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Grace
Hayden,
I know you fired me, but I can’t leave things like this between us. We’ve weathered too much and you’re too special to me for me to leave without saying something to you. First, I want you to know that I’m not upset with you. I’m hurt— deeply— but I’m not angry. You harbor enough of that for the both of us. I know this has all been frustrating, but I do have something to admit to you.
I do feel I was holding you back in your physical therapy.
Not because I didn’t want you to recuperate, but because I was worried that you might not. I watched you risk your life and your health so you could walk again, and I wanted to make sure that became a reality for you. So I took it slower with your physical therapy. Tried to make sure we didn’t misstep. And in the end, I ended up doing you a disservice, and I’m sorry.
I know you see that wheelchair as a symbol of emasculation, but it isn’t. That wheelchair doesn’t take away your ability to be strong, or to work, or to love. I watched you resent that chair for so many reasons other than the one true reason why I think you didn’t like it. And I think the real reason behind your anger towards it was the lack of control you had over your situation. Control I tried hard to give back to you without pushing you to a limit I wasn’t sure if you could handle.
I’m sorry, Hayden. All I wanted was to give you what you told me you wanted.
But don’t let that chair convince you that you are incapable of being loved. Because in the time spent with you, I saw myself loving you. I saw myself getting close to you. There were times when it was hard to keep my eyes off you and there were days when I would’ve embarrassed myself in front of the entire world to see you smile. Good women— real women— don’t see the chair, Hayden. They see you.
I saw you.
I could never be angry with you because of how I feel about you. I hate that I won’t be here to see you fully recover, but I do hope you get back whatever it is you’re looking for. I want that for you because I see how much you want it. Just keep in mind that it takes time. You came back from injuries that should’ve killed you, Hayden. Give your body time to cope the way you gave your mind time to cope.
> I also want to thank you. Not simply for the job, but for the time you allowed me to spend with you. The cups of coffee you allowed me to share with you. The meals you choked down so you could let me cook for you. They are memories I will carry with me for a very long time. Possibly forever. Know that your mother and sister mean well. They came very close to losing the only other man in their family to the same thing that robbed your family of their patriarch. They’re going to be a little clingy for a very long time, and they’ve earned that right.
But the right you’ve earned is releasing yourself from these shackles. I do hope you walk again. I do hope the aggressive physical therapy works. But if it doesn’t, don’t chain yourself down, Hayden. Don’t allow some company or cameras or a few glances from people force you into this hole you can’t get out of. Don’t give someone that kind of power over you. You’re a strong, intelligent man. Don’t give into the pressure.
You made an impact on my life. You imprinted yourself into my memories. And in some ways, you carved out a new path in my life. I’m forever grateful for that. But don’t convince yourself you aren’t worth loving until you get out of that chair. Because it simply isn’t true. A man isn’t defined by how tall he walks. A man is defined by how tall he feels.
Keep your head high and your mind open, and your mental state will always follow suit.
I wish you all the best, Hayden.
Love,
Grace
Chapter Nineteen
Hayden
Every morning, I read that note.
Just like all the notes she left in the flowers, it hit me.
Hard.
It was sitting near the coffee pot when I got back from my mother’s. I wasn’t going to stick around and watch Grace leave. I knew how much this was hurting her and I wasn’t willing to make it any harder than it already was. Things between us were tense, my physical therapy had fallen to the wayside, and my mother mentioned me firing her every time I turned around.
But I hoped she understood.
Until I found that letter.
I didn’t fire Grace because I didn’t care. I fired her because I knew we couldn’t be together with her as my nurse. She couldn’t be my caregiver and my lover, and it was more important for me to be able to explore the possibility of being with her than it was for her to take care of me. But I wanted— no, I needed— to be a whole man before that took place. And I knew she was holding back on me. Because she was scared. Worried. Feared for my recuperation just like I did. I fired her because I needed to focus on turning into the man she deserved, not the man she saw every morning struggling to make a damn pot of coffee.
But she didn’t know that.
She thought I’d fired her because I was upset with her. That she somehow didn’t do a good enough job. And it killed me inside. That note— and that realization— is what fueled me through my physical therapy. It was what kept me going, day in and day out, despite the fact that I hurt. Despite the fact that I was frustrated. Despite the fact that I was tired.
“And breathe,” Zander said.
“I am breathing.”
