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“Yes. These are my friends. It’s nice to meet you; I’m excited to work with you too.”
“Fantastic.” He nodded enthusiastically, then shot one more look at the Princes, seeming to decide against offering to shake any of their hands.
Probably a wise move if he wanted to keep his own.
“Are you ready to get started?” he asked me instead.
“Yeah.” I dipped my head, then glanced around. “I just need to change first.”
“We’ve got a locker room down the hall,” the receptionist threw in. She was still hovering in the doorway, and I wasn’t sure if she’d stuck around to see if we needed anything else or because she couldn’t walk away from the spectacle of the four puffed-up men standing behind me.
“Great. Thanks,” I muttered, my cheeks burning. Fuck. This was way more embarrassing than getting dropped off by my grandfather. I turned to face the Princes. “So, I’ll see you guys in an hour?”
They nodded, and Mason stepped forward, grasping my chin between his knuckle and thumb. “You have my number. You have all of ours. If you need anything, use it.”
I nodded, unable to tear my gaze away from the intense green of his eyes as he stared at me as if he was trying to burrow into my brain. Worry burned bright behind his irises, and I didn’t understand it.
What had him wound so tight when the others weren’t any more so than usual? Did he know something they didn’t?
“I will,” I promised, pulling his hand away from my face and squeezing it hard for a second.
He shot one more blistering glance at Scott before rejoining the rest of the Princes. The four of them turned and strode out, and the receptionist craned her neck to watch them go. Then she seemed to remember herself and straightened, clearing her throat before she looked at me and smiled. “If you’ll just follow me, I’ll show you to the lockers.”
“Thanks.”
She led me down a hallway to a large, luxurious locker room. I changed quickly into my athletic clothes before limping back to the room where Scott waited for me.
He was fiddling with one of the pieces of equipment when I walked in, and he looked up, smiling broadly. “Ready to get started?”
I nodded, stowing my crutches against the wall and walking toward him. His keen gaze tracked me as I moved, and I tried not to let it make me feel self-conscious about my gait. This was his job. To look and find what wasn’t working, where I was weak and imbalanced, and to help me fix it.
When I finally reached him, he moved his gaze up to my face and nodded. “Okay. You look like you’re in pretty good shape, all things considered. And you just got your cast off a few days ago, is that right?”
“Yeah.”
“Great. Well, we’ll get started on some assessments and general range of motion and strength-building exercises today. But I want to remind you, rest is still your friend here. It’s great to challenge yourself and push yourself, but without the rest in between, all you’ll be doing is breaking down your body more. Understood?”
I nodded, wondering what it was about me that always made people feel the need to reiterate that point so strongly. Did I really look that stubborn?
Even as I had the thought, I realized I could feel my jaw clenching, my shoulders drawing tight. I forced myself to take a breath and relax them both, and Scott gave me a lopsided smile, as if he knew exactly what I’d just done.
He led me over to one of the pieces of equipment and started taking me through a few gentle exercises. I watched myself in the mirror as we worked, and Scott watched me too, making adjustments to my form as I went.
“So, talk to me about your goals. Where would you like to be at the end of all of this? What are you hoping to achieve?” he asked.
“I want to dance again,” I answered with no hesitation.
He dipped his head, gaze still locked on me. “Doctor Garrett said you do ballet?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re hoping for a professional career?”
“Yes.”
My heart was thumping hard in my chest, and it wasn’t just from the exertion. I stopped what I was doing so I could turn to look at him, the plea probably obvious in my face.
He pursed his lips. His eyebrows seemed to always be a little bit raised, and it’d given him premature wrinkles in his forehead. But now they drew together, and I could see in his expression that he didn’t know if it would ever happen. If I’d ever truly dance again.
