Instead of helping ease the boy into his new life, his seven months in a rehabilitation center had left him embittered and suspicious of everyone who tried to get close to him – including Hazel.
According to his mother, he'd been a big man on campus, star quarterback on his team, popular with his teachers and fellow students alike – and, Hazel suspected, pretty much able to date any girl he fancied.
Since the accident, however, he had isolated himself at home and cut off communication with old friends. Hazel's first goal had been to bring him out of his self-imposed exile and into the world again.
"So what are you going to do for your birthday on Saturday?" Hazel asked toward the end of their session.
Neil glanced down at the wheelchair that would be a part of him for the rest of his life. "Well, it's like this, Doc," he said, his mouth stiff with self-pity. "I'm trying to decide between horseback riding or Roller-blading."
Hazel raised her eyebrows. "I'd go for the riding if I were you."
"Yeah, right."
She leaned back and looked at him with lazy eyes, as though nothing he could say would shock her. "True story. I have other paraplegic patients who ride just about every week and love it."
He shot her a skeptical look, which was far better than the blank apathy that had been his stock response during most of his earlier sessions.
Rocking her chair back and forth on its heavy spring, she held her gaze steady on his. "I understand it's great exercise."
"Yeah, well, pushing this damn chair everywhere is all the exercise I can handle right now."
"What about working out with the team the way you'd planned?"
His gaze shied from hers, and he slumped lower in the chair. "Changed my mind."
"You seemed very excited about it last week. 'Ready, willing, and able to tear up trees' was the way you put it."
He looked away again, but his hands were slowly clenching around the arms of his chair. Hazel waited, giving him the time and emotional space he needed to decide whether or not to trust her with his deepest feelings.
"It was the guys!" he burst out finally, his tone trembling with hurt. "They tried not to, but most of 'em kept looking at me like I was some kind of freak."
Hazel kept her expression calm. "Do you think you're a freak?"
His face turned crimson, and his eyes flashed a heartbreaking hurt. "No, just a cripple who can't even get it up."
Hazel leaned back and used her toes to swivel her chair slowly right and left. "You mean you can't get an erection?"
He looked away again, this time without answering, misery radiating from every line of his body.
"Have you tried to masturbate yourself to arousal?" she asked matter-of-factly.
He flicked her a glance she took as an affirmative. "And don't ask me if I've tried screwing my girlfriend," he exclaimed in a tight, furious voice, "because I haven't. And I won't."
"Why not?"
He shrugged. "You're so smart, you figure it out."
"I could, I suppose," she said with perfect seriousness. "But that would be wasting my time and yours, so why don't you just tell me now and save a lot of hassle?"
Neil leaned on the arm of his chair, his deep blue eyes seething with despair. "I don't want her to see my legs," he mumbled, his eyes downcast. "It's like … like they're a couple of limp noodles attached to my body."
"You're more than your body, you know."
"Yeah, right," he sneered. "Tell that to the guys who don't want to know me anymore and the girls who act like I got some kind of disease worse than AIDS."
Hazel glanced at the notes she'd made earlier. "What about your girl, Lisa? Does she look at you like you have a disease?"
Neil clenched his teeth and shook his head. At the same time, his hands clenched on thighs that had once been muscular and strong, something they would never be again.
"I hate being crippled," he grated, his voice hoarse. "You hear me, Doc? I hate it!"
A strangled cry like a sob broke from his lips, followed by others. Harsh explosions of sound. Painful as it was to hear, however she knew that the outburst was cathartic and necessary to the healing process.
"I know it hurts," she said gently. "On some level it might always hurt."
Neil dragged the back of his hand over his eyes. "Why me? What did I ever do to make God mad at me?" He choked on a sob and took a moment to compose himself again.
"Every morning … it's like I wake up not remembering. Like I can just get up and get dressed and run to school like always. Only … all of a sudden I can't feel my legs."
