Chapter 22 The change
The morning sun hit the training room in slanted gold, softening the usual chill that lived there. The sea stretched beyond the glass wall, calm and blue, a mirror for everything neither of them said.
Sienna adjusted the height of the parallel bars and glanced over her shoulder. Dante was already there, waiting. He’d been early all week, which was a good thing. His wheelchair was positioned neatly beside the bars, his expression composed but sharp, as if daring her to comment on it.
“Ready?” she asked, her tone clipped, professional.
He gave a single nod. “You tell me, Doctor Hale.”
There was no bite to his voice today. That, somehow, unsettled her more than his usual sarcasm.
Sienna wheeled the chair forward, locking it near the bars. “We’ll start slow. Ten steps, that would be all.”
“Only ten?” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re losing ambition.”
“Ten clean steps,” she corrected, pulling on her gloves. “No pride, no showing off.”
His smirk flickered, the shadow of a man he used to be, all ego and fire. “I can’t promise that.”
Sienna stepped close, one hand near his arm, the other hovering near his waist to stabilize him. He hated that hand and she knew it. He hated what it meant, dependence, fragility, the echo of a crash that had stolen everything he’d built himself on.
Still, he didn’t tell her to move it this time.
Dante braced his hands on the bars and pushed. The muscles in his arms trembled, the strain visible in his jaw. He gritted his teeth, breath shallow. The sound of effort filled the room, the scrape of metal, the soft catch of breath, and the steady tick of the clock.
“Good,” she murmured. “One step.”
He shifted, dragged his bad leg forward, forced it to bear the weight. A fleeting pain crossed his face, but she saw it. He refused to look at her.
“Two.”
He was sweating now. Sienna felt the heat radiate off him. Her pulse stuttered, matching his uneven rhythm.
By step five, his hand slipped. Instinct took over and she reached out, catching him by the waist before he fell. His body collided with hers, solid and unyielding, his breath rough in her ear.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
The world narrowed to the space between their faces which was too close. His heartbeat thudded against her arm. Her fingers felt the tension in his abdomen, the tremor in his frame.
“Don’t,” he muttered hoarsely. “Don’t pity me.”
“It’s not pity,” she said, steadily, even as her throat tightened.
His eyes met hers, sharp and searching. “Then what is it?”
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t give him an honest answer, if she wanted to, it was actually pity.
Sienna eased him upright again, keeping her focus on the task, not the proximity. “Shift your weight to the left leg slowly.”
He obeyed, to her surprise and took another step. This time it was cleaner, and more controlled. She felt it, the subtle change in how he moved, how he trusted her touch enough not to fight it.
Ten steps later, she said, “That’s enough.”
Dante leaned heavily against the bar, chest rising and falling. Sweat beaded at his temple. He looked at her not past her, not through her and something in his gaze made her pulse jump.
“You didn’t count out loud this time,” he said.
“You didn’t need me to,” she replied.
A beat of silence. Then, quietly: “Maybe I did.”
Sienna turned away, collecting her notes. The sound of the pen scratching against the paper filled the space between them, a small, controlled noise in a room that was suddenly quiet.
He broke it first. “Do you ever get tired of pretending this is just work?”
She froze. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t act like you don’t feel it,” he said, voice low, rough around the edges. “Every time you touch me, you hold your breath.”
Her pulse jumped. “You’re imagining things.”
“Am I?” He pushed himself off the bar and onto the chair, his movements shaky but deliberate. “Maybe I am. Maybe you’re just that professional.”
She met his eyes, steady, calm, unreadable. “You think everything is about you.”
“Everything used to be,” he said simply. “Before the crash.”
That caught her. The bitterness in his tone wasn’t pride anymore, it was grief, naked and heavy. She didn’t know what to do with that kind of honesty from him.
She walked around to face him, crouching slightly so they were eye level. “You’re not the man you were before,” she said. “You’re something else now. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”
He looked at her like he didn’t believe her or maybe didn’t want to. “You talk like you know me.”
“I know pain when I see it.”
He laughed under his breath. “That’s convenient. I’m full of it.”
Sienna straightened, peeling off her gloves. “That’s enough therapy for today.”
“I thought we were past limits.”
“That was before you started fishing for attention.”
The words came out sharper than she intended. For a split second, she thought she saw something break in his expression, a flash of hurt quickly buried beneath sarcasm.
“Attention?” he echoed. “Doctor Hale, if I wanted attention, I’d have called a journalist.”
“You might as well have,” she said, thinking of the tabloids, the leaks, the whispers she couldn’t shake. “You live like the world still revolves around you, even when you’re hiding from it.”
He didn’t answer.
Sienna exhaled, suddenly tired. “You’re improving, Dante. Physically. That’s what matters.”
He studied her slowly. “Maybe I’m learning.”
“Learning what?”
“To keep up with you.”
There was a long pause, the kind that hummed with everything they wouldn’t say. Then she turned to pack up, her pulse still not quite steady.
When she reached for the folder beside him, her hand brushed his wrist. A simple, accidental touch but he didn’t move away.
She froze.
The air shifted. His skin was warm beneath her fingertips. Her throat went dry.
He said nothing. He just looked at her like he was memorizing something he had no right to.
Sienna pulled back first. “You’re too close,” she said, trying to sound firm, but her voice betrayed her, it was soft, and unsteady.
He didn’t smile this time. He didn’t smirk or taunt. He just looked at her, eyes dark and calm, and said quietly. “You’re the one who keeps coming closer. And I don't know how much longer I can hold myself.”
Sienna quickly packed up her things and ran out of the room. What's he talking about? Would he force himself on her? She thought as she got to the hallway.