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  “That’s one beautiful smile you have going on there. I knew if I tried hard enough, you couldn’t resist. Now we just need to get you smiling voluntarily the minute I walk through door each day. Then my life would be complete.” I reward her with my best smile and a slow wink, but her eyes glass over with unshed tears. That’s not the reaction I was going for. Unless they’re happy tears. Girls cry happy tears, don’t they? I’ve seen them do it in films. There hasn’t been much time for girls in my life since Mum died. I’m not a virgin, but it’s always been more of a casual hook-up. There’s been one or two girls I thought might become more, but as soon as they find out about Jacob, they lose interest. I guess I’m not ideal boyfriend material.

  “I’m going to assume they are happy tears, and that you’re happy because we reached a milestone here, with the smiling.” Turning away from her, I begin to run the mop around the floor, making sure to cover every inch. I think she needs a little time to compose herself. Boy, is she stunning when she smiles.

  I know he’s avoiding looking at me now. I’ve embarrassed myself and him. I don’t even know this guy, and I’m blubbing like the girl I am, in front of him. The tears are anything but happy, and I can’t seem to stop them now that they’ve started. I’ve let my guard slip, and I need to make sure that doesn’t happen again—not until I’m ready to talk—but I want so much for him to look at me again. I want to see those big, piercing eyes focused on me. I’ve never wanted anyone’s attention as much as I want his now. Something about him tells me he’s a good person and I feel too comfortable around him. I want to get to know him.

  “It’s nice to see you in clothes rather than those penguin PJs you’ve been wearing. I like your dress.” My gaze runs back over to her, but I’m not looking at her face this time. I can’t help it, but the dress is very revealing in the chest department, and let’s just say that she wasn’t short-changed. The exposed skin on her chest darkens, flushing slightly upwards towards her neck and face. I’ve made her blush. Following the reddening skin upwards, I see that her cheeks are wet from the tears and now I feel bad. Dropping the mop, I make my way over to her side table and pluck a tissue from the box that sits there. “I’m just going to wipe those tears away. If that’s not okay with you, blink for me and I’ll leave you alone.” My hand is inches away from her face as I wait for permission to dry her tears. Her eyes close once, then twice, giving me the green light to go ahead.

  Now if this were Jacob, I would have just wiped my sleeve down his cheeks and told him to man up. But it isn’t my brother. So I dab gently at the tracks of her tears, drying first one side and then the other. “You shouldn’t be crying. It makes your eyes all puffy. If I made you cry, then I’m sorry. I’ll try harder in the future.” Her big almond-shaped eyes are sparkling as she stares intently at me while I dab her tears away. “Do you feel better now?” Two quick eye flutters, and I’m grinning like an idiot. “Good, is this okay? Me coming in here to see you, I mean?” I’m trying really hard to just ask one question at a time. I know if I don’t, she’s going to give me that stern look again. Harper blinks rapidly now, and I convince myself that the quicker the blinks come the better it is, kind of like she really likes it. The smile that spreads across my face feels like it’s going to split my cheeks in two. “Well, in that case, young lady, I thought that once I get done here today, you might like me to come back and sit with you for a while. Maybe read to you or we could just chat. Well, I’ll talk and you can just smile for me. What do you think? Is that going to be okay?” I’m kind of holding my breath, waiting for her reaction, but she doesn’t keep me waiting long. Those gorgeous long blonde eyelashes flutter shut twice, in quick succession, as her mouth twitches gently at the corners.

  “Right, well I better get on with my mopping, then. Sooner I’m done, the better. No more tears. I want happy eyes when I come back later. You got that?” Harper’s eyebrows lift upwards towards her hairline, indicating that she’s not taking any shit from me either.

  “Let’s call it a date, then, shall we?” I say as I make my way back out of her room and out into the corridor. Checking my watch, I do a quick recount of the jobs I have to do before I can clock off for the day.

  A date? Seriously, Flynn? Well, you can’t blame a guy for trying, and I do like him. A lot. He’s the only person who watches my face when he speaks to me. Nobody else looks for a reaction from me. My mother certainly doesn’t. She just talks at me, as do all the nursing staff. The physio guy, he watches me for any physical reaction, but that’s just to check if he’s doing his job properly, and I don’t reward him with any indications. Flynn’s different. It’s like he wants to be here with me. All the others are here through a sense of duty, even my family.

