Just Physical (40 page)

“You were the one who helped me through the fire stunt. I know you didn't want to see me being set on fire, but you stayed to show your support. Are you saying you couldn't have done that if you were in a wheelchair?”

Jill blinked, and this time, it wasn't because of the bright light. “I…I could, couldn't I?”

Crash nodded firmly. “Without you, I doubt I would have found the courage to audition for
Engine 27
. That's the kind of support I'd want from a partner.”

A warm kernel of hope nestled in the center of Jill's chest. “Do you really think it could be that easy?”

“I don't know about easy,” Crash said. “Sometimes it probably won't be. But I'm prepared for that.”

“I'm not,” Jill said, knowing she could be honest with Crash. “But…” She sucked in a breath, held it for a moment, and then slowly let it escape. “Neither am I prepared to walk away.”

Crash pulled her closer, holding her so tight as if she wanted to fuse their bodies. “Then don't. Please, Jill. Give us a chance.”

An enthusiastic yes trembled at the tip of Jill's tongue, but she hesitated, a thousand
buts
and
ifs
tumbling through her mind. Finally, a glance into Crash's eyes, reading the hope and the fear, was her undoing. “I'll think about it, okay?”

“Okay.” Crash didn't loosen her grip on Jill. She waited a few heartbeats before tilting her head and giving her a questioning look. “So?”

Despite her tension, laughter bubbled up from Jill's chest. “Five seconds? That's all the time you're giving me to think about it?”

An impish smile spread over Crash's face. “It feels as if I already waited forever.”

Jill hesitated. She still wasn't sure what was the right thing to do. But would she see things more clearly in a month or a year? She doubted it, and it wasn't fair to make Crash live her life in a holding pattern. She either had to send Crash away for good or take a leap of faith. Her last relapse had been a long time ago, and apparently, the first years were often a good indication of how the disease would progress. If that was true for her too, her chances of not ending up like George were probably pretty good. It was even possible she wouldn't have another relapse. She didn't want to look back at her life a few decades in the future and realize she'd refused herself—and worse, Crash—happiness for nothing.

“All right,” Jill said on an exhale.

“All right?” Crash's voice came out in an excited squeak. “You mean…?”

Jill nodded shakily. She felt as if she were walking on a tightrope, barely keeping her balance. “Let's do this the way you suggested some time ago—go out on a date and then see where things are heading.” It still felt like a risky thing to do, but she could handle it—especially with the happiness radiating from Crash. “We'll take it slow.”

“Oh yeah. Slow. I can do slow.”

“Yeah?” Grinning from ear to ear, Jill slid her hand down Crash's body and teased at the apex of her thighs. “Are you sure?”

Crash groaned. “Tomorrow. We'll start taking it slow tomorrow.”

CHAPTER 22

When Jill woke again, the
sun was shining into Crash's studio apartment and the spot on the sofa bed next to her was empty. A disappointed sigh escaped her. Now that she'd worked up the courage to allow herself to give a future with Crash a chance, she had wanted to start the day by kissing her awake.

Then she heard Crash whistle in the bathroom, and her smile returned. Even better. She would join Crash in the shower. When she slid her legs out of bed, she felt a bit shaky but told herself it was caused by thoughts of pressing herself against Crash's athletic body, trailing her soapy hands over her abs. Or maybe it was just jitters. After denying herself any kind of relationship for two years, this tentative commitment to Crash was scary—and exciting.

Calm down. You agreed to take it slow. Start with a date and then take it from—

She took one step out of bed. Her left leg gave away without warning, and she collapsed to the floor, barely avoiding hitting her head on the coffee table. She lay there, dazed, for a moment not feeling anything except for shock. Then pain shot through her elbow and her hip. She gazed down her body, trying to understand what had happened.

“Jill?” Crash called through the closed bathroom door. “Everything okay out there?”

A rush of panic hit her. “I'm fine,” Jill called back. She didn't want Crash to hurry out of the bathroom and find her on the floor. Gritting her teeth, she tried to get up but quickly found that she couldn't. Her entire left side felt numb up to her waist, and her leg was completely useless.

She hadn't noticed before. For once, she had skipped her morning routine of checking her body for symptoms before getting up, her thoughts only on Crash and their relationship.
Relationship?
That familiar voice in her mind returned.
You really thought you could have a relationship? You can't even get off the damn floor!
Instead of striding into the bathroom to make love to Crash in the warm shower, she was lying naked on the cold floor, staring at the dust bunnies under the sofa bed and trying in vain to get up. How could she expect Crash to deal with this if not even she could? It had been stupid to believe that a future with Crash was possible. Her hope of having just a mild form of MS had shattered like a fragile piece of glass.

