Give Me Wings To Fly (closed for Fish_Tales)

There was a soft smile on her face as she walked among the rows of little girls dressed in pink or white tutus. There was a look of concentration in their eyes that was adorable. Talis paused every now and then to gently correct a position or point a toe before moving on down the line. Words of encouragement, murmured for each little girl in her care.

Today she wore black leggings and a black leotard over them. Her red hair was brushed back from her forehead and gathered into a bun at the back of her head. Her eyes reflected back the look of concentration found in her students' eyes. The smile on her lips was one of encouragement as she called out position after position.

The reality was, not one of them would become a ballerina. Either their dreams would change, life would demand different things from them or they simply did not have that elusive gift that made a great ballerina. For now, however, the young aspirations and dreams of these girls were just as important to her as they were to the girls.

Talisman O'Neil, known as Talis to her friends, was a different woman five years ago. She was one of those lucky girls who had been blessed with the talent, the grace and poise, the relentless determination to become a prima ballerina. It had all changed in just a few fleeting moments. Carelessness, on her part, had changed her life forever on that fateful day. ~


Talis' mind had been crammed full of appointments she couldn't miss. Rehearsal. Fittings. Make-up. The show started tomorrow. The whole town was alight excitement. The ballet company was tense. Some of the ballerinas were waspish and bitchy. She ignored them. They made it hard to do so, but she managed. Talisman had the lead role and it was a coveted role by a few. Her male lead was also her boyfriend. Women had their eyes on him all the time.

It was noon. The city streets were jammed. Everyone rushing somewhere. Tempers were flaring. People were yelling out of their car windows at each other. Talisman stood on the street corner, waiting for the signal that showed she could safely cross the street. She was going to be late for rehearsal. The light was going to change any moment now. She stepped out into the street and the next moment became a blur. Pain and darkness exploded simultaneously throughout her body and head.

Talis woke up two days later, her body wracked with pain, to find her leg in traction. She stared at the white cast for several minutes before bursting into tears. A torrid of great heaving sobs tore through her until finally, the nurse had to give her a shot to make sleep come. Oblivion, sweet oblivion. It took her away from pain, her thoughts and the even more painful realizations.

The next day, when she awoke, there was no escape. Her understudy had replaced her in the production. The woman had been her rival for years. Now, that same woman was doing what she wanted the most, to be dancing the lead role and with Talisman's man. On that score, the days came and went. Andre was distinctly missing from her side. It was the demands of the production or so she kept telling herself. Secretly, she knew it was more than that.

The doctor came in to speak with her. His news was the worst kind to impart. She'd never dance again, not like she did before the accident. Her knee had been shattered and one of the bones in her leg had been replaced with a steel rod. No emotion crossed her face. She managed to hold it all in until she was alone. Only then did she let the threatening floodgates open. Now, she understood why Andre wasn't to be found. He had assessed the situation and cut her loose. She couldn't blame him, not really. She would never again fit into what had once been their world and was now, just his. ~

"Miss O' Neil. Miss O' Neil."

The chorus of girlish voices broke her reverie. Talis clapped her hands.

"Okay girls, that's it for today. You all have a fun weekend and remember to practice!"

Her voice rose at the end of the sentence because the girls had gotten louder, chattering with excitement of their upcoming weekend. Talis watched them fondly scurry out of the door of the dance studio. Silence greeted her as the last of her students departed. Moving along the rows of windows, she dropped the shades. Her hand hovered over the light switch for a moment, then pulled away. Impulsively, she moved across the floor in a series of elegant, graceful moves. She had learned over the years to compensate for the bad leg. She no longer bore her weight on her right leg. Whenever she attempted a jump, it was her left leg that took her weight. After five years filled with pain, anger and struggle, finally, she could dance again. She would never dance as she once had, but at least she could dance.

http://mm.afl.com.au/Portals/0/BartelSigns_246a.jpg

http://optuszoo.sportal.net.au/site/_content/article/sp00034469-image.jpg

James Trask - 33, 6'1''



The coach wasn’t happy.

“So? We're just gonna let them walk all over us like this? What about pride in the jumper? What about everyone paying to come see you? What about your mates?” he said. "For fuck's sake, you've worked for this all year and you're going to let it go like this? Fuck!"

Trask sat there listening, his head down looking at the floor, while a strapper re-taped his left hand to stop his thumb popping out. He’d played a shocker so far and he was spent. It was only half time of the semi-final and already they were down by thirty seven points. They had to lift or they were gone.

He had to lift.

A thirty three year old veteran with only one year to run on his contract could not afford a poor finals stretch. If they lost, the coach and management would look to rebuilding. Focus on youth. Build the pillars of the next assault. Plan for the future.

All were euphemisms for: if you’re old, you’re out.

He shook his head, the coach’s voice fading into the background. Trask couldn’t afford to stop. Not because of the money, he had plenty of that. Truth be told, he would play for nothing, not that he’d tell anyone that. He couldn’t afford to stop because he didn’t know what else he would do. What else he could do. He couldn’t remember life without this and could contemplate a future without it.

