Just Physical (41 page)

And she didn't. She just nodded.

“Jill…” She took one step forward, toward the couch, then stopped when Jill stiffened. “What I said yesterday about wanting a life with you… That didn't change. I still want that, and I'll be there for you every step of the way. You can call me any time, for anything. I mean it. I don't care if it's the middle of the night. Call me, okay?”

Jill nodded again, but Crash knew she wouldn't call. Something had changed inside of Jill.

Dammit.
This was ridiculous. Now they were caught in the old, frustrating pattern. She didn't know if she had the strength to get through to Jill a second time. She wanted to hit something—or at least grab Jill and shake some sense into her—but of course she didn't. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she walked to the door, where she turned and glanced back.

“Thank you, Crash,” Jill said softly. “For everything.”

“Anytime. You're not in this alone, okay?” Their gazes connected, and Crash stood in the doorway for several seconds before finally tearing herself away and walking out.

The door closing behind her sounded overly loud. It felt wrong. So wrong. Crash turned around and stared at the damn door before slowly making her way to her car.

Instead of starting the engine and driving off, she sat behind the wheel and waited for Grace to arrive.

Either Grace hadn't been up at the cottage, or she'd broken every traffic law on her way to Jill's home, because forty minutes later, the gate swung open and Grace's red SUV passed through.

Crash gave a short wave and drove off, her hands clenched around the steering wheel.

CHAPTER 23

On Monday, Jill's left leg
was still numb like a log. Her neurologist declared it a relapse and sent her over to the infusion center for a more aggressive treatment.

The nurse who greeted them at the door gave Grace an inviting smile. “You're welcome to accompany Ms. Corrigan inside. We allow first-timers to bring a friend, spouse, or family member.”

Jill was beginning to feel like a first-grader clinging to the hand of her mother on the first day of school, and she didn't want that dependency.

“What do you think, Jill?” Grace asked. “I'd be happy to go in with you.”

Jill looked up at Grace from the wheelchair that her neurologist had lent them to navigate the hall from his office to the infusion center. She opened her mouth to tell her she could leave but then hesitated. Truth be told, she didn't look forward to what would happen in the sterile-looking room. While she didn't want Crash to have to live through everything with her twenty-four/seven, letting a friend help was different. At the end of the treatment, Grace would get to go home to her own life—a life without MS. Unfortunately, Grace wasn't just her friend; she was also a famous actress.

“I don't know,” Jill said. “I don't want to cause a stampede, with all of the patients dragging their IV bags across the room to get your autograph.”

“Autograph?” The nurse looked from Jill to Grace. Her eyes widened, and she looked as if she were about to fall to her knees and worship Grace. “Oh my God. You're Grace Durand, aren't you?”

In moments like this, Jill was glad that she'd worn a blonde wig while she'd starred in
Coffee to Go
. Few people ever recognized her. “See?” She gave Grace a gentle push. “It's better if you go. I'll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“I'm sure. Go.”

Grace sighed and glanced at the nurse, who was still staring at her. “Can you give her something for her stubbornness too?”

The nurse grinned and finally shook off that starstruck look. “They haven't found a cure for that yet, but if they do, I'll make sure she gets a dose.”

Great.
The first treatment of her three-day course of corticosteroids hadn't even started, and they were already talking about her as if she weren't sitting right next to them.

“We have a waiting room,” the nurse said. “It's empty right now. If you want, you can wait there. The infusion will take about two hours. We like a slower drip rate so our patients don't get a headache.”

Grace nodded. “I'll be in the waiting room, then.”

Jill wanted to protest and tell her she had more important things to do. Grace would fly to Ireland tomorrow to shoot on location for an entire month, and she probably hadn't packed yet. But Jill had promised herself to make better use of her support system and not waste so much energy trying to take on the world alone, so she gave in and nodded.

The nurse pointed Grace toward the waiting room and stared after her. “Wow. Grace Durand in our infusion center. Wow!”

Yeah, and she'll be in the infusion center a lot longer if you just stand there without getting me my treatment!
Jill bit back the comment, not wanting to take out her bad mood on the nurse.

Finally, the nurse turned toward her and pushed Jill's wheelchair into the treatment room.

Eight lounge chairs were placed along two walls, separated by privacy curtains. Most of them were open, so Jill could make out several other patients, already hooked up to IV lines. None of them looked sick, but then again, neither did she—yet here she was, about to get one thousand milligrams of Solu-Medrol pumped into her veins. Most of the patients had brought books or their e-readers, and some were chatting with other patients across the space between their reclining chairs, catching each other up on what had happened in their lives since they had last seen each other.

Obviously, they were all veterans at this IV thing.

Jill wasn't. The two attacks she'd had so far hadn't been treated with steroids.
Well, first time for everything. Let's get this over with.
As soon as the nurse stopped in front of a free chair, Jill hobbled over to it on one leg, ignoring the curious gazes of her fellow patients, and sank into the recliner. She tried to relax as the nurse took her blood pressure and prepared the infusion.

The nurse searched for a good vein in the back of Jill's left hand.

Wanting to face the harsh realities that came with her MS, Jill forced herself not to look away as the needle went in.

“Okay, it's in.” The nurse pulled back the needle, making Jill breathe a sigh of relief.

That hadn't been too bad.

The nurse taped down the catheter, hung the bag on the IV pole, connected the tube, and started the infusion. She patted Jill's arm—the one without the catheter—and gave her a motherly nod. “I'll be back in fifteen minutes to check your blood pressure again. Do you need anything else?”

