Priceless (Forbidden Men 8)

I’d only ever seen my babysitter as bright and bubbly, always cheerful and energetic with what seemed to be a perpetual, ready grin. So when I turned my head on the mattress where I lay to send her an elated smile, I was stunned to find her lips thin and pinched with anger.

She folded her arms over her chest as she watched my legs bicycle kick in the air above my hips.

And here, I’d been so proud of myself. I could actually control some kind of movement. For a second, it’d been the best moment of my life. I’d just wanted to share my feat with my favorite person. But the rage emanating off her made my joy plummet.

What had I done wrong?

Worried, I stopped kicking, but the therapist on the opposite side of the mattress from Reese instructed in a calm, even voice, “No, don’t stop yet, Sarah. Just keep going. Think about how you feel as you move. And then try to slow the pace, putting the least amount of effort into it as possible.”

I blew out a breath and turned my attention up to the ceiling, away from Reese’s anger, so I could concentrate on moving my legs. Just as they wobbled rampantly, Dr. Besby murmured, “Don’t worry about that. It’s fine. Just keep going if you can. You’re doing great.”

After I completed a minute of slow reps, Dr. Besby told me to reverse the kicking and bicycle my legs in the other direction. “That’s great,” he congratulated. “Now picture your favorite kind of ice cream.”

Bringing up a mental image of two scoops of Neapolitan on a waffle cone, my eyebrows knit with worry when my mental fantasy slotted Reese into the chair at the table across from me as she licked her own cone full of orange sherbet.

Why was she so mad? What if she never wanted to eat ice cream with me ever again?

“See how well she’s doing even after she took her mind off her actions,” Dr. Besby told Reese. “That’s a significant improvement from her last session. Have you been trying to get her to stand on her own and bear her weight on her feet?”

“Yeah, but she loses her balance as soon as she lifts her head,” Reese answered.

Was that the problem then? I turned my attention her way, wondering if she wanted me to be able to stand on my own. But when our gazes met, she flashed me a huge Reese-smile. There was a kind of sadness in her eyes, though, even when she held up both thumbs, telling me how proud she was.

“Not to worry,” Dr. Besby said. “These things take time. Just keep practicing with her every day, and before you know it, she’ll be able to keep her head up, look around, and maintain stability all at the same time. The real milestone will come when she can shift her weight from leg to leg while doing all that. That’s a must for independent walking.”

Hope lit Reese’s face as she darted her eyes toward the therapist. “Wait. You think she’ll actually be able to walk someday?”

I didn’t realize I was holding my breath to hear that answer myself until Reese grabbed my fingers supportively. I clutched them like a lifeline.

But Dr. Besby winced. “I think...such a large delay in starting her on physical therapy has hampered her a lot. After some time, she should be able to take a few unassisted steps by herself, but I doubt she’ll ever be able to throw out a wheelchair or walker for good.”

Both Reese and I sighed in frustration, until Dr. Besby added, “You have to admit, though, her being able to get in and out of the wheelchair, use the restroom, and take a bath without help would be a huge achievement.”

Okay, he had a point there. Still...it would’ve been nice to hear he could heal me completely.

“You need to remember, Sarah’s cerebral palsy might be a disorder of involuntary muscle movements, but it still came from brain damage. If we concentrate on healing the part of her brain that harbors muscle control, she’ll always have some limitations, but you’ll be able to tell a notable difference over time.”

“Oh, I can already tell a difference.” Reese’s smile was completely genuine this time as she glanced my way. “Her posture’s improved and she can keep her head up for longer periods of time. In my book, you’ve already performed a miracle, Dr. Besby.”

The therapist flushed and averted his gaze to study my kicking legs. “Sarah’s the one who’s done all the work,” he mumbled, trying to ward off the praise.

I think he had a crush on my babysitter. I was tempted to tell him to back off; she was already taken, dating my brother Mason, and someday I was going to make her my sister-in-law. So he’d better just keep his hands to himself. But I kind of liked how much he’d helped me too, so I didn’t want to scare him away.

“Okay, you can stop now, Sarah.” He sat his hand on my knee and sent me a warm smile. “That’s enough for today. We’ll pick up here tomorrow. Sound good?”

“Oh! Uh...” Reese squeezed my fingers and coughed delicately. “Can we skip tomorrow? Sarah, um...she won’t be available then.”

What she really meant was that my mom would be home.

My mother didn’t exactly know about these physical therapy sessions. When Reese had discovered the home visits Dr. Besby was offering, she’d brought a pamphlet straight to Mom, so excited to sign me up for them. But Mom had vetoed them, saying she could never afford such one-on-one care.

So...Reese had gone behind her back with the help of Mason and somehow funded and set up the therapy without Mom’s knowledge. I had a bad feeling my brother had either forged Mom’s signature a few times or illegally signed something as my guardian. Whatever the case, I wasn’t supposed to let Mom in on the secret.

At first, it’d been thrilling to keep the news from her. But now, a few weeks after the sessions had started and I’d already improved so much, I was kind of scared. What if she did learn about them and stopped them, and I never got any better than I was now?

I wanted to be the best I could possibly be.

After Reese worked out a new time to meet later in the week and Dr. Besby went on his way, she turned to me with a cheery smile while she rubbed her hands together. “I don’t know about you, but all that talk about ice cream made me crave a heaping bowl of orange sherbet.”