There was no life without it.

Trask had been having the best year of his career. Indian summer they were calling it. The Renaissance Man they were calling him. He was thirty three, but lightly raced to use the terminology of another sport. A serious knee injury in his mid-twenties had put him out of the game for eighteen months, but it had also meant less wear and tear on his body, other than his knee, of course.

And if there was a sport that placed wear and tear on your body, it was footy. AFL. Australia’s game.

He heard the coach’s voice again….

He was pulling out every cliché he could now, trying to get something out of them.

Anything.

His voice ebbed and flowed, his gesticulations becoming more frantic, the veins on the side of his neck looking like they were going to explode. His face was red and his eyes were glistening.

“Don’t stand around thinking that your mates will do it. Don’t let your mates do it. You do it for your mates,” he bellowed. “Do something. D0 anything. Tackle. Punch. Run. Something. Don’t think about what you can do, just….do. Even if you make a mistake, you can say, ‘I tried this or I did that.’ Just….something.”

Trask looked around at his younger team mates. It didn’t look good. They’d been running around with no idea really, expending energy for little gain. They were lucky, they could have been buried by now.

Should have been buried.

But they weren't.

Not yet.

The other team had missed some chances. “The Footy Gods” his dad used to say. He believed that teams always had a turn at controlling a game and that momentum swung due to the evenness of the teams. It was what you did with that momentum when you had it that mattered. “The footy gods only give you a certain amount of chances,” he used to say. “If you don’t take ‘em, there’ll be no pity. They won’t give you more. Then you're on your own and if the footy gods turn away, then you're fucked.”

Now was the time for them to take their chances. Trask was the oldest player in the team. In fact, he was three years older than the next oldest player. That was almost a generation in football terms. He knew what he had to do. He had to be the one. They needed him. More than just as a player, more than just a team mate. They needed him.

He raised his head from looking at the floor. The intensity started to build in him and he started to clap his hands together.

At first he did this slowly. The people in the room looked at him as did a few of his team mates. Some of the players started to join in, quietly at first, then more started and the clapping became harder and louder. Trask stood up, notsaying anything, and walked into the centre of the room, looking each and every one of his teammates in the eye. He kept clapping, harder and harder. It was starting to sting his hands, but he didn’t care.

He kept clapping and then he started to lightly jump on the spot and nod his head.

“Who the fuck are we?” he yelled.

There were a few murmurs. He needed buy-in.

“Who….the….fuck….are….we?” he shouted, almost at the top of his voice.

“The Tigers!” the other players roared.

Better.

The clapping, the stamping of feet and the yelling were getting louder.

“What do fucking Tigers do?”

“They fight!” came the chorus. “They kill!”

The tingle was back. The hairs on the back of his neck were starting to rise. The coach had stepped to the side, letting Trask take control.

This was what it was about, to be a man, to stand up. To not shirk from the fight. It wasn't dishonourable to lose, but it was dishonourable to lose if you had not expended every bit of what you had to give, to hold something back. The masculinity so often derided in real life was needed here. It was mandatory if you were to survive.

“Tigers fight." he shouted. "Tigers kill."

“Fight, kill, fight, kill,” everyone in the room roared.

Now the claps were in rhythm. The stamping of their feet was in rhythm. The chant was in rhythm. All anyone could hear was clapping, stamping, chanting.

“Fight, kill. Fight, kill. Fight, kill….”

They were back.

Trask was back.

____________________

It was deep into the third quarter, probably only a couple of minutes left. They had kicked six goals to one so far and they now only trailed by five points with the momentum clearly in their favour.

The Footy Gods were smiling and they were making the most of it.

Trask was in the forward line, having a rest from the midfield so that he could conserve some energy for the assault in the final quarter. He’d kicked two goals in the quarter and given off another couple. He had turned the game almost single-handedly. He'd bumped, tackled and smashed his team into it.

He kept his eyes up the ground. The ball was still more than one hundred metres away, but he wanted the edge on his defender, any edge. He pushed back into him with his shoulder, making sure to get a part of his rib cage, just to let him know he was there, that he meant business. The ball was in the centre now. Marsden had it and he broke clear. He was a left footer. Trask knew where to run.

He gave the defender a quick elbow to the belly just to put him on his heels and sprinted at a forty five degree angle from the goals, his hand in the air. He had a good two or three metres on his man and Marsden looked up from about forty metres away and sent the kick in his direction.

Trask could hear the crowd roaring. The ball was hanging in the air. It was travelling slowly, but it was going to hit him straight on the chest.

Focus.

He had eyes only for the ball.

Concentrate.

Hands….

-----------------------

The collision was sickening. The crowd had been roaring, but now they were quiet, anxious. As Trask had led out for the mark, the kick perfectly weighted, but hanging in the air for what seemed like an eternity, he hadn’t seen a group of four players charging the other way. Not that it would have mattered. When it was your time to go, you had to go. Jibbers were not favourably looked upon in the heat of battle. However, if you know something is coming, then you can at least do something to protect yourself, no matter how futile it might be….