He glanced up, tears clumping his lashes and his mouth trembling. "And then I remember. I can't run to school 'cause I can't walk. Not ever again!"
"No wonder you hate being a paraplegic," Hazel said as she pushed the box of tissues within easy reach. "I can't think of anyone who wouldn't hate it."
As she'd hoped, her calm acceptance encouraged him to continue. "Lisa swears it doesn't matter to her if I can walk or dance or play football anymore, but when … when she touches me, I can see this funny look in her eyes. Like she's cringing inside and trying not to show it."
He tore a handful of tissues from the box and angrily swiped his eyes. "And whenever I try to talk about what it's like to be in this chair, she changes the subject real quick, like she can't stand to hear stuff like that."
"Maybe she's afraid talking about your feelings will make them worse."
"What makes it worse is her always talking about a miracle cure, like all of a sudden some scientist someplace is going to come up with a pill that'll make my spine grow back together again. Only that's not gonna happen, just like she's never gonna accept me like I am now."
"Perhaps not. And that may mean your relationship will have to end. But there are other girls who won't feel the same way."
Nell's expression hardened, then grew sharply cynical, reminding her of Jess's expression that night in the motel bar when he'd been talking about his ex-wife.
"Yeah, right. And there's this guy in a red suit and a big white beard who comes down my chimney every Christmas with a bag of toys."
"Is that why you think you might like to kill yourself?" she asked gently. "Because of Lisa and the way she looks at you?"
Surprise stuttered into his eyes, then turned slowly to uncertainty. "I thought it was, yeah, but…" He trailed off, staring at her as though he'd suddenly had an astonishing thought.
"But what?" she prodded with a calm she was far from feeling.
"But now I'm not sure she's worth dying over. Or any other girl, either."
"I certainly agree with that," Hazel said with a vehemence that won her a small, crooked grin.
"I kinda thought you would."
Hazel chuckled. "I see being paralyzed hasn't taken the edge off that wise guy attitude of yours."
That seemed to please him, and he sat up just a bit straighter. "Maybe we ought to talk about my sex life again," he challenged, then blushed.
Hazel laughed. "Next time, okay?"
Neil wiggled his eyebrows and leered. "Is that a promise?"
"Yes, Groucho, that's a promise." Still grinning, she got up to circle the desk. "Now give me a hug and get out of here. I've got people with real problems waiting to see me."
In fact, Neil was the last appointment of the day, but he didn't know that.
"You don't have to tell me twice," he said, accepting her hug with a lot more spirit than the previous week.
Still bantering, she walked him to the door but let him open it himself. Seated alone in the small anteroom, Neil's mother looked up from the magazine she'd been reading and watched him wheel himself across the carpet.
"All set?" she asked, getting quickly to her feet.
"Yeah, let's blow this joint!" Neil exclaimed, but he was grinning.
Mrs. Kenyon's gaze whipped to Hazel, who smiled. It's going to be a long, rocky road, she wanted to tell the anxious woman, but today he took a very big step. Instead, she cau
ght Neil's eye and said meaningfully, "Same time next week, okay, wise guy?"
"You got it, Doc."
Mrs. Kenyon looked startled for an instant before a spontaneous grin replaced the worn look around her mouth.
"We'll be here."
Neil reached up to open the outer door, only to have it swing away from his fingertips. "Hey, watch it, dude!" he said. "You could jerk a guy out of his chair that way."
"Sorry, dude," Jess apologized, stepping back. The tailored trousers and impeccably shined loafers told her he'd been in court, but somewhere along the way from the courthouse to her office he had discarded his suit coat and tie. Today he was wearing suspenders, the wide kind that made him look more rugged than trendy.
Neil did a double take before turning in his chair to give Hazel a curious look. "Whoa, doc, is Dante here one of those problems you were talking about?"
Hazel blinked. "Uh, not exactly."
Jess rumpled Neil's hair as he sidestepped the wheelchair and entered. "How are you, Mrs. Kenyon?"