Grief and anger flooded her. She held on to the latter, using it to power herself up.

Just as she was dragging herself onto the sofa bed, the bathroom door opened and Crash stepped out. “Hey, good morning. Do you want—? Jill! What's wrong?” Crash rushed over and helped her settle more fully onto the edge of the sofa bed.

“Nothing,” Jill mumbled.

“Did you fall?” Crash sank to her knees next to her and ran her hands over Jill's legs, from her ankles to her thighs.

Under different circumstances, Jill would have enjoyed the gentle touches, but now she barely even felt them on her left side. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment at having Crash see her like this. “I'm fine.” She tried to pull the covers around herself, but Crash tugged it back down.

“You're bleeding,” Crash said, her face gone pale. She pointed at Jill's arm.

Jill craned her neck and discovered a bleeding scrape on her elbow.

Crash jumped up, ran to the bathroom, and returned with a first-aid kit.

Jill held still while Crash pressed a clean piece of gauze against the scrape to stop the bleeding and then put a Band-Aid over it. As long as Crash was focused on her elbow, she at least wouldn't question her about why she had fallen.

Finally, Crash took her hands away and regarded her with a concerned gaze. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“No. I don't think so.” The tender area on her right hip wasn't worth mentioning. It was probably just a bruise, and there was nothing Crash could do about it.

Crash frowned. “Did you fall out of bed?”

“Something like that,” Jill mumbled.

“Jill…”

She sighed. Trying to hide it was stupid. She wouldn't even make it to the car on her own. The thought made her grit her teeth. “I can't walk,” she said, keeping her voice low, almost to a whisper. “My left leg is completely out of order, and the right one,” she poked it repeatedly, “doesn't feel quite normal either.”

Her lips compressed to a razor-sharp line, Crash reached for the cell phone on the coffee table.

“What are you doing?” Jill asked.

“I'm calling an ambulance.”

“No!” Jill reached for her arm and held on to it. “No ambulance.”

“But if your leg is numb, you can't even tell if you hurt yourself.”

Jill shook her head. “I would be able to tell, believe me.”

“Still.” Crash didn't let go of the phone. “If this is a relapse, you need—”

“We don't know if it is. Maybe I just got overheated.” She forced a smile. “Last night was pretty hot.” She hoped that was it, but she had a feeling this was something else. Her leg at times felt weak or numb, but she had always been able to walk, even if it was with a limp.

Crash gave her a doubtful glance. “What if it's more than a little flare-up?”

“I don't know. Guess I'll know by tomorrow.” Jill marveled at how she could sound so calm. Her head was spinning. How had everything gone to hell in a hand basket so fast? Just a few hours ago, she'd been so happy and hopeful for the future, and now…

Crash plopped down on the couch next to her and wrapped her arms around Jill, who squeezed her eyes shut to stop the tears burning in them from leaking out.

She hadn't had a relapse for so long that she'd started to hope that she was one of the lucky few who, after an initial exacerbation or two, remained stable for decades, living a normal life. Now the cruel reality had slapped her in the face. Who knew how many more relapses would be coming? She wouldn't allow Crash to live through them with her.

“What do you need me to do?” Crash asked.

Jill pulled back, out of the embrace. This was her battle to fight, not Crash's. “Could you drive me home?”

A wrinkle formed between Crash's brows. “Home? You need go to the ER or be seen by a—”

“This isn't an emergency, Crash,” Jill said, trying to be patient with her and not let herself be affected by Crash's sense of urgency. This was scary enough as it was. “Very few things that happen with MS are. The doctors won't even call it a relapse unless it lasts for more than twenty-four hours. If I'm not doing better by tomorrow morning, I'll call my neurologist.”

Crash regarded her with a concerned gaze, clearly not liking what she heard. “And how will you get around until then if you can't walk?”

“I have a cane at home.”

“Jill, you can't navigate the stairs with—”

“I'll sleep downstairs on the couch,” Jill said. “I'll manage.”

“You?
You
will manage?” Crash asked, hurt in her voice and her eyes. “What happened to
we
?”

There was no we; there couldn't be. She never should have given Crash—and herself—false hope. Now it hurt even more to recognize the truth that she should have stuck to all along. She didn't have the strength to tell Crash. “Let's talk about it later. I need to focus on this,” she waved at her useless left leg, “right now.”

“Sounds like you made up your mind already,” Crash mumbled.

“Please, let it go. I can't fight this relapse—or whatever it is—and you. Please just take me home.”

