“Two days,” I say, thankful he didn’t askhowit happened.
He lowers my foot, resting it on his leg as he reaches for the roll of brown tape sitting between us. The sound of tape being pulled from the roll echoes around us, and when he has enough, he tears it off in one go.
How did he do that so easily?
Lifting my foot again, he presses the piece of tape well above my ankle and runs it down and under my heel before bringing it up the other side, making sure it’s tight enough. He repeats the process once more before he changes the direction of the tape, crossing over the front of my ankle and under the middle of my foot.
Movement catches my peripheral vision, and I glance at Shadow as he watches on, his head tilting and ears twitching every time the tape is pulled from the roll.
Focusing on Mason again, I watch as he continues wrapping tape around my ankle. For someone who carries himself the way he does, Mason radiates a quiet calmness that’s almost soothing.
A sudden memory plays out in my mind, stealing me from the present. I would have only been six or seven years old, riding my bike on the street in front of our house. It was a turquoise blue—my favourite colour—with metallic silver and turquoise ribbons hanging from the handlebars. I’d gotten the bike for Christmas that year, but it was my first time riding without the training wheels.
Dad runs along beside me, hand on the back of the seat, but then I’m alone. I panic for a moment before I realise I’m still going,all by myself.I turn to look at Dad, my little legs still pedalling.
The biggest smile lights up his face, and my cheeks hurt from my own smile. I turn back to the front, but with all the excitement, I don’t notice the hole in the asphalt.
My knees hit the ground first, followed by my chin.
Dad is in front of me almost instantly, and as soon as the initial shock wears off, I can’t stop the tears that spring to my eyes. Through my blurry vision, I watch him check over my injuries, but when he concludes they aren’t anything serious, he relaxes. He brushes the dirt from my cream-coloured leggings that are now ripped at the knees, bloody scrapes showing through the ruined material.
I hiccup as tears keep flowing. “Oh, Emery, honey, you’re okay,” he says, tilting my chin up with his hand and wiping the tears from my cheek, careful not to touch the part that feels like it’s on fire. I move my gaze to the bike that’s lying on its side next to me.
I never want to ride it again.
Dad follows my gaze, and he must know what I was thinking because he says, “Do you know what being brave is, hmm?”
My gaze finds his again, the same dark blue eyes as mine staring back at me. “I’m not brave,” I say, another hiccup wracking my throat as more tears fall, proving my point.
“Bravery isn’t about not being scared.” He continues rubbing his thumb against my cheek in a soothing manner. “It’s not about being fearless. It’s about finding the courage to keep going even when you’re afraid. It’s not letting fear stop you from doing something you want to do, even if it’s scary. Like riding your bike.” He smiles, the small lines around his eyes showing.
My gaze moves back to the bike, and I think about how much fun I have when I ride it, but then the pain from the scrapes on my knees and chin remind me of what just happened.
Could I be brave?
“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” Dad taps the underside of my chin where he’d been holding it and lifts me into his arms, not caring when my helmet bumps his head. He grabs my bike with his free arm and carries me towards the house. I wrap my arms around his neck and let his calm energy flow into me.
I wasn’t sure if I could be brave, but I wanted to try.
“All done,” Mason says, smoothing down the last bit of tape and dragging me from the memory. He places my foot back onto the couch cushion, and I swallow past the lump in my throat.
“Thank you,” I say, my heart aching with how much I miss my dad at this moment.
He regards me for a moment, but I can’t quite make out the look in his eyes. I think he’s going to say something, but instead, he clears his throat and nods. As he pushes up from the couch, an involuntary shiver runs through me as the chill starts to get to me. My knit was the only thing I hadn’t put in the dryer as I didn’t want to ruin the only warm thing I owned. Maybe I should have just put on the robe over my t-shirt.
“Are you cold? I can try and turn on the heating.”
“Oh—” I start, about to tell him it’s okay, but he’s already on the move. Mason reappears a moment later, just as a low hum sounds through the penthouse. “Thank you.”
“It’s no problem. It should warm up soon…” He pauses like he’s about to say something else, but then he clears his throat instead. “Well, I should take Shadow out before I need to get back to work,” he says, and I feel bad for taking up his break time.
“Thank you, for, ah…” I gesture to my strapped ankle.
His smile is warm. “You’re welcome. Just let me know if you need help strapping it again.” He starts to turn towards the entrance but stops. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name.”
“Em… ah, Grace.” I wince internally at the slip-up, but if he picked up on it, he doesn’t react.“Nice to meet you, Grace,” he says. “Come on, Shadow.” This time, he keeps going towards the lift with Shadow following after him.