"Much better since the last time I saw you, Mr. Dante. As you can see, so is Neil."
Jess cocked one eyebrow and gave the teenager a critical stare. "You still mad at the world, kid?"
Neil looked abashed. "Only parts of it this week."
"Works for me."
Hazel watched the subtle affection pass between the man and boy and felt strangely left out, as though they were part of a very exclusive club she could never join.
"I didn't know you two knew each other," she said, glancing from Neil to Jess and holding his gaze.
"I thought you knew, O'Connor. Us crippled types 'bond' well." Hazel heard the dry humor in Jess's tone and shook her head.
"Okay, okay, I get the point."
"Mr. Dante came to the hospital to see Neil when he was still in traction," the boy's mother explained.
"Yelled at me real good, didn't you, Dante?" Neil grumbled before shifting his gaze to Hazel. "Even threatened to whip my butt good if I didn't agree to dump all my troubles on you. Claimed you were the best in the city and he – how did he put it? – strongly recommended I get my tail over here pronto, or he would drag me to your office himself." His grin flashed suddenly, giving Hazel a perfect view of an adult male charmer in the making. "Not that he could, you understand, but you have to humor these old guys, you know?"
"So I've heard," she replied, meeting Jess's gaze. Even though he looked as though one of his deepest secrets had suddenly been exposed, there was a light in his eyes that made her want to cuddle close and tell him just how wonderful she thought he was – when he thought no one was looking, that is.
"Smart kid," he said with a crooked smile.
"With a wiseacre attitude," Hazel teased. "We had a discussion about that earlier."
Neil shrugged, then seemed struck by a sudden thought. "Hey, Doc, if Dante here isn't one of your patients, what is he? Your old man or something?"
"Neil!" his mother exclaimed, embarrassed and yet pleased to see some of her son's spirit returning.
"Or something," Hazel replied, laughing. "We have mutual friends."
"Don't let her con you, kid," Jess drawled. "She's so crazy for my body I'm about to let her marry me, just to get me some peace and quiet."
Hazel's mouth dropped open. "Jess Dante! You know that's not true."
"Which part?" His tone was flavored with masculine irony, as though he wanted his words to be true, but knew they couldn't possibly be.
"I … we'll talk about this later."
Madeline Kenyon cleared her throat. "We'd better get going if we're going to beat the traffic." She held out her hand. "Good luck, Mr. Dante," she said as he gave her his. "If anyone deserves to be happy, it's you."
Neil rolled his eyes and grabbed the wheels of his chair. "Let me outta here before it gets too deep for the chair to move."
His mother swatted him on the head before grabbing the handles of the chair. "Hush, you," she said lightly, but Hazel thought she detected a small catch of emotion beneath the teasing words.
"Be good, Doc," Neil threw over his shoulder as his mother wheeled him out. "You too, Dante! But not too good, if you get my meaning."
The look on Jess's face and the tension tightening his shoulders told her that he'd taken Neil's meaning very well. So had Hazel, which was already threatening her vow to remain rationally composed in Jess's presence.
"Ready?" he asked when they were alone.
"Don't give me that innocent look, Dante. I want to know what just went on here."
"Not much," he said with the shrug she'd come to expect from him and a heart-stopping grin that she hadn't. "But I have high hopes."
Before she could catch her breath, he leaned forward to give her a quick, hungry kiss that was over far too quickly, leaving her disoriented.
"Don't think I'm rushing you, but we're late."
"You said six. It's not quite five to."
"Yeah, but we have a long drive before we can eat, and I missed lunch."
So had she. "I thought we could run over to this little Italian place I know. Unless you have a better choice."
He picked up the magazine Neil's mother had left on her chair and tossed it onto the square table in the center of the small room. "O'Connor, you might as well know now – you're looking at one distant son of Italy who hates tomato sauce."
She threw him a disbelieving look. "I saw you eat three helpings of Cait's lasagna."
