Page 188 of Broken Saint
I nod once, unable to ignore how fucking weird that sounds.
I should be able to walk. I should be able to run around the fucking football field.
“Let me drop my purse in your room and I’ll come with you. Help,” she says softly.
She takes two steps around the wheelchair before I manage to speak.
“No.”
She stills the second my voice hits her ears. Her spine straightens, and her shoulders widen.
I brace myself because I know exactly what I’m going to find when she turns toward me. And not a second later, I discover that I’m right when her watery eyes lock on mine.
“No?” she whispers.
“Luca is going to come. You should go back with your mom. Have a night to yourself. Do something fun.”
“Fun?” she asks as if I’ve made the word up.
“He’s got a point, sweetie,” Angie says. I know she’s worried about Ella; it’s clear as day on her face.
“I’m not leaving you,” she argues.
“Ella,” I warn. “I don’t need you to be here every second of the day.”
She rears back as if I just slapped her.
It hurts, knowing that my words cause her pain. But I don’t know what else to do. I refuse to allow her life to be reduced to being my nurse.
She’s better than that.
She sniffles. “I’m not just going to sit in Mom’s suite while you’re here alone.”
“I’m not alone,” I counter.
She glances up at Luca and then to the therapist, who I can only assume is standing awkwardly behind me.
“Luca is going to come to the sessions with me.”
“I don’t have to. I can?—”
“I want you to do it with me,” I say, cutting him off.
“Oh,” Ella whispers, her entire body sagging as understanding hits her.
Angie steps up to her and puts her arm around her shoulder.
“Call Letty and Peyton. Go out. Enjoy yourself. There’s so much you could be doing instead of sitting in here, rotting with me.”
“No, Colt. That’s not?—”
“We really need to get going. We only have so much time?—”
“It’s okay,” I say to my impatient PT. “We can go.”
Silence floods the corridor as I hold Ella’s eyes.
The sight of her tears rips me apart. But it’s the right thing to do.