Sing For Me by Rachel Schurig

Eva

There’s a large part of me that thinks Will might ghost me again after we had the “just friends” talk. So I’m more than a little surprised when he agrees to get pizza with me just two days later. A few days after that, we see a movie after he gets off work. The next night I go to his apartment for poker night with the same cousins I met at the gala. He even agrees to come over and watch Raider of Galaxies—my current Sci-Fi series obsession—with me and my friends. He grumbles about it a lot, but I’m pretty sure he was into it by the end.

I try to tell myself that I did the right thing. Yes, there had been a few days there where it had really seemed like I might be able to make a relationship with Will work. But my reaction to that kiss proved me wrong. If I couldn’t even manage to get close to him for a few minutes without the panic setting in, what hope is there?

But that doesn’t shut up the little voice in my head calling me a coward. The little voice that whispers I should have given it more time. Asked him to move slowly. Explained to him precisely why it was so difficult for me to be physically close to men.

But the very thought of that conversation makes me feel so queasy that I push it from my mind. It’s better this way. We can just be friends and I can stay safe.

Even if it’s hard to look at him and not want to kiss him. Even if sometimes when I’m sitting with him, the urge to touch him is so strong I have to trap my hands under my legs so I don’t reach out.

Two weeks after the “just friends” talk, I meet Will at Ollie’s on his lunch break. The burger joint is becoming a staple for us. I’ve realized that Will spends a lot of time at the shop. If he’s not tattooing, he’s working in the office, always the last person to leave and the first to get there. Lunch breaks are one of the few free hours he allows himself.

We’ve just sat down in what I’m starting to think of as our booth when my phone rings. A familiar ripple of unease goes through me—Dennis has been calling a lot lately. But the unease dissipates when I see Marissa’s name on the screen.

“I should take this,” I tell Will and he grins, reaching for the basket of onion rings.

“More for me.”

“Don’t you dare eat all those,” I demand as I bring the phone to my ear. “Hey, Mar.”

“Hey, sorry to interrupt your lunch.” She sounds stressed out, her voice tight. Not what I would expect when she’s supposed to be enjoying a morning off with her mom.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m stuck in Santa Barbara,” she says. “Mom fell this morning.”

I sit up straighter and Will’s eyes focus across the table, watching me. “Is she okay?”

“They think it’s just an ankle sprain,” Marissa says. “But we’re still at the hospital and I have to get her home and settled. My sister can’t come over until later this afternoon and—”

“Hey,” I cut in. “Don’t worry about it. You need to be there. It’s not like I have huge plans today or anything.”

“You have physical therapy today,” she says, and my stomach drops. I had forgotten.

“It’s fine.” I try to inject some confidence into my voice even though I’m not feeling it. “I can handle it by myself.”

Marissa is quiet on the other end of the line. “I’m gonna call Luke, see if he can take a few hours and—”

“Luke is buried under work, you know that.”

“Geoff then. Or Sosie.”

“Everyone has work.” I take a deep breath, closing my eyes. “Seriously, Mar. I can go to one appointment by myself.”

“I don’t like it.”

My temper flashes. “I don’t need a babysitter.” Across the table, Will is watching me carefully. His scrutiny does little to help ease my mood. “I’m a big girl, Marissa. I can handle this.”

I can tell from her silence that she doesn’t like it but she finally lets out a sigh. “Fine. I’ll arrange for a car.”

“Thanks. Tell your mom I’m thinking about her, okay? Let me know how she’s feeling.”

She sighs again. “She’s being a real treat, let me tell you. Flirting with all the doctors, bossing around the nurses. It’s so much fun.”

I manage a chuckle. “Hang in there.”

I end the call and reach for the basket of onion rings—Will ate almost half of them while I was on the phone.

“Everything okay?”

“Marissa’s mom sprained her ankle,” I explain. “But it sounds like she’ll be okay.”

He’s still studying me too closely. “There’s an appointment she doesn’t want you to go to alone?”

“Just my physical therapy this afternoon. It’s no biggie.”

