The Dance (33 page)

Before I had the chance to reconsider, I heard the dulcet tones of Sophie coming from downstairs. I loosened my ponytail and ran the brush through my hair several times, deciding to leave it down. I grabbed the bottle of mouthwash, chugged a mouthful, swished, and spit. I checked my makeup in the mirror one last time. No lip gloss on the teeth. And I was good to go.

When I got downstairs, Sophie was sitting at the kitchen counter and had helped herself to a glass of wine.

With the glass hovering at her lips, she said, “You’re the designated driver.”

“No problem.”

“Well, look at you, sexy lady. Damn. You didn’t have to get all done up for little ‘ol me. What’s the deal?”

“No deal. Why does there always have to be a deal? It’s nice dressing nice. It makes me feel . . .”

“Nice?” she said with a hint of snark in her tone. “How about Angel Fish for lunch? I could really go for their fried green tomato burger.”

I double-checked directions and the time of the game. “I have a new place in mind.”

“What place?”

“It’s a surprise.” I looked up at her. “We need to go or we’ll be late.”

“Late? Do we have a reservation?” She threw back the rest of her wine like it was a shot of tequila.

“Um . . . kind of.” Slipping my purse on my shoulder, I quickly headed toward the front door. “I’ll meet you in the car.”

“Creeps, slow down! I’m coming!”

The click of Sophie’s heels echoed in the entryway as she followed me out the door.

I took a left on Calhoun, the first right onto Saint Phillips Street, and pulled into the parking lot.

“Bryson, what the hell are we doing here?”

Trying to sound cheery and excited, I said, “Going to a basketball game.”

Ignorance was bliss when it came to Sophie attending an athletic event. Her idea of being a sports fan was to see how many football, baseball, basketball, and hockey players she could get her hands on. In high school the only time I was able to get her to go to a game was if she was crushing on someone on either our team or the opposing one. If I had mentioned earlier about my plan to attend the basketball tournament she wouldn’t have gotten in the car. And I needed her by my side today.

“I thought we were going to lunch.” The tone in her voice moved from confusion to annoyance. And if I knew my friend, pissed off, was just around the corner.

I circled the crowded parking lot searching for a spot to land. “They have concessions inside.”

“I’m not in the mood for a greasy hotdog and cotton candy.”

“The food choices have come a long way since the last time you went to a game,” I said, working hard to amp up the excitement so she’d climb onboard. “And cute guys in shorts will be running . . . will be around.”

“Correction. I’m not in the mood for greasy hotdogs, cotton candy, or inexperienced prepubescent tally whackers.”

I gave her a sideways glance. “It’ll be fun. Besides, it’s not college boys playing. ”

At least I assumed all the players would be around our age. But what did I know. Up until this morning, I wasn’t even aware that a wheelchair basketball league existed.

“You’re shitting me, right? This is one of your weird little jokes.” I pulled into a spot, turned off the car, and took the key out of the ignition. “Oh! My! God! You’re serious! We’re actually going inside!”

“You need to open your mind to new experiences,” I said, getting out of the car.

Sophie was closing the door as I walked up to her.

“I’ll have you know my mind is plenty open to new experiences. Just last week I let a guy fuck me hanging upside down in a pair of gravity boots.”

Sophie and I had been friends since childhood. You’d think nothing she said or did would shock me at this point.

Wrong!

“I stand corrected. You’re wide open. Who wore the boots?”

Tilting her chin in the air, her eyes narrowed. “We each had a go at it.”

I pivoted and walked toward the coliseum. The crunch of gravel got louder as Sophie caught up with me. I glanced over at her walking on wobbly legs. As usual she looked stunning in her burgundy sweater dress and matching three-inch heels. Maybe I should have given her a little warning.

Clutching my upper arm for dear life, she grumbled, “You could at least have given me a slight heads-up about this little swit-cha-roo. My heels weren’t exactly made for rock climbing.”

Sophie complained incoherently all the way across the parking lot. As we approached the ticket window I was surprised to see such a long line. Hart told me this was the final day of the tournament. I just didn’t realize the fan base was so big. Luckily the line moved quickly and there were still a few tickets available when we reached the front.

Sophie glared at her ticket as if it were an electric eel. “Question. What in god’s name are we doing at a wheelchair basketball tourney? And don’t give me this new experience crap.”

Sophie and I shuffled inside along with the rest of the crowd. “A friend of mine is playing.”

“A friend? I know all your friends and none of them are in wheelchairs.”

Ignoring her, my gaze darted around the huge facility as I pretended to search for our seats. Two teams were already on the court warming up.

The power and strength the players displayed was incredible. It was like they floated on air, gliding and spinning across the shiny hardwood as they passed and shot the ball. The chairs were different than what I’d seen Hart use on a daily basis. The framing was more intricate and colorful. The footrest consisted of one solid bar across the front with straps across the upper thighs as well as the calves. In addition to the front casters and large side wheels, which were angled in toward the player, there was a caster wheel in the back. The chairs looked lightweight and lower to the ground, which appeared to aid in speed and agility.

I recognized the team jerseys at the farthest end of the court. Within a second, I spotted him. His biceps flexed and relaxed as he pushed across the floor. Black fingerless sports gloves covered his hands. As the ball barreled toward him, Hart released his grip from the wheel. In one smooth continuous motion, he skidded across the court, caught the ball, and shot.

Nothing but net.