  It’s two thirty in the afternoon. I wonder what time he’ll be back? I don’t want to lie here watching the clock on the wall, but the only alternative is to sleep, and if I sleep then I remember him and all that he does to me. I don’t want to remember that now, so clock watching it is.

  Chapter Ten

  Flynn

  Just under two hours later and I’m signing out on Frank’s time sheet. I don’t have set hours to work at the rehab unit, but Josh, my boss while I’m here, monitors my time. As soon as I hit three hundred hours, I’m done. Free to go. The thought pauses me momentarily. I’ve been here such a short time, but I’ve grown to enjoy it and Frank is great, now that he’s stopped thinking that I might mug him as soon has he turns his back. Even the girl in reception, Laura, has mellowed towards me. She no longer feels the need to take the charity collection box with her when she leaves her desk. She even wished me goodnight the other day. I honestly thought that I would be counting down the hours until my freedom, but now I’m not so eager to get it over with. I have roughly three months here, and eight weeks of group therapy to get through.

  The group therapy shit? Yeah, I’d give that a miss any day. The last session was painful. I got paired with some old man whose house had been broken into. The scumbag took the old guy’s wife’s wedding ring, along with a load of other shit. His wife’s been dead five years; the ring was the only thing of hers that he’d kept. At least the shit I pulled never hurt anyone. Mine was supposed to be a victimless crime. The stores can afford to take the hit, nobody gets hurt. Well, that was the idea until that fucking security guard caught up with me. He was definitely a victim of my crime. He’s still drinking through a straw, apparently. Yes, I feel bad for him, yes, I know he was just doing his job, but we needed the cash. Jacob needed a new school uniform. I’d rather not eat than send him to school in shit clothes. That’s a sure-fire way to get him beat up. Then I really would be doing time, only then it would be for grievous bodily harm.

  Laura, the receptionist, hands me my phone from inside the safe and wishes me goodnight again. Absentmindedly, I nod my thanks as I scroll through the message screen. Jacob’s used to being on his own after school. He knows I don’t get back until around dinnertime when I’m at Bluebell Hill. I have two messages, one from my brother telling me he’s at Mrs Fisher’s and she’s making him dinner, the second from Mrs Fisher telling me its fish for dinner tonight. God bless that woman. I tap out a quick response to both before sliding my phone into my pocket. It vibrates against my thigh, indicating a new message. It’s a single ‘?’ from Mrs F. I resend my original message after editing it, making sure to spell out each word for her. My loud laugh as I hit send reverberates around the old corridors. Jacob needs to hurry up with the shortened texting lessons.

  It’s coming up to mealtime on the wards as I make my way back to Harper. The smell makes my stomach rumble loudly. All along the corridors, the patients are getting ready for dinner, but I know Harper doesn’t eat. That’s what the tube that runs up her nose is for. They feed her through a damn tube. I’m curious about her illness, but it’s not like I can ask her about it. That would be one long, drawn-out blinking exercise, and I could be there for days guessing at why she can’t move. She’s indicated that she choos
es not to speak rather than she’s unable to. We got that out of the way the first day. It bothers me that someone would choose not to communicate. I’m not a great talker, but if someone told me I couldn’t, then I’m sure it’s all I’d want to do. She must have a good reason. Maybe I need to make that my mission.

  Operation Get-Harper-To-Talk.

  Who am I kidding? If the doctors can’t fix her, then I’ve got no chance. Shaking my head, I resign myself to get her to smile first. I think we need baby steps here.

  “Did you miss me? Of course you did. I can see it in your eyes.” I’m speaking before the door has even closed behind me. I don’t notice the nurse in the room until she coughs, alerting me to her presence. “Oh, shit! Sorry, I thought the nursing rounds were over. Shall I come back later?” My eyes flit between the nurse and Harper quickly.