Trask lay on the ground, concussed. There were trainers, medical staff and ground staff milling around. Unusually, the doctors were not so concerned with his concussion. They were looking at a bigger problem, his knee.

More specifically, they were looking at what was left of his right knee. It was dislocated, the joint separated. The knee cap had dislodged and was almost at the back of the joint. One of the trainers couldn’t cope with the sight that confronted him and vomited on the grass in front of ninety thousand people. It was fortunate that Trask was concussed, otherwise the pain would have been unbearable.

They braced his leg and then put him on to the stretcher and in turn put the stretcher on the back of the cart to take him off the ground and quickly to hospital. Polite applause broke out, but Trask heard none of it. All he could see were the black lights of being knocked out.

Amid the confusion, one the team trainers raised an eyebrow to the doctor and gestured to Trask laying in the stretcher. No words were needed.

How is he?

The doctor looked at him grimly, shaking his head.

He’s fucked.

Two ballet moves shifted flawlessly into a more modern dance step. Turning on her toes, she found herself looking into the mirrors that lined one wall. Her knees bent slightly, her hips swayed, her hand rose laterally to her chest as wrists and fingers turned in a graceful motion of hula before she stopped, watching herself in the mirror. Dancing was her form of expression. At one time, ballet was the only thing she wanted to do. Life had handed her a lesson in flexibility. She learned to open her mind to possibilities. She learned to be grateful for the fact she could still dance.

Moving across the floor, she snagged up her bag and flipped off the lights. The day was done and it was time to go home. Commute traffic out of or into Honolulu, always sucked. It was bumper to bumper and slow moving. There was nothing for it but to turn up the car radio, roll down her window and sing along with whatever song was playing at the moment. Only this afternoon, her thoughts were meandering.

She was very proud of herself for coming as far as she had, but she knew she wasn't through healing yet. There was no way she could have stayed in New York after the accident. The friends and acquaintances she had made in the ballet would have felt obligated to come around and see how she was doing. Friends? Maybe friend was the wrong word to use here. None of her so-called friends had come around while she was in the hospital and to be deeply honest with herself, she really hadn't wanted them to on some level. She didn't want to hear how the production was going or how famously her rival danced with her boyfriend. Boyfriend. That was rich. He never came around, not once. Not even a phone call or text. No flowers, nothing to say he had been thinking about her at all. Talis had come to the conclusion he had used her. She had been useful for his career. She had been a prima ballerina and in demand. They danced well together, like, poetry in motion, was the description used often. Now that she couldn't do a thing for him, he hadn't given her a second thought. The thought of cornering him and finding closure where he was concerned had crossed her mind. The notion was rejected. Closure had come in the form of his absence.

She needed a new life. A new beginning. A short but delightful conversation with her mother's best friend and Talisman found herself moved, lock, stock and barrel, to the island of Oahu. Her career had been lucrative. A few wisely placed investments helped and left Talis with enough money to go anywhere she wanted.

Pulling up into her dirt road driveway, she stopped long enough to fetch the mail and the newspaper before she drove up to the house. Aunt Leilani had a small, spacious house up on the North Shore. It had been empty for a few years. Another blessing had fallen into Talisman's lap. Turning off the car, gathering her stuff, the redhead made her way into the house, leaving the door open behind her. Island life, unless you lived in the city, took some getting use to.

Some twenty minutes later, Talis was sitting on her front lanai, a tall glass of juice in her hand as she sat looking at the ocean. It was quiet today. The tourists were plentiful, even for December. The waves rose, sometimes with surfers riding them, sometimes not. She loved this house. It was spacious and airy. There were only two small bedrooms but that was far more than she needed. The biggest attraction was the ocean view and her access to it. All she had to do was walk down the hill, cross the street and there she was, walking on silvery sands with the soothing sound of waves crashing on the shore in her ears.

"Hey! Wahine! You come swimming today? Maybe surf a little?"

Startled out of her thoughts, her eyes found the mahogany skinned, dark haired form of her closest neighbor waving up at her. Under his arm was his surfboard. She lifted an idle hand to wave back.

"Not tonight, Brah. Too tired."

"Aw, come on, Talis. The water is great. Only a little time left for surfing tonight, Sistah."

She laughed and waved him on.

"Then you bettah go catch the waves, Keoni while you can."

His laughter floated back up to her as he waved again and trotted off to do just that. She smiled, inwardly sighing as she sipped her drink. Men were not on her agenda. Andre had seen to that. He hadn't devastated her but hurt her terribly? Yes. And because of that, she was gun shy of allowing herself to get involved with another man. Physically, she was healed. Emotionally and mentally, she still wasn't there yet.

It was almost time to see to dinner. She had classes to teach tomorrow. Those made her grin. Dirty dancing classes to Elders. Talis chuckled, shaking her head in amusement. Would wonders never cease.

Trask was lying flat on his back looking at the ceiling. He knew he was in a hospital, he’d been there often enough. He could feel the dull pain around his knee, but he also knew that it was probably worse than it felt. He had a drip in his right arm and he felt high. He was on a painkiller, probably morphine.

