that the one person who truly understood was there.
“Baby, I got you.” He lifted me to his chest and carried me out the back door.
My arms circled his neck, and I cried against his shoulder, sobbed into his t-shirt. “No…” I was so glad I could hide my face from everyone as he carried me away, that I could use his size to cover me, that I had someone who could take care of me when I was too embarrassed to let anyone else do it…except him.
After some X-rays and an official diagnosis, I went home with pain killers, a cast, and a pair of crutches.
I sat in the bed with a blank look on my face, praying this was a dream, praying I would wake up and find this was just one of my nightmares. Without my job, I had no way to pay my bills. Without my job, I’d lost my only outlet of happiness. Without my job…I wasn’t me.
Heath didn’t say anything to me, didn’t try to make me feel better with meaningless words. He knew I was traumatized, knew I didn’t want anything but silence. He also gave me space, like he knew I just needed some time to accept what happened.
Once I was discharged, Heath picked me up again and carried the crutches with his other arm, because both things at once were no problem for him. He got me into the truck then drove me home, carrying me the rest of the way into my apartment.
I was usually too proud to let someone help me like that, but I had no pride inside me anymore. No fire. Nothing.
He carried me to my bed and leaned the crutches in a corner of the room. Then he grabbed a glass of water and put the pills on the nightstand, the next dose of pain killers to get me through the night.
I leaned against the headboard and stared at my foot, wrapped in a cast, the flesh past my knee swollen from the injury. With my arms crossed over my chest, I just sat there, my eyes as swollen as my ankle.
Heath sat on the edge of the bed, wearing a long-sleeved shirt and jeans, his elbows on his knees as he looked the other way, like he knew I didn’t want him to stare at me, to watch me hit rock bottom.
If he hadn’t been there, I would have had to ride in the back of an ambulance, call my brother and listen to him lose his mind with concern, or just sit there alone…and cry. I was at my weakest point, and Heath was the only person allowed to see me like this, the only person I was completely comfortable with. So, I forced the words from my lips, tears welling up in my eyes again. “Thank you…”
He was quiet.
I was touched that he’d come to watch me dance, that he was always there for me, even when I couldn’t see him. It was so romantic—and it killed me that I couldn’t have him. “You can go, Heath. I’m just going to go to sleep.”
He didn’t move, staring at the open doorway.
I’d ended things with him, so it wasn’t his responsibility to take care of me. He wasn’t obligated whatsoever. I could handle myself. The doctor said it would take six weeks to heal, so I just had to have Damien drop off groceries and maybe help me with laundry…and take me to physical therapy. Now that I’d thought through everything, I realized how much work it was. Damien and Anna had jobs, Tracy had practice and performances, and my dad was too old to do that stuff.
And now I had to figure out how to pay my bills. I had some cash in savings, but not enough. All I had to do was ask Damien for some money, but I was still too proud to do that. I leaned my head against the headboard and sighed loudly.
Then there was the biggest problem of all… Would I ever able to dance again?
It was hard for people to get back into it after an injury because their body was never the same again. They couldn’t be as competitive. They couldn’t be as strong. They couldn’t be the best.
And dance was everything to me.
Heath slowly turned to me, finally looking at me head on for the first time since he’d lifted me from the bench backstage. “I’m not going anywhere, baby. I’ll be right here until you’re