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I laugh. “Living the life, I see.”
He chuckles before his tone turns serious. “How is he?”
I breathe out slowly. I hate it when his brother or parents ask me how he is. I feel as if telling them how unhappy Harv is betrays him in some way.
“He’s good . . .”
“Gemma, don’t lie to me. I could tell he was putting on a shitshow last weekend. He doesn’t even act like that when we’re hanging out.”
“What do you want me to say, Hen?”
“You see him every day. Do you think he needs help?”
It’s my turn to chuckle. I’m torn between my loyalty to Harv and my eagerness to get the old Harvey back.
Maybe I must accept it? Maybe after going through what he went through, you’re not supposed to be the same person?
“He’ll never accept therapy,” I say the truth instead.
“He’ll have to eventually.”
I hang up after our talk, grateful for Harvey’s younger brother.
His dad can be pushy toward Harvey sometimes, and his mom is missing a backbone, but Henrik is the perfect balance that clicks and matches with Harv.
He loves hanging out with his brother, probably more so than with me. For some reason the thought doesn’t leave a bitter taste in my mouth. After all, Gia’s my world and Harvey’s always had to accept that, so I understand their brotherly relationship.
An hour later, I’ve read several chapters by the time he’s done. I hurriedly put my book away, knowing the murky moodthat sometimes awaits him after a PT session depending on how it went.
When we get home, I put in a load of laundry before meeting Harv in his room after he’s showered. I sit on his bed and wrap my arms around my legs, watching him button his long-sleeved flannel shirt.
“How was physio?”
He puts deodorant on, his gaze focusing on me. “It was good.”
“Just good?”
“Would you like a report, Gemma?” Gone is his morning smile and I look away, my cheeks burning with embarrassment from the tone of his voice.
I hear the venom in his words, like he’s spent years sharing saliva with a snake. Inside, the nerves are back, along with a crippling fear that we’ll hate each other one day in the future.
I clear my throat. “It’s just a question. Would you rather I ask Stefan?”
He sighs and wheels in front of me. “No, I’d rather you ask me.” Then he says, “Stefan thinks I’m making major improvements.”
My heart flutters at the news yet the stinging anxiety from his earlier comment sticks around. A part of me thinks this is what he needs. Hope. It’s what I need. What his parents and Henrik need.
I’m sizzling deep within, using the fuel of a thousand suns. Not out of desire, but out of anger. Because Harvey’s dismissals can frustrate me to the point of no return.
Except I then remember that he could’ve died, that his injuries could’ve been worse, and that when you love someone, youfight—with them, for them—you just fight because love doesn’t come easily.
So I take his hand in mine, stroking it with my thumb. “I’m proud of you.”
His eyes beam, his throat bobbing when he says, “I’m gonna lie down a bit, alright?” His soft voice slowly melts the residing anger away.
I’m up on my feet, letting him get in bed. It’s amazing the muscle strength he musters during PT, so he often naps afterward. I can see the veins pop out of his forearms and biceps—so hot and attractive—it’s a shame he doesn’t see it.
I leave to pick up groceries for our family dinner tonight. Then, I tidy up the house and pull out a toy box for Athena so that Gia doesn’t have to carry a million bags when they come over.