Jill shook her head. When the nurse walked away, she watched the steady drip of the clear liquid and imagined what it would do to her body. What she'd heard about the side effects of corticosteroids wasn't too promising, but she'd deal with those if it meant she could walk out of here without having to rely on a wheelchair.

“First time?”

A voice from the recliner next to her made Jill look up and into the friendly face of a young girl. She barely looked old enough to have her driver's license, but there was an expression in her eyes that told Jill she'd already seen and endured more than others twice her age.

“Uh, excuse me?”

The girl smiled over at her from her reclined position. “Is this your first time for that?” She nodded toward Jill's IV pole.

Jill nodded. “First—and last, hopefully.”

The teenager lifted her water bottle. “Here's to that. Carol,” she pointed to a middle-aged woman across the aisle, who was trying to knit without moving her hand with the IV too much, “calls it ‘PMS in a bag.'”

Jill had to chuckle. “Why's that?”

The girl just grinned. “You're about to find out.”

“Hi, Mom,” Crash said, trying to sound cheerful as she picked up the phone.

“What's wrong?” her mother asked immediately.

Tears sprung to Crash's eyes, and she dashed them away with her free hand.
Great. You're supposed to be a tough stuntwoman.
But she didn't feel very tough right now; she felt helpless, worried, and hurt. “It's Jill,” she got out. “She relapsed.”

“Oh God. I'm so sorry, Kristine. How is she doing?”

Crash snorted. “I wish I knew. I haven't seen or heard from her since yesterday. She's not even answering the phone.”

“Is she in the hospital?” her mother asked.

“No. She's getting steroid treatments for three days, but she's allowed to go home after each one,” Crash said. “I wouldn't even know that if Lauren—her best friend's girlfriend—didn't keep me posted. She's totally shutting me out.”

“Maybe that's just how she deals with things. Your father is like that too when he's sick.”

“This is MS, Mom, not the flu! She can't deal with it on her own.”

“As hard as it is for you to accept, it's her choice,” her mother said.

Pressure constricted Crash's chest and made her temples pound. She barely resisted the urge to hurl the phone against the wall. “But I love her, dammit!”

Only silence filtered through the line.

Shit.
She hadn't meant to reveal that, knowing her mother viewed her interest in Jill with a wary eye. “Mom…”

“It's okay,” her mother said. “It's not like I didn't already suspect. Normally, when you call home, all you talk about is the exciting stunts you get to do. But in the last few weeks, you couldn't stop talking about Jill.”

Crash rubbed her heated face. Had she really mentioned her that often?

“Believe me, I know what it's like to be in love. It can be the most wonderful feeling in the world—but also the most awful one, if the person you love doesn't return your feelings…or if she's not doing so well.” Her mother sniffled. “I don't want you to keep getting hurt whenever she has a relapse.”

“I can't help it, Mom,” Crash whispered. “It's not like I can just shut off my feelings.”

A sigh reverberated through the phone. “No, I guess you can't.”

Crash let her head rest against the back of the couch and stared at the wall. “Jill apparently doesn't have a problem shutting off her feelings. I really thought we were beyond that. After the wrap party on Saturday, she finally agreed to give a relationship with me a chance, but now she's back to not accepting my help, much less talking about any future we might have as a couple. I think she wants to end it for good.”

Her mother was silent for several seconds; only the sound of her breathing could be heard. “So that's it?” she finally asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You're just going to accept her decision and give up? That's not the kind of daughter I raised.”

Crash jumped up from the couch and started to pace the length of her studio apartment. “What am I supposed to do? Kidnap her and make her listen?”

“If that's what it takes.”

“I thought you were against me getting involved with Jill?”

Her mother sighed. “I have nothing against Jill. She's a great actress, and I'm sure she's a wonderful woman, but I've seen what MS can do…not just to the people who have it, but to their caregivers too.”

Crash dropped back onto the couch. “I know. But that wouldn't matter to me. I mean, it matters, but not as much as being with Jill.”

“That's why I'm telling you to fight for her.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Crash nodded to herself. Her mother was right. She was done honoring Jill's feelings and letting Jill push her away. Now it was time to get Jill to listen to what
she
wanted. “I will,” she said. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Anything for my favorite daughter.”

The old joke made Crash smile. “I'm your only daughter.”

“That doesn't matter. And, Kristine? Keep me posted.”

“I will.” Crash ended the call, already thinking about how she could make the most stubborn woman on earth talk to her.

Jill found out why the infusions were called “PMS in a bag” on the second day of the treatment. Good thing she wasn't driving herself. The way she felt, she would have gotten out of the car and strangled several of the drivers in the dense LA traffic on her way home.

The mood swings she experienced were worse than PMS. Earlier today, she'd felt energized, almost giddy, and had talked the poor nurses' ears off. Now, as she sweated in the backseat of a cab despite its air-conditioning and stared at the stop-and-go traffic behind a haze of car exhaust, she was so grouchy that the cabbie had stopped trying to talk to her. Her nagging hunger didn't help her mood either.

Apparently, that was another common side effect of the corticosteroids—she was so hungry that she immediately devoured every bit of food in sight, despite the awful metallic taste in her mouth.

Well, at least the steroids' more desired effects had also begun to set in. Her left foot was still dragging a bit, but she could make her way around with the help of a quad cane and no longer needed the hated wheelchair or a walker.

When the cab approached her house, she pulled the remote control for the gate from her pocket and then frowned.

An SUV was blocking the gate.

Who the hell…? Wait a minute!
She knew that midnight-blue SUV! Her heart started to beat faster.
Oh no.
She didn't want Crash to see her like this—barely getting by on her granny cane with its four rubber-tipped feet, her face flushed and puffy from the steroids. But she couldn't stay in the cab forever.