A nurse was busying herself in his room, checking the folder at the end of the bed and then moving around toward the IV unit. She was young and pretty, with blonde hair and a good figure. She had the attractiveness that all nurses have when they fuss over a patient and make them feel like they’re the most important people in the world. He saw her tag – Brigid. A nice, sensible nurse name. Trask had dated a nurse once, when he was younger and before he’d really made a name for himself. He’d been in love with her, but he’d been more in love with himself. Something had to give. It was her.

Fucked that one up.

As she moved around the bed, she saw that his eyes were open and she smiled brightly.

“Good morning, Mr. Trask,” she said. “How are feeling?”

He tried to focus his eyes as she moved closer.

I’m definitely on drugs. Not good.

“Um….hi. Not too bad I guess. How are you?”

She laughed.

“I think I’m better than you. Is there anything you need before I leave? I’ll be back with breakfast soon so if you think of anything you can let me know then. I’m sure you know the drill, but if you press that button by the bed, you will have me or another nurse in here in moments.”

“I hope it’s you,” he said, with a wan smile.

She giggled. A mature giggle, but a giggle nonetheless. That made him feel better.

“Well, I hope so too,” she said, “but I’m sure the other nurse will be just fine. She’ll look after you.”

“But will she be as pretty as you?”

Nurse Brigid blushed.

“Oh, the painkillers must be affecting you, Mr. Trask.”

“It’s Jason,” he said.

“Ok, Jason,” she said. “Seriously, the painkillers can affect you, but you need them for the moment.”

She’d finished replacing his IV bag and started to turn to leave. Trask called out to her.

“Brigid.”

She turned and looked at him. “Yes?”

“What time is it?”

“It’s nine in the morning, Mr.…er….Jason.”

Trask remembered the match and running for the ball, but nothing after that.

“So I’ve slept all night?”

Brigid looked at him and then slowly walked back. “Jason, it’s Monday. You been out for nearly two days. You were heavily concussed and you have a problem with your leg. It’ll be better if the doctor explains it to you. I’ll let them know you’re awake.”

Two days.

“Um….did we win?”

She averted her eyes slightly and then looked back at him.

“You lost by three points. You were playing an awesome game. The boys sort of ran out of steam after you were hurt. I’m sorry, but believe me, you played one of the best games anyone has ever seen in the third quarter. After the game, all anyone could talk about was how well you’d played.”

She paused, not knowing what to say further.

We lost.

I lost.

He shook his head. “Thanks, Brigid.”

She smiled.

“Just rest,” she said and walked out of his room.

Trask lay back, letting the fresh drugs do their work.


**************************************


“Jason? Jason?”

Trask opened his eyes. It was Peter, his manager. He opened his eyes wider and sat up in the bed.

“Sorry, mate,” said Peter, “they told me you were awake. Didn't mean to disturb you.”

“Yeah, no worries. I’ve been in and out. The drugs. What time is it?”

“Just after lunch,” said Peter, “around two.”

Trask nodded. “So do you know what’s going on? The doc was supposed to see me, but I must have fallen asleep and they left me to rest. I’m not in any pain, but I think they’re pumping me full of painkillers at the moment.”

Peter looked at him and pursed his lips. “So they haven’t spoken to you at all?”

Trask shook his head. “No.”

Peter looked like he was thinking. He ran his hand through his greying black hair and leaned against the bed.

This doesn’t look good.

“The concussion was bad, but nothing that you couldn’t overcome.” He paused. “But the collision and your knee….It’s the ACL and the PCL.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s six months, minimum. I’ll miss most of pre-season," said Trask.

Peter pursed his lips again.

“Um, it’s actually worse.”

“What do you mean?”

“The knee was smashed pretty bad. They reckon your ACL stump will need to be reconstructed. That’ll take a while to make sure there’s proper regeneration and blood flow.”

“What about LARS? You know, synthetic ligaments? That’s my only chance. I’m thirty three. I can’t be out for a year. I can’t afford to be out for a year.”

“Um, well,” stumbled Peter, “they’re saying that even with LARS you’re at least eighteen months away from a full recovery.”

“What? What did you fucking say? Eighteen….”

“Look. You did both the ACL and the PCL and the structure in your knee is badly damaged. I’m not sure you’ll….” Peter’s voice trailed off.

“Not sure what?” said Trask, his throat tightening. “Not sure I’ll play again?”

“You won’t be playing for the Tigers. They’re going to cut you.”

Trask looked at him. This wasn’t possible.

“I have one year left on my contract….”

“Which they’ll pay out,” said Peter, “I’ve made sure of that. Plus the networks are all over me, asking if you want to do special comments for them next year. Coaching might even be a possibility. There are a few assistant’s roles open for next year too.”

Coaching? Commentating?

“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m thirty three, not forty three, for fuck’s sake. Maybe we should wait a week until the injury settles down and then assess our options then….”