Except I fucking hate PT. Hate being poked and prodded. Hate the reminder of my physical limitations, all the reminders from the therapist that I need to make up my mind about surgery soon. Hate the exercises that bring me so much pain, reminding me of how I got the injury in the first place. I very rarely go alone—Marissa is almost always there, or one of our friends.

“I could go with you,” Will says, and I freeze with an onion ring halfway to my mouth. “I don’t have any clients this afternoon.”

I set the onion ring down, studying him. “It’s really not a big deal, Will. I can handle one appointment by myself.”

His eyes narrow. “But you don’t want to go by yourself. I can tell. And from the way Marissa was arguing with you, she doesn’t want you to go alone either.”

I don’t want to go by myself. But I also don’t want to go with him. I don’t want Will to realize just how screwed up my hip and leg still are. I don’t want him to see me weak and sweaty while I try to do normal activities most people wouldn’t blink at.

I don’t want him to see my scars.

“Hey.” He reaches across the table to nudge my hand. “We’re friends, right?”

Friends. Just friends. Meaning I don’t need to worry about embarrassing myself in front of him, not any more than I would with Marissa or Geoff or any of them. I’m not supposed to be trying to impress Will Ransome.

“Yeah,” I mutter, even though friendship is the last thing on my mind when I meet his intense, steady eyes.

“This is the kind of things friends would do.” Before I can argue or agree, he grabs the basket from me. “Friends also aren’t supposed to hog all the onion rings.”

I find myself smiling in spite of the worry settling in the pit of my stomach at the idea of PT with Will. “You started it,” I point out, and then, before he can stop me, I reach over and pluck the last onion ring from the basket.

* * *

Therapy isevery bit as demanding as I expected. By the time I’m finished, I’m sweaty, aching, and grumpy. Grumpy enough that I forget to be embarrassed about Will witnessing it.

To my surprise, he was actually a really good partner for my appointment. He didn’t baby me the way Luke and Geoff sometimes do. Instead, he kind of had this sexy drill sergeant thing going on. And whenever I would finish a particularly hard set, his rigid, bossy expression would soften into something that looked an awful lot like pride.

I like him looking at me that way.

I don’t like him sitting next to me at the end of the session when the PT calls me to her office to discuss our next steps. But it feels rude to ask him to leave after he just spent his afternoon helping me.

“How’s the swelling been this week?” Beth asks once Will and I are seated across from her.

I force myself not to look at him, not to wonder what he’s thinking about all of this. “Um, pretty much the same as usual.”

She studies my face, waiting for me to elaborate. I grit my teeth. “Pretty swollen by evening most days. Worse if I’ve done a lot of walking or standing around.”

She nods, marking her chart. “Your doctor is still planning surgery next month?”

Next to me, I feel Will turn his head, feel the heat of his gaze studying the side of my face. I swallow. “My team is hoping to postpone.”

Beth’s eyebrows go up. “Your team? I was under the impression Dr. Bedi and I are members of your team.”

Heat is rushing to my face. “I meant my, um, management team. My label. They were hoping I might be able to get some work done before the next surgery.”

The only sound in the room is that of Beth’s pen hitting the chart in front of her in slow, rhythmic taps. “Have you spoken to Dr. Bedi about this plan?”

I squirm in my seat, knowing Will is staring at me just as intently as the therapist. “Not yet.”

“I see.” Beth watches me for another long moment. “I know this lengthy recovery hasn’t been easy. But pushing yourself beyond your physical capabilities isn’t going to help you.”

“I’ve been out of work for fourteen months.”

Her gaze remains steady. “Eva, we both know hip replacement is in your future. Pushing it back could cause further loss of mobility, not to mention the pain you’re still experiencing.”

I close my eyes. Why hadn’t I asked Will to wait outside? Hell, why had I agreed to him coming here at all?

“I’ll talk to Dr. Bedi,” I mutter, watching the way my knuckles whiten as I grip the arms of my chair.

