had the chance to take roots. Because I’d thought the very same thing for days — and I didn’t want to be right.
“No, I just lost my footing and had a bad tumble. Landed wrong on my hands. It happens.”
I swallowed, picking at my nails. They were horrid now, the cuticles ripped to shit, the acrylic grown out and in desperate need of attention. But I didn’t know how they’d do my nails with this cast on — if they could at all — and so I didn’t make a move one way or another.
“It was embarrassing though,” I admitted softly. “I mean, as if it isn’t already that this is what I’m doing with my life. But then to fall and injure myself when they…” I shook my head. Anytime I tried to go too deep, it was like my body shut down, voice refusing to cooperate.
“You don’t actually feel that.”
It wasn’t a question. Braden said it with authority, like he was an expert on the matter, and the matter was me.
And I wanted to argue, but again, the words died in my throat.
He was right.
I wasn’t embarrassed to be a dancer for the Seahawks. I was fucking proud. It lit me up — how hard I had to work to make the team, the hours I put into practice, the routines and thephysique I kept and the way I felt when I was all dressed up under those stadium lights.
And yet…
“I do when they’re around,” I whispered.
He squeezed my knee, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Everything else sucks at the moment, too,” I said with a dramatic sigh, deciding to keep moving before we went too far down the mommy and daddy issues path. “Ithadto happen to my right wrist, didn’t it? Can’t brush my teeth without it taking seven minutes and making a mess on myself, or open any container, or text without using the voice-to-text option — which I sadly have to admit I find easier than texting when I have two perfectly healthy hands and now might be a serious addiction I’ll never be able to break. All of it just makes me want to throw my phone across the room, but I can’t even do that properly.”
That earned me a smirk.
I swallowed, shaking my head. “And don’t even get me started on my hair.” My chest ached anew with that topic change. “I had glam rip everything out after the game. All the pieces, the curls, the whole production. So now it’s just me… which would be fine if I had two functioning wrists.”
His gaze flicked to my cast.
“I’m going to get it braided so I don’t have to mess with it for a few weeks. But my appointment’s not until—” I sighed. “Next week, I think?” I leaned back into the couch, exhaling. “So until then, I’m just getting by. Can’t even pull it into a decent bun without it looking like I fought for my life and lost. It hurts my left arm to do it, too, which the doctor warned me could happen. He said to rest as much as I can so I don’t injure my left arm from overuse. Easy for you to say, Doc!”
“I could help.”
I blinked. “With… what, moral support?”
“With your hair.”
I stared at him.
Braden just shrugged, like he hadn’t just offered something wildly intimate. “I’m serious.”
I let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “You don’t even know what you’re volunteering for.”
“Try me.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Braden, this is not like… run your fingers through it and call it a day. This is a whole process.”
“All right,” he said easily. “Then walk me through it.”
I huffed, shaking my head, but there was something in his expression that softened me — steady, patient, like he wasn’t joking, like he wasn’t going anywhere.
Why did that make my heart beat faster?
“It’s already washed,” I said, shifting a little. “The glam squad detangled it and put product in before they left, bless their souls. I just can’t…doanythingwith it now.”
He nodded, his eyes still sincerely locked on mine. “So what do you need?”
