The music streaming from my phone echoed in the emptiness of the room. My heart felt free, and my body felt lighter than it had in days. I slid to the middle of the room and began to move on my own to the words of the song as they drifted from my lungs and floated on the air. It had been a long time since I had allowed myself to let the music take me – take me and move me with no thought or worry. It felt good. I felt good. I felt like myself again. It’s been too long.
Then the pain set in, striking like a lightning bolt. The muscle in my leg was burning at a temperature hot enough to catch fire. I hobbled to a nearby chair, fell into the seat, and immediately began massaging my knee and lower leg, doing my best to contain the anguish that built in my heart. I pulled and stretched at the flesh, hoping to expel the pulsating inferno contained under my skin. Dammit. Dammit, I hate this.
I wanted to scream, but I knew it would solve nothing. I didn’t care.
“Dammit!” I screamed. The word expelled from my mouth seemed to bounce off the walls and hang over my head. I was right. It didn’t solve anything. The pain was still there. I was still broken.
Chapter Four
I pushed on the leg press machine and winced. My hands reached down to the grips on either side. Wrapping my fingers tightly, I squeezed, pulling, attempting to offset the pressure I felt in my leg. I tried to hide how much pain I was feeling. My knee was on fire, as if someone was holding it over an open flame. The pulling and tearing radiated from my knee, down the outside of my leg, along my scar, to my ankle. A constant reminder of how my career as a dancer came to such an abrupt ending.
I didn’t blame Harrison. He was a good partner. In the 14 years we had danced together, the hundreds of shows, dozens of productions, he had never once faltered. Not until that day. The look on his face as he stood over me, knowing he had caused me pain, caused me to injure my body, told me it was an accident. The tears in his eyes proved to me that it wasn’t on purpose.
“So,” Dennis asked. With one word, I was pulled from my torturous and painful memories. Turning to look at the man that dripped with a level of sexiness not formally known to mankind, who was also my physical therapist, I attempted a small grin. I failed. “Have you been dancing lately?”
Sometimes I think they hire hot guys just to make us work harder. “Dancing?” I scoffed. “I don’t dance anymore. Remember?”
“That’s a shame,” Dennis said. He glanced down at the electronic tablet in his hand. “The way you talked about it, it seemed like you really loved dancing. Like it was a passion. I didn’t think it would be quite so easy to give up something you love so passionately.”
It wasn’t easy. I held my breath and pressed against the weights until they reached their peak. Blowing out the air, I slowly lowered them to their starting position. It was the hardest fucking thing I’ve ever done. “I know what you’re doing,” I said, grunting. I pushed, straightening my leg. I can do this. Push through. Push. Push. Push. I slowly bent my leg, allowing gravity to help this time. The weights clanked slightly.
“Two more,” he said. “Oh, yeah?” He smiled, flashing his charming grin and deep dimples. “What am I doing?”
“You think you’re doing some type of Jedi mind trick on me, to get me to dance again.” I pushed again. Two more. Just two more.
“Smart, beautiful, and she knows Star Wars. If you weren’t my patient, I’d so be asking you out.”
I completed the last leg press and turned in the seat. “And what about the fact that you have a girlfriend.” I laughed. Dennis handed me a towel and I wiped my face.
“Yes, and there’s that.” Dennis winked at me.
“Dammit!” A booming voice came from my left and I turned to look. A man with large biceps and visibly toned legs stood with his back to me. His physical therapist placed a hand on his shoulder. I couldn’t hear what he told the man, but it must have been reassuring, as he nodded and seemed to relax his stance.
“What’s his problem?” I asked.
“The same as yours,” Dennis said. “He’s not here on vacation.” I let out a deep sigh. “Come on,” he laughed. “We still have work to do.”
Moving to a position near the far wall, we walked past the man. I was shocked when I realized who it was. I had to take a second look to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. Holy shit! That’s Austin Mathey! I took a deep breath and did my best to stay calm. I didn’t want act like an idiot and go fangirl on him.
