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I nodded, still looking at Jase. “Yeah.”
“But it didn’t help?”
“No.” I wet my lips, and Jase smiled. Tearing my gaze away from him so I didn’t look like too much of a doofus, I faced the doctor. As I spoke, Jase managed to ease my hands apart and thread his fingers through my left hand. “It’s not as painful as the first time, and I didn’t hear any pops, but I’m afraid I really screwed it up.”
“I need to know exactly what you were doing when you hurt your knee Sunday,” he said, dropping his hands on his knees. “Were you walking? Did you lose your balance?”
My gaze dropped to the doctor’s long fingers. They were slender, but the knuckles were surprisingly big and round. My throat closed off.
“She said she just lost her balance,” Jase said, and my free hand closed into a fist.
“Were you walking when it happened? Getting out of bed or off a chair?” Dr. Morgan paused. “It’s really important to know exactly what you were doing.”
Blood pounded in my ears as I slowly lifted my gaze. The truth. Damnit, the truth was always a pesky, nosy bitch. I shook my head as I bit down on my lip. “I . . . I was in my dorm room and my roommate’s boyfriend had a bag in his hand. Like a weekender bag. Anyway, I was standing too close when he swung it around. It hit my hip and I stumbled back, putting my weight on my right leg.”
Jase’s fingers tightened until I could feel the bones in my hand starting to grind, and then he eased off, slipping his hand free. I couldn’t look at him, but I could feel him staring.
“So it was an unplanned action. Not a major misstep. That gives me a really clear picture of what’s going on.” Dr. Morgan reached for my file, flipping it open. “Well, bad or good news first?”
My heart jumped, and I glanced at Jase. His eyes were sharp, expression stony. “Good? I guess?”
“The good news is that the x-rays do not show any additional tears,” he said, and my shoulders immediately relaxed. “I know that was your biggest fear. The original tear is healing.”
I took a deep breath. “So what’s the bad news?”
Dr. Morgan smiled tightly. “What this injury shows is a destabilization of the ACL. And with the kind of tear you suffered, there was a forty to sixty percent chance of reinjury. Now, like I said, the tear doesn’t appear to be reinjured. So no surgery, and I really do think this will heal if you go back to the brace and use the crutches over the next couple of days.”
Instead of feeling better, the walls started to close in around me. “But?”
“But . . .” He smiled, but I tensed. The smile didn’t reach his dark eyes. It was the kind of smiles doctors made when they were about to deliver a death blow. “This injury shows that there is a destabilization there and that is what concerns me, Teresa. When you first injured your ACL, we talked about the possibility—although slim at that time—of continuous destabilization and . . .”
My brain cut him off right there, but I nodded and I stared at him, barely aware of the way Jase was stiffening with every word spoken. I even smiled when Dr. Morgan patted my hand and told me it was going to be okay. I agreed. Everything would be fucking perfect. And then I said nothing when the nurse came in, and the dreaded blue brace was returned to my knee. I took the crutches with grace. And I kept breathing. In. Out. In. Out.
Somehow I ended up outside, in Jase’s Jeep, staring out the windshield.
“Tess . . .”
I looked over at him, and he shook his head as our gazes locked. His face was pale. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
Drawing in a deep breath, I shuddered as it got stuck. The destabilization was a bad, bad thing. It was worse than having surgery because it meant one thing. My knee would always be wicked weak. I would always have problems with it, even after the tear was completely healed. The chance of getting arthritis in the knee earlier than most had nearly doubled.
Professional dancing was out of the picture. No more. Done. There was no returning to the studio, no more lessons or recitals or competitions. I’d be stupid to even attempt it. And my instructors wouldn’t allow it. Neither would the Joffrey School.
College was no longer temporary. Teaching was no longer plan B. It was the only plan.
Oh my God.
I shook my head, opened my mouth, but there were no words.
Jase cursed, and I . . . I cracked wide open. Like a well deep inside me had burst.
The tears came, spilling down my cheeks, and once they started, there was no stopping them. The interior blurred—Jase disappeared in the haze.
A deep sound came from him, and then his arms were around me. One second I was sitting there by myself, my world crumbling apart, and the next moment, he was holding me against him—holding me together.
Fifteen
I cried so hard and for so long that it was worse than having a hangover, and the entire front of Jase’s shirt was drenched.
