“The steps are too steep to put a ramp here, but…”
“It’s alright, the wheelchair can’t go in the sand anyway.” I force a smile and make myself look into his cold eyes. How I wish I could go back to that stupid day when I fucked this up. God, I’m such an idiot.
He gives a little tilt of his head towards the chair. “You don’t walk at all anymore?”
“I… Yes, sometimes,” I admit. “When I have a good day, or if I’m so high on morphine I don’t feel anything anymore. Even then, I need a walker or a lot of help just to take a few steps.”
He frowns. Nate knows about my condition. He used to ask me so many questions and do research about it when he was studying biology.
“I guess you’re done with medical school now,” I say, fiddling with the controls of the chair.
“We could say that, yes.”
“So you’re a doctor now, uh? I knew you could…”
“I’m not. I changed course.”
My heart misses a few beats.Shit.Fuck, fuck, fuck.God, where are the time machines when we need them.
“Nate, I’m…”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he snorts, darting his gaze away. “It has nothing to do with our last talk.”
“I didn’t mean it. I hope you know it.”
“Didn’t mean what? That I was worthless? Or that I was a manwhore?”
My head falls down in embarrassment.
All of it.
“It doesn’t matter,” he answers, making me realize that I’ve thought out loud. “It has nothing to do with this.”
There’s a long pause where neither of us talk. We used to be able to talk about everything and I’ve ruined it. And the worst is, I’m pretty sure that if I’d apologize right away, he would have forgiven me. But no, since I’m a fucking stubborn dumbass, I never had the gut to say that I was sorry. That I never meant it. That I was the worthless one for not being the friend that I should have been. The friend that he was for me.
“What do you do now, then?” I ask finally, focusing my gaze on the ocean. “Are you working with your parents?”
“I’m a physiotherapist.”
My face turns abruptly towards his. That could actually play in my advantage. If he treats me, he’ll spend a lot of time here, with me. Maybe we can be friends again. Maybe I can fix what I broke before… Before it’s too late.
“A physiotherapist,” I repeat slowly and he nods in confirmation. “I’m meeting with one next week to see if he can treat me. Ever heard of Alan Reingh?”
He winces. “Yeah. He’s good with athletes, but I don’t think he would be a good fit in your case.”
“Why not?” I frown, hiding my relief that he seems to show some concern.
“I don’t think he knows much about Steinert disease. I’m afraid he would cause more pain than relief.”
I sigh. Physiotherapists are the hardest to find, especially with my condition. Prue was always complaining about it and I curse myself for not remembering.
“Do you know someone who could treat me?”
I must look pathetic. Me, who insulted him even though he was my friend, and now asking for his help. How the tables have turned…
“How bad is it?” He asks calmly, his eyes a little softer.
How bad is it?