Austin Mathey was a very talented football player. Was. Past tense. He played college football at the Texas State University and was drafted number two overall by the Texas Rangers. He was the rookie player of the year and had the record for the most touchdown receptions in a single season. After only three seasons as a pro, Austin met with an illegal – and excessively aggressive tackle while leaping for a game winning reception in the fourth quarter during the playoffs. After taking the horrendous hit, he held onto the ball, helped Texas win the game, but suffered a career-ending injury to his left knee. Just like me. That was two seasons ago.
I looked past Austin and spotted a small group of women gathered together, watching him, smiling, laughing, whispering among themselves. Great. He comes with his own groupies.
“Do you know who that is?” Dennis asked. I quickly swept my gaze back to Dennis.
“He’s some football player, isn’t he?” I said, doing my best to remain calm. I totally knew who Austin was. He was one of my favorite players. While I wasn’t a fan of the Texas Rangers – not even close, I was definitely his fan. His hair. His biceps. His talent.
“Yep. He’s a football player.” We stayed silent as we continued to the next station. “Let’s do three sets of twenty today.” Dennis tapped the screen on his tablet and handed me a blue exercise band.
“Twenty?” I said, probably sounding whinier than I intended. “What happened to fifteen? Are you punishing me for something?” I climbed onto the table, scooting to the edge with my right leg extended over the side.
Dennis laughed and sat in a chair next to me. “We’re never going to improve if we don’t push our limits.”
Looping the center of the band around my bottom of my foot, I wrapped the ends around my hands several times and pulled tight. I flexed my foot and immediately felt a twinge of pain surge up the inside of my leg. “What’s this ‘we,’ and ‘our’ bullshit? I don’t see you cringing in pain.”
“You’ve got this, Peyton. You know you do. You’re stronger than you think you are. And you will dance again.” I knew he meant well. But sometimes his pep talks pissed me off.
I flexed and pointed my toes repeatedly, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth as he had instructed. The best part about physical therapy was the counting. It was necessary for me to count the number of repetitions I was doing. And I was okay with that. My OCD behavior helped with the pain, but no one knew I had OCD because it was all part of the process.
Completing one set, I looked up and let out a deep sigh. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of someone walking by. It was Austin. He turned to look at me. Holy shit! It’s him! I didn’t smile or react. I looked away and adjusted the band around my foot. When I looked back, he was still watching me. He waved. I gave him a small smile, pulled at the band and began my second set. Within a few seconds, he was out of sight.
I’m going to regret not waving at him. Shit. Why didn’t I wave? I should have waved.
Then I saw all his groupies make their way through the room, following the same path, giggling, tossing their hair, adjusting their tiny skirts. Every guy in the room watched them walk by – even Dennis.
Oh, yeah. That’s why I didn’t wave. I looked down at my leg, the discolored skin peeking out at the bottom of my black pants yet another reminder of my horrific imperfection. I can’t compete with them. Fuck. Look at them. It’s pointless. Why even try. Why do I even care?
Chapter Five
My knee was more numb than painful at this point. I could feel how swollen it w
as inside my leggings, pressing against the sides of the material, trying to burst the seams. The next stop on the dancer’s rehabilitation tour is the whirlpool. It’s said to increase circulation and aid in healing.
I did my best not to limp or hold onto the railing as I walked down the hallway. Rounding the corner, I spotted a small group of people gathered together. In the center was Austin. He was surrounded by his fan club. All the talking and laughing sounded like a flock of chirping birds, annoying and loud. I had no choice but to walk by them. I moved to the other side of the hallway, trying to put as much distance between them and me as possible.
My plan for stealth didn’t work. He spotted me. Austin smiled as I approached and again, he waved. This time I waved back – but just a little one. All the women in the group surrounding him turned to look at me as well. I began to feel very self-conscious and quickened my pace, counting my steps as I hurried down the corridor.