“The Tigers are going to delist you tomorrow. It’ll be made public in the morning. I’ve already provided comments to the press, you know, the same old crap. Assessing our options, looking at what’s available, yada, yada. Yada.”

Trask sat on the bed. His throat was dry and his chest felt like an elephant was sitting on it. This couldn’t be true. He’d come back from an horrific injury years ago to regain all his pace and strength.

Years ago.

When I was twenty five.

Fuck.

He sat there shaking his head.

“They can’t wait a couple of months for Christ's sake?”

“You know the drill better than I do, Jason,” said Peter. “Rebuilding, focus on youth, start a new cycle….”

“Fuck loyalty?”

“Yeah, fuck loyalty,” he said. “It sounds harsh, but the prognosis from the doctor doesn’t sound good so I can see where they're coming from. They want to send you to Hawaii. You can get the LARS done here, but then go there for recovery. The weather will be good and conducive to a better recovery and one of the foremost knee experts in the world happens to teache there and conducts private consulting. The team have agreed to cover everything.”

Trask smirked.

“And it gets me out of here.”

Peter nodded.

“And it gets you out of here.”


**************************


Trask lay in bed looking out of the window of his room. The sun was starting to get low in the sky and he could see kids playing in Royal Park and see the regular joggers on their daily run.

Run.

He’d spoken to the doctor after Peter had left. There was nothing they could do to accelerate his recovery. He would need to rest for a couple of months after the surgery and then he would have to do three months of intensive work just to stand and walk. It would then take a minimum of twelve further months before he was ok to even run, let alone get back to what he was previously.

Fuck.

That was the other problem. The doctor didn’t think he would ever get back to what he was anyway. He would be two years older and have two synthetic ligaments in his knee. It would be impossible.

Trask hadn’t done what he had done in his life through thinking things were impossible. He would show them that it was possible. That it wasn’t over. There was no way he was going to give up. This was all he had. He knew people got old. Got slower. Lost their reflexes. But he’d been having one of the best years of his career.

It can’t be over.

His chest felt so tight. He had no way of showing what he felt, of letting it out. He’d been taught not to show anything, ever. It was a weakness. He felt something coming up his throat, it didn't feel solid, but it was something. He could feel it. He swallowed as he kept looking out the window watching people walking, jogging, running.

Walking.

Whatever was trying to come out couldn’t make it past his throat, it stayed there, blocked. The pressure built and he tried to breathe. It was becoming difficult. He thought about his life. He couldn’t give that up. Moments flashed through his mind, shuffled by his consciousness. There was no censoring, good times, bad times, horrible times, jubilation. Everything was there. But everything came from his sport, from what he knew how to do.

He knew what was trying to come through his body and up out of his mouth.

It was fear.

I’m scared.

He kept looking out the window and a single tear rolled down his cheek. He let it roll all the way till it fell off his jawline. If he didn't touch it, then it wasn't real.

That’s the one tear you’ll get from me.

It can’t be over.

"Mr. Shimata,"

She reached behind her and gently pulled the old man's hand off her ass and replaced it on her waist.

"You need to keep your hand on my waist or I won't be able to tell where you want to lead me next."

Mr. Shimata was a harmless old Japanese man who looked like a Hollywood version of the yakuza. Apparently he was quite the sought after gentleman in the retirement home. He always sought her out for a dance partner. She subtly urged him closer to the flock of elderly females against the wall and reached out for the nearest one.

"Mr. Shimata, would you mind showing Kalani that dance move? Thank you ever so much."

Before he could protest or even knew what was happening, Talis was slipping away and leaving the gentleman to Kalani's ample bosom. She loved her teaching jobs, she really did. However, she was glad it was almost Christmas. All her classes were taking a week off. Today was Friday. All she had to do was get today over with and her mini vacation could begin. A whole week of sun and surf.




The Christmas music was blaring from her speakers. There was a knock on her door. Talis was up on a step stool hanging some garland. Glancing over her shoulder, she yelled above the music.

"Come in! The door's open."

One last pin... there we go. The door opened and a dark head poked through. It was Dr. Kawakami. Climbing down off the step stool, she folded it, offering him a flash of a smile in welcome.

"Dr. Kawakami!! So nice to see you. What brings you to the North Shore?"

Dr. Kawakami had been her doctor to check in with once she got here. He was her follow up doctor. From time to time he referred a patient who needed something more than the usual physical therapy prescribed. Talisman fit the bill. She was young, healthy, scarred and had been through a horrific situation that had stolen her carrier and bounced back. They worked well together.

The good doctor smiled at her as he closed the door.

"Mele Kalikimaka, Talis."

Setting aside the stool, she moved forward to embrace him in a warm hug.

"Mele Kalikimaka, Dr. Kawakami. Would you care for something to drink?"

He squeezed her hand.

"No thank you. I'm fine. Am I interrupting your decorating?"

Talis shook her head, leading him out to the lanai and offering him a seat. She took the chair next to him.

"No. No. It's fine. Just some last minute decorating is all. Did you just come to check up on me or is there something I can help you with?"

