What A Lie Looks Like | ✓

2.12: sephine

I'd woken up early enough that Hayes was still here when I walked into the kitchen to get a mug of coffee. He blinks in surprise, clearly not expecting to see me this early in the morning. "Early meeting?" I ask before yawning, and he nods, washing out a cup in the sink before setting it on the drying rack.

"There's a conference call with part of the European board in London, and while it's six-thirty here, it's eleven-thirty there, but I guess it's such a pressing matter that they have to bring it to my attention." He's in his usual attire of a button-down and tie with the suit jacket draped across a chair not far away, which is practically all I've see him in the past few days in the short run-ins.

I hum a response like I know what he's talking about. "Gotcha."

He chuckles softly, "Why are you up so early?" Hayes asks, turning around and leaning against the marble counters as he unrolls his sleeves and starts putting on his watch.

"Couldn't sleep," I answer truthfully, and his curiosity is piqued.

"Everything okay?"

I gently rub the phantom pain out of my shoulder that I'm sure I'm imagining since it's been over a month since the performance. "I have a meeting to go to today with the director of the company. They want to know what happened in Toronto."

Hayes and I had talked a little bit about the accident and the conversation I'd had with Sascha regarding the move beforehand. While I tried not to let myself dwell on it too much, it was hard not to. I've replayed the day leading up to the performance in my head at least a hundred times over the past four weeks.

The sympathy is apparent on his face, "Is it bothering you?"

I shrug, "Kind of but not really."

"Here, can I help?" Hayes asks, and I nod slightly curious to see what he's going to do. He stands up from where he was leaning against the counter and walks up behind me, pushing my hair off to one side before working his fingers in featherlight circles into my shoulder's stiff muscle to get it to loosen. I can't help but let out a sigh as he hits the spot that's been the origin of the majority aches and pains. "Is that better?" He asks, continuing the pattern.

"Much, thank you," I pull my hair around my shoulder to keep it entirely out of his way as Hayes works his magic.

"What are you going to tell them?"

"The truth; I'm not going to lie and say that Sascha didn't threaten my job when he did if I didn't perform the jump. Now I can't return to rehearsals until September, so I don't know what's going to happen." I'd seen the doctor yesterday, and they'd finally been able to determine how long I would be out since the swelling had finally gone down from the original instance and from when I tripped over Hayes.

His fingers stop their dance across my skin and just rest there as he takes in what I said. "September? Are they sure?"

"It's standard procedure with dislocated shoulders to be out anywhere from four to six months. But because of the strain dancing puts on my body they want to be cautious. If I land wrong again, even in a rehearsal, it could be dislocated again with an increased risk of tearing my rotator cuff next time." I explain trying to keep my breathing even, thanks to the close contact with Hayes. It's been years, but the physical chemistry is still there even if we're just friends right now who happen to be 'engaged.'

"I'm sorry, Montgomery, you don't deserve this. I can ask Gray if he'll go with to make sure they aren't screwing you over by saying it's your fault that you fell." And then the contact between us is gone as he lifts his hand to grab his jacket from the chair.

"Why would Grayson be able to help?"

Hayes's eyebrows raise, "He's one of the lawyers for the United States branch of the corporation. Gray's the one that found the loophole in the contract I signed with Dad after I failed for weeks, so if anyone can help, it would be Grayson."