Stupid. So stupid. I hobbled into the locker room, grabbed my dark blue bag out of my locker, and moved to a changing stall. What made me think he would want to talk to me? Double-checking to make sure the curtain was closed well. I unpacked my duffle bag and began to change into my bathing suit. He’s a football star. I watched him play on TV. Hell, I watched him at the stadium!
I remembered the feeling I had as I watched him play. I got excited thinking about it. Watching him run the routes. Jumping up to catch the ball. Running down the sideline on his way to the end zone. I remembered the anguish that washed over me as they took him away on a stretcher after the illegal hit. Those girls probably don’t even know anything about the game. They just know he’s a football player.
I removed my leggings and caught sight of my scar in the mirror. I froze. The excitement I felt only moments earlier fluttered away. Anger and hatred filled my heart, my soul, every cell of my body. I wanted to slice away the flesh, cut it off and toss it into a volcano, or send it off into space. I hated that I wore an endless reminder on my body of just how broken I truly was.
My mind wandered, volleying between Austin, my accident, and counting. I slid on my flip-flops, wrapped my robe tightly around my waist, and tossed my bag back into my locker. I barely noticed the two women sitting on the bench. At least not until they began staring at me.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven ... there are fifty-one steps from the locker room to the whirlpool.
I’m done. As much as I hated physical therapy, I did enjoy this part. Visiting the coffee shop was the reward I gave myself for making it through the entire physical therapy session. It was relaxing, and as cliché as it sounded, it also helped with the pain – the mental part of the pain.
I took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and leaned back in the oversized armchair, closing my eyes, attempting to relax. I barely flinched as I heard another person entering the coffee shop. While it was odd, it was a coffee shop. People come in and out all the time. This place was usually empty and quiet. It was one of the best qualities of this quaint little place.
Out of simply curiosity, I slowly turned my head and opened my eyes. There he was. Austin Mathey. Standing at the counter of my little hide-a-way coffee shop.
Of course, it’s you. It had to be you! Austin caught me looking at him and smiled. Shit. I turned away and reached for my cup. Please don’t come over here. Please don’t come over here. Please don’t come over here. I heard footsteps approaching. They were getting close – very close. Dammit. He’s coming over here.
When the footsteps ceased, Austin was standing directly beside me. I leaned forward and looked toward the door. He turned and looked, too. “What are you looking for?” he asked.
“Your fan club,” I said. “They seem to follow you everywhere. I figured they would be close behind.”
He laughed as he placed his cup on the table. “Yeah, they can get a little annoying. It’s just that I’m a –”
“I know who you are.” I smiled as I interrupted him. “There’s no need to go on about it.”
He lowered himself into the chair directly across from me, placed his elbows on his knees, and leaned forward. His biceps flexed. He has to be doing that on purpose. “If you know who I am, why didn’t you say anything?” I pulled my attention from his arms and looked at the expression on Austin’s face. He looked both surprised and hurt. “Let me guess,” he said. His voice held a somber tone. “Not a football fan?”
“No,” I said, cheerfully. “I’m a huge football fan. I love football. I actually watch college football every Saturday and pro games every Sunday and Monday.” I paused, leaning forward to pick up my cup. “I only watch the Thursday games if I like the teams that are playing.” A smile began to spread across my face and I attempted to hide it by taking a sip of my tea. I felt deviously satisfied with myself.
“Really?” Austin sounded intrigued, but his words held a tone of disbelief. “I’ve heard a lot of women say things like that before. How do I know you’re not just saying that to impress me?” He wrapped his fingers around the white mug, practically making it disappear in his hand. I watched as he brought it to his perfect lips and blew on it before taking a sip and placing it back on the table.
“Well, first of all,” I said. I placed my cup on the table as well, trying to summon my concentration. “I’m not real concerned with impressing you.” Okay, I am, but I’m not going to tell you that. “Secondly, most women will say anything to get close to a pro athlete. And I’m not most women. Third, do most women know your stats?”