"Both actually. I came to see how you were doing but also, I wanted to talk to you about someone."

"I'm doing good. My leg gives me a little discomfort when it's a cooler day, but otherwise," she shrugged, "I'm really good. So, tell me, how can I help?"

The good doctor went on to explain that he had a colleague who was expecting an inbound patient. This patient's sports career was over. He was going to need some intensive physical therapy but something more as well. Her knowledge of dance as well as her own personal history might help here. Would she be willing to try? He went on to tell her that the patient was thirty three years old, Australian, male and a football, or footy as they called it over there, accident had caused his injuries. The damage was to his ACL. That made her wince. When the doctor mentioned the patient's PCL as well, she thought she was going to be sick. She asked for time to think about it. Dr. Kawakami agreed. He knew that it wasn't going to be an easy case by any means. Soon enough, he took his leave after giving her a hug and said he would be back in touch with her in a few days.




The sun rode low in the sky. The heavens looked like it had been brushed with paint that was vivid in color. Purples, pinks, shades of blues, spread across the horizon. Oranges and reds filtered in close to the setting orb of warmth. The surfers had gone home for the evening. There were still a few tourists lurking on the beach.

Talis walked the beach barefooted, wearing her bikini and a lavalava tied around her hips. It was local wear. Worn by all the locals, male and female alike. It was just a rectangular piece of material, tied in various ways around the body. Talis found it comfortable. Her red hair flowed down her back, the slight breeze off the ocean blew it back from her face as she walked. On impulse, she had tucked a plumeria blossom into her hair behind her right ear. Her mind was preoccupied with the patient Dr. Kawakami had mentioned. She wasn't fooled. This wasn't going to be an easy matter. The poor man. She knew what it was like to have a career come to an abrupt end. The damage was much more extensive than just to his knee. If she took this on, she was going to become the target of his frustrations at some point. Did she really want to be a part of that?

Did she truly have a choice?

Not without compromising who she was.

“You’re fucking kidding, aren’t you? Tell me you’re fucking kidding?”

Trask was talking to Peter. Talking was not exactly what they were doing. Trask was yelling and his manager was standing there with a chastened look on his face.

Peter raised his hands.

“Now, Jason….”

“Now, Jason fucking what, mate?” snapped Trask. “The team to which I’ve shown total loyalty, where I have stayed to the detriment of my financial remuneration, have cut me loose. The quack has told me I won’t be back to normal for at least eighteen months, let alone ever play football again.”

“Well….” pleaded Peter, but he was immediately cut off. Once Trask started using words like remuneration, he knew better than to keep the argument going.

“Well? Is that all you've got? Then one of the best LARS recovery experts in the world is in Honolulu, as in fucking Hawaii Honolulu. He can’t be in fucking Melbourne or Sydney or even anywhere in Australia. No,” yelled Trask, “he has to be in fucking Hono-fucking-lulu.”

“But….”

“Oh yeah. I forgot,” continued Trask. “Then I have to go and see some sort of fucking dance teacher to get me right for footy, on the off-chance that the surgery does the job and I can even play footy….and that a team will actually want me at thirty five…and need someone that can do the cha-cha out on the ground.”

Trask was running out of steam. He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. Peter saw his chance.

“What will it hurt?” he said. “You’re out for eighteen months according to the surgeon. Go to Hawaii. See the expert. Do the fucking dancing. What will it hurt? You’ve got nothing else to do except yell at me and that will get boring soon. Shit, your dance teacher might even be hot.”

Trask rolled his eyes.

“Yeah. Like some hot dance teacher from Hawaii is gonna want a footballer on crutches anyway,” he said. “Besides, so fucking what if she’s hot. Have I ever carried on like that when it comes to women?”

“No, but it might do you good,” said his manager in a quiet voice and looking at the ceiling.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Whatever,” said Peter. “Whatever.”

***************

The flight was one of the most embarrassing things Trask had ever had to go through. He felt so helpless and self-conscious that he actually contemplated jumping out of the plane for most of the trip. The flight attendants made sure his passage was as comfortable as possible and, because it was a Qantas flight, they’d been shy around him as they were aware of his status. He’d been given sleeping tablets by his doctor, but he preferred not to take them. Trask liked to be in control.

Always.

Peter had booked him into the Trump International. He’d always thought Donald Trump was just on TV, but apparently he owned more than just the worst hairstyle in the Western world. It would be good for him to look at the ocean and relax in a holiday-type lifestyle. That's what they all told him, anyway. It would only be for a short time. As part of his rehabilitation, the idea was to find him more residential-sytle accommodation so that his lifestyle was similar to what it would be at home.

Except for playing football.

I can’t do that now.

Maybe never again....

Trask took a long draw on his beer and looked out of the window of his room. The sun would start to drop soon, but at the moment, the sea was still an electric blue. It reminded him of where he’d grown up, except it was a lot busier. He’d known every person in his town during his childhood. This could have been that sort of place once, many years ago, but not now.