The muscles in Crash's strong jaw bunched. “I don't like this at all.”

“Crash, please. I don't have the energy for long discussions.”

Crash inhaled and exhaled, but her tense posture didn't relax. Finally, she nodded. “All right. Let's get you dressed and get you home, where you can be more comfortable.”

Needing help to put on her pants and button her blouse drove home the fact that Crash might end up her caregiver if Jill didn't break things off.

As Jill powered herself up from the sofa bed, her right leg felt a bit more steady, but the left one was still as numb as a piece of wood. A new wave of anger and despair gripped her. She resolutely pushed back the rising panic.
You'll figure it out as you go. You always have, and this isn't any different.

Crash wrapped one arm around her, steadying her.

With Crash supporting some of her weight on the left side, Jill wobbled to the door and allowed herself a quick glance over her shoulder at the unmade sofa bed she had shared with Crash, knowing she'd never be back. Her fall had made it more than clear: It had been crazy to let herself hope for a life with Crash. There was no future of any kind for them.

After a tense drive to Glendale, Crash helped Jill into the house and to the living room.

“Where's Tramp?” Crash asked, looking around for the labradoodle.

“I dropped him off with Susana before going to the wrap party yesterday,” Jill said.

God, had that really just been yesterday? Crash mentally shook her head. It felt a million years ago. She'd been so happy last night, but now the door that had cracked open had slammed into her face again. With the physical exacerbation, it seemed Jill had also relapsed into her old kind of thinking.

She helped her settle on the couch and then stood there, looking down at her. Her hands felt strangely empty now that she wasn't holding on to Jill. She rubbed them on her jeans. “Do you need anything?”

“No, thanks.”

A sudden idea pierced Crash's helplessness. “What about your medication? Could it alleviate your symptoms?”

Jill shook her head. “I'll inject myself later, but it's a long-term medication. It won't have any influence on acute relapses.”

“Oh. Okay.” Rarely before had she felt so stupid and helpless. She looked around for something else she could do. “Do you want me to pick up Tramp?”

“No, thanks. Susana will be by later and bring him with her,” Jill said.

“What about your car?” It was probably still parked near the club where the wrap party had been held. “I could get it for you.”

“How would you do that? You're just one person and can't drive two cars at the same time.”

“I could call TJ and—”

Jill shook her head. “That's not necessary. I'm sure Susana and her husband would be happy to get it.”

Crash pressed her lips together and said nothing, but she was seething inside, the anger, frustration, and hurt eating away at her. Why couldn't Jill just let her help? This damn relapse wasn't her fault, so why was she being pushed away?

But she couldn't start a fight right now; it would only deplete Jill's energy.

She looked down at her, taking in the pale face, the way Jill unconsciously cradled her left leg with both hands, and the stubborn tilt of her head. Behind that thin layer of stubbornness and strength, she could sense Jill's fear. If she pushed just a little, Jill might break down.
I can't do that to her.
Not now, when Jill needed her strength to fight the relapse.

“All right,” she said. “What time do you want me to pick you up tomorrow, assuming the neurologist can squeeze you in somewhere?”

“No, Crash. You've got your audition with the
Engine 27
stunt coordinator tomorrow morning, remember?”

Crash had indeed forgotten about that. “To hell with the audition. I'll pick you up. Better yet, I'll stay and—”

“No.” Jill's tone was final. More softly, she added, “Go home and rest or do whatever you need to do to prepare for the audition. One of us being in this mess is bad enough. If you lost that job because of me…” She shook her head. “I'll get Grace or Lauren to take me.”

Crash hesitated. “Promise? You won't do something crazy and try to go by yourself?”

“Promise,” Jill said. “Don't worry about me, okay?”

Yeah, that's easy. Just open my chest and rip my heart out.
Crash made a face.

“You can leave, really.”

“Oh, no. I'm not leaving. What if you need the bathroom or something?”

Jill sighed. “Okay. I'll call Grace and have her come over to help me.”

Crash took the phone from the coffee table and pressed it into Jill's hand. “Call her now.”

“What? Don't you believe me?”

“I know you, Jill Corrigan.”

Averting her gaze, Jill pressed an icon on her smartphone and lifted the phone to her ear. When she ended the call a few minutes later, she gave Crash a nod. “She's on her way. Happy now?”

“Happy? No.” How could she be happy while Jill was going through a relapse—and instead of letting her help, she was calling over her best friend? That hurt more than she could say, but she didn't want to make this about herself. “I'm glad you won't be alone. I'll be going, then.” She waited, hoping Jill would change her mind but knowing she wouldn't.