Lean On Me #Wattys2016

Part 4

Mateo

I don't stay at my favorite table this time. I grab my coffee and get the hell out of there because I don't want to have a run in with Ashlyn. It's bad enough that I couldn't stop thinking about her yesterday, I don't know how I'll get through session ever again if she's there too. I'm leaving the shop with my coffee in one hand and my phone in the other. I've been texting with my buddy Liam about a good time for him and Lucas to come visit. I'm not really up for any visitors so I keep brushing them off.

I swing the door open and a woman who has clearly had too much coffee comes darting in past me, her small fluff of a dog running circles around her feet. The unruly little creature moves right into my path and since I can't really lift my bad leg that well, I stumble over the flea bag and my cup and phone go flying from my hands and mix in a puddle of coffee and shattered iPhone. FUCK ME.

The other downside....other like there are only two...let's rephrase: one of the many downsides to having a bullet-riddled femur is the inability to bend down swiftly and retrieve my belongings. I can't really bend down much at all. I'm staring down at the puddle when two bright pink shoes come into view. They are attached to tan legs—long, toned, tanned legs. And of course those long toned legs are attached to an equally jaw-dropping body. All of which (can you see where this is headed) is topped with a beautiful face with auburn hair pulled back tightly into a ponytail. Ashlyn.

"Bitch," she mutters to the caffeine infused woman's back. Don't worry, she can't possible hear her over the yappy bark of the little mutt as well as the sheer distance between us since she never bothered to even turn around and see what her rude behavior had caused. Ashlyn bends down and retrieves my belongings and as much as I want to tell her to put them down and then go away so that I can retrieve them my damn self, I don't. We both know it would take me a good twenty minutes and a lot of ugly yoga poses before I could get anywhere near them. It takes ten minutes just to tie my fucking shoe on that foot.

"Thanks," I mutter when she hands me back my wet and probably ruined iPhone.

"No problem. You headed to therapy?" She glances across the street as if to confirm that the hospital is still there and I feel my lips lift into a smile.

"Just finished actually." OK, I might have changed my appointment time in the hope that I'd not run into her again. See how well that worked out?

"Home then?" She asks as a follow up.

"Yes. I live just up the street." I motion to a small apartment building where I've rented a one-bedroom place to be close to the hospital. I still can't drive so I'm left walking everywhere I want to go.

"I'm headed that way too." I listen to her words and know exactly what I should say. I should ask to walk with her, but I don't want to hold her up. Clearly she's been out jogging and having to stay by my side would only slow her down and annoy any able-bodied person.

"Well clear a path for me." I motion for her to be on her way, but she just shakes her head.

"Why don't you join me?"

"I don't think so. I'm all run out for the day." I take a step away from her and towards my place.

"If you only work out that hour in the hospital, your recovery is going to take a long time. You should talk to Jane about adding in a few more exercises so you can get more mobility. Next time you can pick up your own stuff." She takes a few big steps to keep up with me. My gait isn't long anymore, but I'm moving quickly.

"Right because being reminded for an hour a day that I won't ever walk normal again is super fun. I should just stretch that out." I'm an asshole.

"You're a dick. Maybe you should ask Jane about your other therapy options. I know a good surgeon that could remove that stick from your ass while we're at it." Her words make me chuckle.

"It's not nice to make fun of someone with disabilities."

"You're not disabled. Well, unless we count your IQ." She shrugs a shoulder and keeps a serious expression on her face."

"Ouch," I say dryly, but inside I'm laughing. She doesn't hold any punches.

"I run this way every Tuesday and Thursday at 11am. That's when I get off my shift. You should meet up with me. I could spot you as you start to jog again." She looks at me with hope in her eyes.

"I'm not a jogger."

"You were."

"How could you possibly know that?" I'm now making sure to keep moving forward. I need to get inside the safety of my apartment before I agree to something crazy like she's proposing.

"Three reasons. The first is that you are sprint-limping right now and aren't even a little out of breath." She holds up one finger and a chuckle rushes from my mouth. Then she holds up the next. I look at it for a brief second and then train my eyes back on the end of this race—my apartment. "Two, I can tell by your calf muscles you used to run." She's proud of herself for that one. It's kind of cute. I don't let on to that though. I just lift a brow as if I'm not entertained. "And three," she says, turning around to walk backward so she can look at me directly in the face, "I saw your chart."

I stop moving for a second. What. The. Fuck. "How did you see my chart?" She smiles and stops moving, resting her hands on her hips.

"I've been assigned to your case." We are just steps from the stairs that lead up to my place. I'm not going to start going up them until she's gone. All thirty-three of them take time. Usually it takes me about ten minutes from the first step until I reach the top. She follows my gaze and looks up at my building. "Home sweet home," she says with a smile. Then she turns around and starts jogging again. I watch her for a moment. She lifts her hand up to wave behind her and shouts, "See you tomorrow cranky!" 

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