Trask had decided he would eat in his room, sleep and then wait for his specialist’s call tomorrow. He didn’t really want to go out on crutches or worse, a wheelchair. He knew it couldn’t be the case, but he felt like every single person’s gaze had been on him since he’d been injured. Now he knew how disabled people felt.

At least I’ll be better eventually.

He didn’t really know what the plan was once he’d spoken to his doctor. She was Dr. Anna Linsdtrom. She taught at the University and also assisted elite athletes rebuild their knees. A rehabilitation routine would be setup and he’d be monitored on his progress every step of the way.

Oh, and I have to meet a dancer.

Who's supposed to help me get better.

To play football?

He rolled his eyes as he looked out to the ocean, his feet on the windowsill, ignoring the large kevlar brace around his knee and lower leg. He drained his bottle of beer. He had to get another one, but was not relishing the effort required. He knew he’d get up though.

Step one in rehabilitation - get own beer.

Great.

The holidays came and went, all quietly for her. For the most part. To bring in the new year, she invited over a few close friends she had made. They had whittled away the nocturnal hours to midnight with drinks, sushi, making music, dancing and laughing. Everyone had a good time. The party couldn't last forever, however and all too soon, it was back to work as usual.

It was mid January and the weather was mild these days. Talis sat propped up in one of her lanai chairs, her legs drawn up. Her lap sported a thick medical file, which she was knee deep in reading. One finger was twisting a lock of hair as she intently read. The other hand flipped the pages. She let out a soft groan that could be heard above the soft, gentle patter of the rain as it fell around her. This guy, the incoming one, was going to be a pill to deal with. He was going to have a chip on his shoulder a mile wide. That wasn't her fault and if he copped an attitude with her, it wasn't personal. She had to remember that. She also had to keep in mind that she couldn't help everyone. She was thankful that the list she helped was longer than the one where she hadn't succeeded. It was all selective. Lifting her eyes from the paperwork, she looked out over the ocean, across the road and watched the waves form and come crashing in.

A person had to open their mind, be willing to try something even if it didn't make a lick of sense to them. Even today, there were a lot of athletes that didn't understand how dance, especially ballet, could benefit them, hurt or not. Many of them let their masculine ego get in the way of hearing or understanding. Most of them that came to her were damaged in some way. An accident. An injury. Some of them came because their coach insisted on it. There were two ways to hustle down a football field, bulldoze it or run like a freaking gazelle. She taught the gazelle part. It was never easy. They came thinking she would make them wear tights and slippers. They soon learned the right of it while they were sweating all over her wooden floor, moaning and groaning over stretching exercises. Tights, slippers and tutus were the least of their worries.

She glanced back down at the file resting on her thighs.

"Jason Trask," she murmured softly.

Her hand reached for her cell phone.


"Dr. Linsdtrom, please.... I'll hold."




Well, that was enlightening. It had been a rather lengthy conversation with Dr. Anna Linsdtrom. Mr. Trask was apparently here in Hawaii already. And what the bloody hell had she been thinking? No matter which way she looked at it, this was simply the easiest and best solution all around. She had extended an invitation, via Dr. Linsdtrom, for Mr. Trask to reside at her house during his rehabilitation.

"Talis, have you lost your mind, wahine? You don't even know this haole!"

Ipo's words broke into her silent planning.

"Hm? Oh," she shrugged, "Ipo, think about it. Yes, he's a stranger, but he won't be for long. He's stuck here until they can put his knee back together and even then, it's going to be months of therapy. What better place affords privacy? Apparently, in Australia he's a big deal or was. I don't follow what they call footy. I guess, I'm going to get an education though. This house is big enough for the two of us and still give both of us space and privacy."

Ipo gave her a long steady look then folded his arms over his chest, the latter he pushed out, reminding her of a puffer fish. Talis gave a short laugh.

"Oh Ipo... Ipo... Ipo."

She got to her feet, placing a hand on his shoulder and kissing his cheek.

"Did you get his bed all fixed up?"

At the man's nod, she squeezed his shoulder once and then headed toward the room they were talking about.

"Come, let's go make sure I haven't forgotten anything. I want his stay here to be pleasant and relaxing. They say it's good for the soul. Hawaii is good for the soul."




A teal, v-necked, buttoned down silk blouse was tucked into a pair of soft linen gray slacks. A thin black leather belt was looped through her slacks, accentuating her small waist. Black heels adorned her tiny feet. They were low heels, but they gave her a couple of inches. Red hair was brushed and left to fall around her shoulders. Dangling, gold stars hung from her ears. A soft scent of ginger mixed other scents that reminded one of open air and sea, wafted around her person. There was a steadfast air about her. Those eyes were friendly enough and open. If one looked deeply into them, they would see the hint of nervousness there too. Talis was standing in Dr. Linsdtrom's office waiting for one Mr. Jason Trask to arrive.

The driver came around to Trask’s side of the car and opened the door. He extended his hand to help him out. Trask shook his head at him and waved him away.

“I'm not a cripple," he growled.