  “No, I’m just about done here. Harper you didn’t tell me you were expecting such a handsome visitor! You must have been hiding him!” The nurse smiles at Harper then winks at me. “Just keep talking to her. She doesn’t respond at all, but we’re hopeful that one day she will. It’s such a shame that the accident cut her career short.” The nurse notices my blank expression, but she doesn’t take that as a cue to stop talking. She glances quickly at Harper, who is staring at me, then continues. “You didn’t know about the racing? Boy, she was good. My boyfriend’s into IndyCar racing and Formula One. She’s supposedly the best in her age group. Well, she was until she wrapped her car around the crash barrier and had to be cut out. They didn’t think she’d make it in the beginning, but she’s still here.” The nurse turns and pats Harper’s leg. “She’ll never race again, poor little thing.”

  I can sense the tension rolling off Harper in waves. Her muscles have stiffened and her eyes are cold and hating. How can anyone say she’s unresponsive? She’s anything but. My defences are immediately up. How dare she dismiss Harper’s recovery? “Who the Hell are you to decide whether or not she will ever race again? Isn’t that a breach of confidentiality? Aren’t you supposed to protect your patient’s privacy? What’s your name?” I run my eyes over her uniform, looking for a name badge, but her hand has shot up to cover it as she makes a hasty retreat from Harper’s room. “Thought so. You might want to check up on the hospital policies on your next break!” I call after her, retreating back.

  Way to go, Flynn! Give her hell. I hate Miss Smarty Pants. It’s her fault that my mother reads that bloody book every time she visits me. Come to think of it, I wonder why she hasn’t been in today? Flynn still hasn’t turned to look at me yet. He’s standing facing the closed the door with one hand on his hip and the other rubbing the top of his head. I’m taking advantage and staring at him, taking in his full height and build. He looks quite broad across his back, but he narrows towards his hips. He looks like he takes care of himself, not overly built but well defined, I think you call it.

  Blowing out a long breath, I shake my head in exasperation at the dim nurse before turning around to catch Harper staring at me. She’s turned her head in my direction, and her eyes are glinting in the light. It’s then that I see it. A full-blown smile, and it’s breath-taking. Mind-blowing, even. “Wow! Look at you, little Miss Smiley. What did I do to deserve that?” I can see her desperately trying to wipe the smile from her face, but she’s finding it a struggle. “See, it’s easy, isn’t it? I knew you could do it! Now, we just need to practise it daily. It’s easier than looking sullen all day.” Her eyebrows raise up high again, and I know she’s reprimanding me, but I don’t give a shit, because the smile is still there and it’s so worth it. I’d pay money to see that smile.

  Walking over to her bedside, I rest my hands on the bed and just look at her for a long moment. If she never smiles at me again, I think it may kill me. Harper doesn’t break my gaze, nor does she stop smiling, and I can’t stop the soft laugh escaping my throat.

  “So, how’s this going to work? Shall I sit here and read to you for a while?” She answers with one slow blink and the smile slips. “I guess reading’s out, then. Well, how about I just tell you about my day?” I’m rewarded with another smile. She doesn’t need to blink this time. “That’s settled, then.” Making myself comfortable in the chair beside her bed, I begin to ramble on about all the things I’ve learnt how to do, thanks to Frank. It’s true, a few weeks ago I couldn’t have tiled a wall or mended a fence. I could now, and that’s all down to Frank giving me a chance. I contemplate telling her why I’m really here but decide that’s a story for another day. Casting a glance at my ankle, I check to make sure the cumbersome plastic tagging device is disguised by my jeans.

  “I have to get going. I need to collect my brother, but I’ll come back next week, if that’s what you want?” I don’t want her to feel like she doesn’t have a choice. She should always have a choice. I won’t allow her silence to make her any more vulnerable than it has to. It’s not like I’m the sort of guy to force my company on anybody. Standing, I lift my bag onto my shoulder and smile at Harper. The smile’s disappeared from her angelic face now, and she looks a little tired. “Can I come back next week, Harper?” Her eyelashes sweep down twice to confirm I can.

  “Good, well, behave while I’m gone. Don’t go kicking up a stink while I’m away. I don’t think that nurse could cope.” The smile is back and my job is done for today. It’s time to go.