A sense of pride and admiration for my new friend washed over me. Hart was an impressive example of strength and courage, not just as a man but as a human being. I thought about the questions he asked me last night. I gave up on my dream so easily just because Will deemed it to be stupid and unnecessary. Our hearts were already separated and soon we would be physically as well. I couldn’t blame Will any longer for my apprehension. Hart’s life had been shattered by his accident as well as the death of his mother. He managed to rebuild and reinvent himself in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds. All I had to do was push myself to take a step out my comfort zone.

Sophie popped my arm, jolting me from my thoughts. “Earth to Bryson.”

“Let’s go find our seats,” I said.

She looked down at her ticket and then up into the stands. “Jesus Christ, Bryson. These are in the nosebleed section.”

I tugged on her arm, pulling her toward the stairs. “That’s all they had left.”

Before hitting the first step a vaguely familiar voice hit my ears.

“Bryson, baby! I knew you couldn’t stay away from me.” Doug shoved his way between me and Sophie, draping his meaty arms over each of our shoulders.

Sophie grunted, ramming her elbow into the side of Doug’s ribs. She then grabbed his wrist, twisted, and shoved it behind his back. “On your knees motherfucker!” Doug dropped to the ground wincing in pain. “Bryson, go get security now!”

Waving my hands in the air, I yelled, “Sophie, stop! I know him!”

She tightened the twist.

“Ow!” Doug groaned.

With a firm grip on Doug’s arm, Sophie said, “You’re kidding?”

I shook my head. “We met this weekend.”

Sophie refused to loosen her hold. “Is this . . .” She glanced down. “. . . Why we’re here?”

“No,” I said.

She took a few more seconds deciding whether or not she was ready to release Doug back into the world. After what felt like several hours, she finally relented and let him go.

Doug stood rubbing his arm. “You’re lucky you’re a girl, otherwise your ass would be mine.” Rolling his shoulder backward and forward, his gaze dropped to Sophie’s ass. “Damn, I would so like that ass to be mine.”

Peering at me over Doug’s shoulder, Sophie pleaded, “Angel Fish, please.”

Out the corner of my eye, I noticed someone walking toward me. I turned to find Colin with Ronnie only steps behind.

“Hey, lady,” Colin said, coming in for a hug.

“Hey!”

Even though we’d just met and spent a brief amount of time together, there was a familiar warmth and kindness about Colin that made me feel comfortable.

Ronnie, who looked to be still in recovery mode from his bachelor party, sent a smile and a wave my way.

Gesturing, I made quick introductions. “Sophie, this is Colin, Ronnie, and you’ve met Doug.”

Sophie politely smiled and nodded toward Colin and Ronnie. With crinkled nose and squinted eyes, she begrudgingly acknowledged Doug.

Colin shifted his gaze toward the court. “Hart didn’t mention you were coming today.” “It was kind of a last-minute thing.” The nervous tickle in my throat caused a slight shake in my voice. “He doesn’t know I’m here.”

Continuing to look straight ahead, Colin nodded as if to let me know he had no intention of outing me.

Suddenly, the booming voice of Doug broke through the air. “Hartford!”

I snapped my head toward Doug as he raised both hands high and pointed to me.

My gaze darted to the court in time to see Hart turn, wearing a big smile. Our eyes locked and his expression went blank. He was so distracted by my presence that he didn’t see the ball flying through the air until it bounced off the side of his head. My muscles flinched, my mouth dried up, and my stomach bottomed out. I couldn’t tell if he was annoyed, angry, or happy to see me standing courtside with his friends.

Admittedly, I hadn’t thought my plan through in detail. I’d gotten as far as sitting in the stands watching the game. Whether or not I was going to reveal myself to Hart had still been up in the air until a second ago. It was stupid of me not to think the guys would be here to support their friend.

With my back to the court, I grabbed Sophie’s hand, and tugged.

“Let’s get out of here,” I muttered in her ear.

Sophie was in mid-turn when his deep rasp cut through the noisy crowd.

“Bryson?”

I froze, closing my eyes and tightening my grip around my best friend’s hand. To her credit Sophie acted unfazed as she waited for my next move.

Since disappearing in the crowd was out, I let go of Sophie and turned to face Hart.

“Hi!” My pitch skyrocketed up eight octaves.

“Way to look alive out there, man,” Ronnie said, joking.

Never taking his eyes off me, Hart ignored his friend’s comment.

“What are you doing here?”

Fidgeting with the end of my sleeve, I said,“I wanted to come see you.” He just kept staring at me. “And I brought Sophie.” I pulled her beside me.

Sophie raised her hand and gave a slight wave. “Hi.”

I thought I detected a weak smile and a small tilt of his head in acknowledgment. But the movement was so imperceptible it was hard to be sure. The only thing that was definite was Hart’s gaze stayed on me. His odd reaction led me to believe this was a monumental bad idea. From Hart’s perspective, I was probably coming off a bit stalkerish, inserting myself in his life uninvited.

Finally Hart found his voice and said, “The game’s about to start.”

Taking in a deep breath, my chest and ribs felt like they were being squeezed. “Good luck.”

A quiver began to brew and was headed straight to my bottom lip. I didn’t want Hart to know how upset I was by his reaction. It wasn’t his fault. It was mine. I shouldn’t have come, or at the very least, I should have asked him if it was okay.

With pinched brows, Hart shook his head as the edges of his lips drifted into a grin. “I’m glad you’re here.”