He shrugged. "It's her way of pampering the starving bachelor. I wouldn't want to hurt her feelings by telling her I'd rather have beans and rice."
"Very considerate."
"Considerate, hell. Caitie might look like a cream puff, but she's got a mouth on her that could strip the hide off a bull buffalo."
Hazel laughed softly. "You have a point," she murmured, taking ridiculous delight in watching his eyes crinkle and his mouth quirk.
His mood seemed different, too. Lighter, in a way, and yet he had the same fierce, focused intensity of purpose he'd carried into Tyler's retrial. As though not even the demons of hell could keep him from getting what he wanted.
"So where is it that we are going?" she asked lightly.
"All the way to Placerville."
"What's in Placerville?" she asked, heading for the inner office, her purse and a chance to gather the wits he was busy scattering.
"The best ribs in the state, for one thing."
"And for another?" she asked, slinging her purse over her shoulder before turning off her desk lamp.
"My brother's ranch." Jess flipped out the lights and closed the door behind her as she exited.
To her surprise, he took her arm possessively as they passed the other offices, as though he wanted anyone watching to think that the two of them were going on a proper date.
He had a powerful grip and a way of making a woman feel protected just because he was at her side. With or without both his arms, Jess Dante was a very sexy man.
"Your brother the rodeo champion?" she asked as they approached the door to the parking lot. He released her–reluctantly, it seemed–to open the door for her.
"My brother the rich, successful vet turned stock breeder," he said as he claimed her arm again. "I figured it might help my cause if you met at least one Dante with company manners."
* * *
Even one-handed, Jess drove with the same superb skill she would have expected from an ex-race driver. But it was more than just skill, she decided, watching him covertly. It was as though he and the powerful, low-slung car were one entity.
Only when he had to insert the key into the ignition on the right and shove the gear lever into drive did he seem the least bit awkward.
He also kept the old Mercedes close to the speed limit, something she'd first noticed when he'd driven them down to Pleasanton and again on the way back. Then, as now, his was far from the fastest vehicle on the road.
"Something wrong?" he asked, catching her looking at the speedometer.
&n
bsp; "I'm just surprised that you're such a conservative driver." Hazel watched a balding yuppie in a Corvette whip past them in the left lane.
"Most race drivers are."
"Except on the track," she surmised.
"Especially on the track. Too many things can go wrong if you're not."
She let her gaze linger for a moment on his profile. He was driving with the window down, and the wind had teased a few stray curls into his normally straight hair. It gave his severe face a softened look she had trouble resisting.
"I never thought of it that way," she said, clearing her throat of a sudden tickle.
He glanced her way, catching her watching him. "That's because you haven't spent much time around a track."
"None, actually," she admitted, shifting her gaze to the front and keeping it there. "And I've never even seen the 500 on TV, mostly because I'm afraid there might be an accident, and I'd just as soon not be an eyewitness."
"Chances are you wouldn't be. Not recently, anyway. Not the way the cars are designed to protect the driver these days."
"Are you kidding? I've seen pictures of those cars. I had a kiddy car when I was five that looked stronger."
He chuckled, and the creases framing his mouth deepened like long shallow dimples. "If you'd ever seen a race, you would know that the engineers have figured out a way for the car to fly apart on impact, diffusing the kinetic force from the cockpit, which pretty much stays intact."
"What about fire?"
"Formula One engines burn pure alcohol. It's not as volatile as high octane gasoline, and it's easier to extinguish."
Hazel took a deep breath. "Was there a fire when you had your accident?"
"Some."
"Were you burned?"
"No, the rescue crew got me out before the tank exploded." His tone conveyed very little emotion, as though he were talking about a routine point of law.
Telling herself to follow his lead, she took a deep breath, drawing in the aroma of leather and his musky aftershave along with the fresh air coming through the windows.
"How much of it do you remember?" she asked in a matter-of-fact tone.
ONCE UPON A WEDDING Page 12
