Be with Me (Wait for You #2)(52)

Debbie shouted, “Teresa!”

Tears sprang to my eyes, and I squeezed them shut, refusing to look at my knee. I couldn’t. Oh my God, I couldn’t look at it.

“Is it your knee?” Debbie asked. “Oh my God, is it your knee?”

Clenching my jaw tight, I nodded. The world outside—-the door and the room—-all constricted, closing in.

“I didn’t mean to,” Erik said, voice pitched high. “She was in the way. It was an accident. Tell her it was an accident!”

My hands curled into fists as my heart pumped erratically.

“Teresa,” whispered Debbie. I could feel her kneeling beside me. She placed a cold, trembling hand on my arm. “Say something.”

Pressing my lips together, I shook my head. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t look at my knee, because—-oh God—-I knew. I knew. The pain was too intense, too lasting. It wasn’t just hurt.

My knee was blown.

Again.





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Fourteen


Erik bailed quickly, waiting for Debbie in the lobby below. He was lucky, because if I could walk like a normal person, I’d be kicking his ass across campus.

“I’m sorry,” Debbie said for the hundredth time as she helped me up on the bed. “I’m so—-”

“Stop,” I snapped, taking a deep breath as my leg jerked from a painful spasm. “Stop apologizing. It wasn’t your fault.”

She backed away, hands clasped together. “He didn’t mean to do it.”

My mouth opened, but I sucked in a sharp breath as a slice of pain traveled up my leg.

“Do you need some ice?” she asked.

Grinding my teeth, I nodded. By the time she returned with a pillowcase wrapped around ice, I’d managed to straighten out my knee and roll up my pant leg. The skin around my knee looked puffy. Not good. I hissed as I placed the ice on it.

“Teresa . . .”

Taking another shallow breath, I looked at her. “He might not have really meant to do that, but he was pissed. He didn’t stop to think when he swung that bag around. Or maybe he did, and he just didn’t care.”

Tears pooled in her eyes. “I know he didn’t mean to.”

Falling silent, I adjusted the ice. My head was numb. Too many things were running through my thoughts.

She hesitated near the bed, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Several moments passed before she spoke. “Please . . . please don’t tell anyone.”

My head swung toward her sharply. I couldn’t believe she would ask that of me, and then my heart jumped. Hadn’t I asked the same of my mom and then Cam? Please don’t tell anyone? Because I had been afraid of how Jeremy would react.

The moment to confide in Debbie was here, but she rushed forward and hugged me around the arms and whispered, “Please.”

I didn’t say anything as she left because it was a promise I wasn’t sure I could keep. Lowering my gaze, I slowly eased up the makeshift bag. My skin was red from the cold.

My ringer on my cell phone went off an hour or so later, but I didn’t even look at it. Lying on my back, I’d shoved a pillow under my knee to keep it elevated. By the time I had to hobble down the hall for more ice, the pain had become a constant ache that spiked every so often, as if someone had placed a lit match against my skin.

My knee was swollen. The ice and elevation weren’t helping. I hadn’t heard a pop when I fell, but the swelling was bad news bears. And I knew I couldn’t test my weight on it. Not yet.

There were two more calls that night. Out of the three, two of them were from Jase, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer the phone. Last night . . . last night now felt like forever ago.

I stared at the phone, lip trembling as it signaled a message being left. As the screen blinked black, I reached for it, but drew up short. I couldn’t talk to him yet. If I did, there was a good chance I’d lose it.

Because if my knee was blown again, everything changed. This wouldn’t be temporary. There would be no going back to the studio. This . . . I looked around the dorm . . . this would truly be my life. This whole time I’d been faking it.

I pulled my hand back and rested my forehead against my palm. Another spasm rolled up my leg. I couldn’t deal with this again—-the pain, the surgery, the rehab. But this time . . . I shuddered. This time would be different because the worst possible thing you could do to a torn ACL was to reinjure it. Doing so increased the chances of permanent instability.

And I wouldn’t be able to dance again.

When I finally slept, I don’t think I dreamed, and when I woke, the swelling had increased until my knee looked twice its size. I didn’t even consider getting more ice. I knew it wouldn’t do any damn good. I had no crutches, so there was no way I was walking to class. I stayed in my bed as acid churned in my stomach.

My cell went off a few minutes after music class would’ve started. Thinking it was Calla or Debbie—-who’d sent me two texts checking in that I hadn’t responded to—-I was surprised to see it was from Jase. I still hadn’t checked his message.

Where r u?