Page 9 of Strawberry Cake

“Good,” he replied plainly, trying to get out and to the trunk.

“That bad?”

“I said it was good but if you don’t back up at least two feet, I won’t tell you shit.”

Marco chuckled, took a few steps back and lifted his hands in surrender. “Fine.”

Only once in his chair and the car locked, Decan paid his best friend attention again. “Itwasgood, we’re seeing each other again on Tuesday for dinner.”

“Why do I feel you’re holding something back?”

“Because we both know how this is going to end.”

“I can’t see the future and unless you have something to tell me, neither can you.”

“Marco…”

“Don’t ‘Marco’ me,” he growled, opening the door. “Did she give you fucked up vibes, like she doesn’t dig the kinky wheelchair shit?”

“No, she was actually really great about it.”

“Then stop thinking with your anxiety-riddled brain and go with your gut.”

“I’m not anxiety-riddled.”

Marco crooked his eyebrow at him, it nearly disappearing under his long brown hair. “Good, then there’s no problem. She approached you first, clearly interested enough to make the first move.”

“She came over because she liked my book.”

“Nah, man. If it hadn’t been the book, she would’ve chatted you up about your necklace or your damn shoes. The book was just the perfect excuse to show you that she is a perfect match for you.”

Decan rolled his eyes, but Marco stepped into his path and crossed his arms over his chest.

“She likes you,” he said sternly. “And you and I both know that’s true. She didn’thaveto call you, did she?”

Deep down, Decan knew that Marco was right. It was just hard not to be pessimistic. His body was fucked up enough, he didn’t need his heart broken too.

Marco sighed and sat on the weight bench next to Decan. “You said she was fine with the wheelchair. What made you feel that way? She must have done something.”

Decan shrugged and fidgeted, wiggling into his workout gloves. “Just the way she acted around me. Not once did she seem to doubt what I can do. She wasn’t awkwardly trying to help me or staring like she thought I would crumble to pieces.”

“What else?”

“She did ask me if I would prefer that she offer to help.”

“And you told her what you truly wanted, right?”

“Yeah, and that’s all she ever asked. She had a way of not making it awkward. I can’t even describe it.”

“She treated you as an adult and not a fragile little child like others have.”

“Yeah… she did”

“Look, just trust your gut. It hasn’t led you astray so far.”

After that, Marco didn’t pester him any longer. They went through their usual workout routine and then left together. On his way home, he called his favourite Brazilian steakhouse and made reservations before texting Hope the details. At home, he made sure to declare himself safe and sound and went to take a shower.

He sat under the spray, staring down at himself as his wet curls hung in his face. Tattoos covered his arms and torso. He’d always wanted to get some on his legs too, but he’d hated looking at them since the accident. He ran his fingers over his thighs and to his knees, the sensation of it dampened, as if he was wearing thick jeans. Whenever he looked at his legs, he warred with himself. The part of him that regretted that awful night and its consequences battled with the part of him that was fucking proud of himself for proving the doctors wrong. He’d been told that he would never walk again and though he needed help, he did it.