  “Bye, beautiful. See you soon.” The skin on her chest flushes again at my compliment. Score two. I’m a happy man.

  Chapter Eleven

  Harper

  Today is Saturday. I know that because Flynn doesn’t come in at the weekends, not that I’ve studied his schedule closely or anything, you understand. He also doesn’t work Wednesdays, either. It’s how I’ve learnt to keep track of the days now I’m here at the rehab unit. Knowing when certain people come and go is fundamental to me making sense of the week. Otherwise, the days just roll from one to another.

  When I was at the hospital, it was easy to keep track of the days. The nurses would come in daily and write the day, date and their name on a little white board that was on the wall just inside my room. They don’t do that here, so I had to figure it out for myself. Sometimes my mother tells me what day it is indirectly, when she goes on about her lunch dates with various so-called friends. She’s kept the same schedule ever since my brother and I were babies. Dad leaves her to get on with it. Sometimes I wonder how they’ve survived twenty years of marriage, but he does work away a lot. Sometimes she goes with him on business trips, but to be honest, it kind of depends where the trip might take her. Some places are obviously more appealing than others to her. She hasn’t travelled so much with him this last year. My accident screwed that up for her.

  My accident.

  Yeah, that was a fun day. One I won’t be forgetting in a hurry. My mind was preoccupied with him, and that is not to be recommended when you’re hurtling around a racetrack in excess of hundred and fifty miles an hour. There isn’t much room for error, as I found out. My thoughts slipped for a fraction of a second and wham, I hit the edge of the track, spun off and tailspun right into the crash barrier. I don’t really remember too much of the accident. That’s about it, really, apart from being carried towards the ambulance on a stretcher. I remember the smell more than anything else; the acrid stench surrounded me, enveloping me in thick black smoke. I can still smell it now, a year later. And the immense heat, burning my lungs as I tried to breathe in fresh air.

  My brother showed me some Internet footage of the crash six months later. It was strange watching, knowing that I was in that car as it spun then ignited seconds later. The hospital staff told my family that it may help my recovery, but they were clutching at straws. Nobody had counted on me not wanting to get better, and really, the only thing stopping my recovery now is me. They say I’m lucky to be alive.

  Then how come I don’t feel so lucky?

  To be truthful, I spent some time thinking that maybe, just maybe, I wanted the car to crash, and I wanted to
die inside it. Not that I’m trying to make some huge statement, like James Dean did—live fast, die young and leave a beautiful corpse. No, that wasn’t my intention, but dying would’ve been a whole lot easier to deal with than having to tell someone about him. Why have I not told anyone? Simple, who’d believe me? It’s right what he says; if I wanted it to stop, then I would’ve done something about it at the very beginning. Instead, it’s just progressed from a passing touch to more. So much more.

  How long am I going to keep quiet about it? I don’t know is the simple answer. I’ve left it so long that I’m even doubting my own sanity. He doesn’t hurt me physically; nothing he does is painful. Sure, it’s emotionally painful, degrading and vile and nasty. If he made it physically painful, I would’ve told someone. Everyone will say the same thing. They’ll think that I’ve made it up. They won’t understand why I kept my mouth shut about the whole damned sordid thing. It makes me the guilty one—my denial, my silence, makes me guilty.

  So instead of permitting myself to recover fully so that I can condemn him to the Hell he deserves, I lie here. Day in, day out, allowing it to continue, and every so often, it becomes worse than before. Something new is added to the routine, a curve ball is thrown into the game. Just to remind me exactly who’s in charge.

  Flynn visiting has made my life more bearable. There is something so kind in his eyes. The way he smiles at me, it makes me feel like this is all just a glitch in the road. He’s almost appeared from nowhere, as though he’s been sent to me as some kind of guardian angel. Stupid, I know. There’s nothing wrong with my brain. They’ve tested it enough times. If I said out loud that Flynn was an angel sent to save me, they’d have me sectioned. That’s how he feels to me though. One day he just appeared, staring through my window from the gardens. Now he feels like mine, but I know I don’t get to keep him. He will in time disappear. He’ll leave once he finds out what I’ve allowed to happen, what I allow to continue happening. Flynn will know the kind of person I am then.