“No, they don’t,” he laughed. “Do you?”
“I know you were drafted number two overall. I know you had 34 receptions for 515 yards and 7 touchdowns your first year in Texas. And I know you were rookie of the year.” Austin’s mouth fell open and his eyes widened. “Do you want me to go on or have I proven myself worthy?”
“Okay, so you’re a fan – just not a Texas fan,” he said. I shrugged my shoulders. “So, who is your favorite team?”
“Hey now,” I smiled, playfully pointing my finger at him. “That’s getting a little too personal, don’t you think? I’m sorry but I don’t know you well enough to talk to you about that.” Austin laughed. He has such a great laugh. And that smile. Dammit. Why did he have to have a great smile?
I laughed and let on that I was playing. But I meant what I said. It was a bit more information than I was willing to share. I loved football, but it was so much more than that for me. It was more than a game. It was more than the final score. It was more than who won the championship. For me, it was about the history and the tradition. And I wasn’t ready to share that with him. Not yet.
“Well, you know who I am,” he said. He leaned back in his chair. His long blonde hair teased the top of his shoulders. “Can you at least tell me your name? Or is that too personal as well.”
“Peyton,” I said. “Peyton Brooks.” Now he’ll make the connection between my name and football. They always make the connection, and then make a comment. I braced myself, waiting for it.
“Hello, Peyton,” he said. He leaned in and reached out his hand to me. “It’s nice to meet you.” He didn’t say it. Why didn’t he say it? I shook his hand. It was warm. I could feel the softness of the skin on the back of his hand. It was a major contrast to the roughness of his palm.
“So, what did you do with your swoon girls?” I asked, pulling my hand away. I looked toward the door again.
“Swoon girls?” Austin laughed again, settling back into his chair.
“Yeah, that’s what they are.” I wrapped my hands around my mug, taking comfort in the warmth, and sunk a little deeper into my cushions. “They swoon over you, don’t they?”
“Well, I guess they –”
“Exactly. Swoon girls. So, what did you do with them?”
“They can’t follow me everywhere.” Austin mimicked my movements, sinking down into the fluff of his chair, too. “I have learned a few tricks to get myself some privacy when I want or need it.”
“So, they j
ust wait around at the places you go, hoping for you to come back?” I lifted my eyebrows and nodded very slowly. “Wow.” I scratched the skin over my left eyebrow. “Just wow.”
“If you have a better idea of how to get rid of them, please,” he placed his elbows on the armrests and put his hands up. “I’m all ears. Otherwise, I have to do what I can to get a break somehow.” He chuckled, grabbed his mug, and sat back.
“I guess,” I laughed. For the next few minutes, Austin and I sat in silence, stealing glances of each other over our coffee mugs. Each time I looked his way, he was staring. He would smile, or blush, or both, and then look away.
My phone rudely interrupted our moment with a text notification. I felt my heart sink. Shit! Not now. I picked it up and looked at the screen. It was Jesi.
Just checking in. How’s it going?
I typed a reply quickly, wanting to return my focus back to Austin. Everything went good. Chatting with a friend. B in shortly.
Take your time! Jesi’s reply was almost immediate. I knew she meant well.
Austin and I continued to talk. We talked through two cup refills, a muffin, and the sharing of a chocolate chip cookie. His phone vibrated several times, but he never even acknowledged it or glanced down at it.
“Do you need to get that?” I asked, pointing to his phone on the table.
“Nope,” he said, grinning. “It’s nothing that can’t wait.” He can’t be real. Guys like him don’t exist outside of chick flicks and romance novels. Just then, my phone chimed.
“Well,” Austin said, chuckling. “Maybe we should get going. Apparently, the world needs us.” He stood and placed his mug on the table. Dammit! I should have turned my sound off. “It was wonderful to talk to you. I hope we can do it again sometime.”
Whispers of Winter: A Limited Edition Collection of Winter Romances Page 145