Beth’s face softens. “If you’d like me to have a word with anyone at your label—”

“It’s fine.” I reach for my purse, desperate to get out of there. “Is there anything else?”

“You know the drill—ice when you get home.” Like I wasn’t going to do that already—I spend half my life under an ice pack. “I want you to hit the hot tub, too. If we can keep the surrounding muscles from tightening, your swelling won’t be as severe.”

“Got it. Thanks, Beth.”

She holds out a hand for Will. “Come back again soon,” she tells him, winking. “You seem to motivate her.”

I don’t bother telling either of them that he most definitely will not be coming back again.

We’re mostly quiet in Will’s truck on the way back to my house. My hip is screaming at me, the entire side of my body throbbing. It’s almost enough to drown out my embarrassment at him having witnessed all that.

Once we reach my house, I turn to thank him and say goodbye but he’s already removing his seatbelt. “You probably have to get back to work,” I say, but he shakes his head.

“Nah. Let’s get you settled.”

“Will, I really don’t need—” But he’s out of the truck, coming around to my side to open the door.

“Out you go.” He places his hands on either side of my waist and lifts me from the seat. I would probably enjoy the sensation of his hands on me a lot more if I wasn’t so distracted by the pain. When he slings an arm around me, I don’t have the strength to object, leaning heavily on him as we walk up to the house.

Once inside, he eyes the steps. I can tell he’s debating whether or not to pick me up so I tug on his arm. “There’s an elevator.” My cheeks feel like they’re on fire. I hate how spoiled that must make me seem—an elevator in a two-story house. But Will doesn’t make a joke and that almost seems worse. He teased me about my driver after our first date. Now he obviously must realize how screwed up my situation really is.

In the elevator, I shrug out from under his arm and lean back against the wall while I try to think of a good way to tell him to leave. All I want to do is collapse on the couch with an ice pack and I’d prefer not to have witnesses to what will probably be my self-pitying tears.

“Why don’t you sit down,” he says, reaching for me again, but this time I manage to stay upright on my own. I can’t help the limp as I hobble my way to the couch.

Will disappears into the kitchen, returning a moment later with an icepack from the freezer and a bottle of water. “I’ll grab you a pillow.”

“I don’t need—” but he’s already heading for the bedroom. I squeeze my eyes shut and lean my head against the back cushion, willing myself to keep it together.

I don’t realize that Will has come back until I feel the soft cushion of a pillow as he arranges it against my side. I open my eyes and find him very close, face only inches from mine as he adjusts the pillow. He meets my eyes and I can see the worry in his. I hate that expression—it’s too close to pity.

“Do you take anything for the pain?”

I clench my hands into fists against the couch cushions. “Maybe just an Advil?”

He studies me. “Is that really strong enough for this?”

Apparently, I’m doing a shitty job of hiding just how much pain I’m feeling. “I try not to take the stronger stuff too often.” In fact, I usually only take it after PT but I’m not going to tell him that. “It makes me sleepy.”

“Maybe a nap would be good,” he suggests as I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, trying to breathe through the pain. “You look really pale.”

Because my entire side is on fire and I’d like you please to leave so I can lose it in peace.

“Where’s your medicine, Eva?” he murmurs, voice close to my ear.

Any strength I had to argue has crumbled. “Medicine cabinet. In the bathroom.”

It feels like only a second before he’s back, his gentle fingers pressing a pill to my lips. “Here’s some water.” I don’t bother opening my eyes as he holds the bottle to my mouth. Then he’s pulling me down with him onto the couch, helping me to stretch out and arranging the ice on my side.

“Just relax,” he says softly, his arms wrapped around me. He slips the pillow under our heads, his chest to my back, and begins to rub slow circles over my side.

I should tell him to leave. Tell him I can handle this just fine on my own. But he feels so good behind me, so solid and warm. Already the ice is starting to numb away some of the pain, and his fingers dancing gently over my side have me melting back into him.

I’ll just lie here for a minute with my eyes closed. Long enough for the pain to ease a little. Then I’ll get up and let him go.

In just a minute.