Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
He glared at her while rubbing his side. “What? You sharpen your claws now?”
She waggled her pretty polished nails at him. “What do you care? Your body’s like stone.” She’d meant that to be some kind of insult, but it didn’t come out quite that way.
Thankfully, Danny was too distracted to cotton on to the fact she’d accidentally complimented him. “Where did you learn that? What you said? Therapy?”
“Nah, that was courtesy of another kid I met on the ward. Cillian, one of the counselors at my camp. You remember?”
“Yeah, sure. He gave that talk about how he lost three limbs because of a blood infection.”
“That’s him.” She hitched herself up to sit on the counter. “Anyway, I met him during rehab, and I felt bad talking about my own stuff because at least I still had both arms. But Cill, he’s a true farmer’s son—or as he’d put it, blunt as a rusty axe.
“He basically said, ‘You lost two legs, Catie, and you’re a runner. That sucks. I’m a future farmer who lost two legs and an arm and that sucks too. And that other kid we met had cancer that might come back and it already took his left leg. That sucks too. It all sucks. It’s not like a competition.’”
She smiled. “He’s so wise I always tell him he should’ve been a monk, meditating on the meaning of life. He points out that monks don’t have sex and he likes to have lots of sex, thank you very much.”
A flicker in Danny’s eyes she couldn’t quite read before he nodded. “He’s right. It sucks. I just… I mean, a stranger almost took away everything I value on a whim. It unsettles me. Like nothing I do matters. I know that’s BS thinking, but it keeps going around and around in my head.”
“Trauma.” Catie patted his shoulder. “Take my advice and attend that session with the headshrinker. It feels super awkward talking to a stranger about things at first, but if they’re good, it starts to feel better after a while. And if they’re bad, you find someone new. Because you gotta talk it out, Danny, or it will eat you up.”
* * *
Catie’s words rang in Danny’s head as he set himself up for the remote session late that afternoon. The two of them hadn’t spoken much after lunch, both busy with their own things. But he knew she was right. Which was why he didn’t try to bullshit the doctor. He cooperated fully, and it turned out the guy was good.
Younger than Danny had expected—young enough to understand Danny’s world—but experienced enough to help Danny sort through the mess in his head.
Closing his laptop after it was done, he exhaled. He already felt a little lighter, not so many snarled threads in his brain. It was far from game over, but it had been the right call to do this while the wound was fresh; he could see the path ahead now. At least on this point.
As for his rugby career…
Jaw tight and a burn in his gut, he put aside the laptop and got up. He didn’t want to think about the sword hanging over his head—it had been hanging there for the entire season, and he knew it was going to fall one of these days and cut out his fucking heart.
And the same media who’d hyped him up when he made the national squad at nineteen would exhibit glee at calling him a washout at twenty-five.
Unable to even think about it, he spent the time till dinner doing another bout of training, this time focusing on weights. He was just finishing up when he heard clattering in the kitchen.
Alarmed, he ran out to find Catie pulling out a pot; the remaining fresh vegetables from the fridge sat alongside a package of chicken breasts. “What horrible death are you planning for those innocent food items?” he asked, slinging his towel around his neck.
Catie gave his bare upper body a dismissive look, then went to wash her hands. “Shut up. I’m not that bad. I feed myself fresh, healthy stuff.”
Danny forced himself to stay in place. Catie was a passable cook—if he gave passable a generous interpretation. “Have you learned how to use garlic and ginger and herbs yet?”
“I’m holding a knife, hotshot.” She chopped down hard on the green beans she’d just washed, then made searing eye contact… and chopped again.
“Fine, fine.” Holding up his hands, he backed away. “But I’m going to supervise.”
“You’re really making me feel stabby,” she said in a calm tone. “And you don’t need ginger for a stir-fry.”
“Oh dear Lord in heaven, please save me.” Leaving her for a bare couple of minutes to throw on a tee—sexy half-naked cooking pics might be the thing in some circles, but he did not want hot oil splashed on his stomach—he returned to the kitchen.