The driver stood back. He’d worked with patients of Dr. Lindstrom before, but this guy was particularly prickly. He just hoped he wasn’t worse when he came out. Patients often came back worse after they’d been given their outlook by the doctor.

Trask instantly felt remorse for being such an asshole. It wasn’t the driver’s fault that his leg was fucked. That he was in Hawaii to get it fixed. That he had to see a ballet teacher when all he wanted to do was drink.

That his career was over.

No, it wasn’t the driver’s fault at all that he was close and he had to stay close. It was his job.

Only way I’d get close enough to kick anyone these days.

He turned around in the seat and took the crutches from the driver.

“Thanks,” he muttered, feeling embarrassed that everyone on the street was looking at him, or at least it felt like everyone was looking at him. He knew it couldn’t be true.

Careful, you’re turning into a wanker. Why would they give a fuck about you?

He should have been using the wheelchair, but that was a step too far. He smiled wryly to himself. If he could take a step, that was. He slid out further and took the driver’s hand to get up onto his good left leg and then placed the crutches under his armpits.

“I should be a half hour or so,” he said. “Go and enjoy yourself. I’ll call you if I need you.”

The driver looked at him with a surprised look on his face.

“But, they….”

Trask shook his head.

“Fuck them. I can get in there myself. Now, bye.”

The driver shrugged his shoulders, closed the passenger side door and started to make his way around to the driver’s side.

Trask turned towards the building and started to make his way towards the entrance. His leg was encased in a modern cast they called a “moonboot.” It was basically a plastic shroud around his leg that was inflated with air to keep his leg from moving. It would be on for a few more weeks still and then he would be slowly allowed some movement in the joint. He couldn’t feel any progress in the knee at all. His painkillers had been substantially reduced so he felt a constant pain throbbing pain. It wasn’t enough pain to make him totally uncomfortable, he had a high pain threshold anyway, but it was a constant reminder as to what he’d lost.

As he passed through the sliding doors, the feeling of conspicuousness was only heightened by the fact the he was wearing colourful blue, white and green board shorts, a blue tank top and a rubber-soled slip on sandal. Everyone else was in suits or at least more formal attire.

Classy.

As he moved towards reception, he made a mental note to not change careers into the medical profession.

Dress code would kill me.

He got to the desk where a young, pretty dark-haired girl was taking calls and typing at the same time. She looked up at him as she was talking into her headset and gave him a slight nod to wait. He leaned against the waist high counter as she quickly put the call through to somewhere else.

“Can I help you, sir?” she asked.

“Yes, Melanie, you can,” he said. “I’m here to see Dr. Lindstrom.”

The girl looked at him blankly for a few seconds and then remembered her nametag. She smiled with a slight blush and he smiled back at her.

“Oh,” she giggled, “no one ever calls me by my name when they come to appointments.”

“More fool them,” said Trask with a wink. Maybe Peter was right, at least girls might make him forget his knee.

She looked down at a large appointment diary in front of her. “You must be Mr. Trask,” she said.

He nodded. “But it’s Jason. Mr. Trask sounds old.”

She giggled again. “You’re not old,” she said. “And you’re not from here.”

“I’m from Australia. Now, Melanie, as much as I’d like to talk to you, I really have to get up there. I wouldn’t want to keep the doctor waiting and as you can see I’m not my quickest at the moment.”

“Oh, I could organise a wheelchair for you….”

He flashed her a look, but then relaxed.

Not her fault.

“That won’t be necessary. Just some directions would be good.”

“Yes, of course,” she said. “Just take those lifts there up to the fourth floor and there’ll be a sign to her office.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Melanie.”

She giggled again. As he shuffled away towards the lifts, she interrupted him.

“If you need anything, Mr. Trask….er….I mean, Jason, then let me know. I understand how hard it can be when you’re somewhere new and I just love your accent.”

He leaned on his crutches, turned his head and smiled at her. She was pretty, but too young for him. She needed fun, not a grumpy broken-down old hack. No need to be rude though.

“Thank you. Once I get my leg fixed, you might be in more danger that you realise.”

He winked at her and resumed the seemingly interminable journey towards the lifts.

He heard her giggle again.

She didn’t realise it, but she was better than any therapy he’d had so far.

It felt good.

He kept shuffling. Now for the doctor….

And the dancer.

He rolled his eyes.

Oh, goodie.

**********************************

Trask got out at the fourth floor and saw the arrow on the wall directing him to Dr. Lindstrom’s office about twenty metres down the hallway. He moved slowly towards the doctor’s office, thinking of his life. Everything was such an effort. He was used to effort when their was the prospect of reward, but the thought of putting in such an effort just to get around, just to live, put his condition in perspective. There were people who were more restricted than himself who had to live like that for the rest of their lives.

I couldn’t do that.

The moment of introspection and thinking of others surprised him and he stopped. Trask was not a bad man, in fact he was a good man, and that wasn’t just his opinion. But he had always had the self-centred outlook of someone focussed on their own goals and who did things for themselves and sacrificed everything else for the sake of what they did. He’d never had to worry about anyone else, not in a serious way. No one depended on him. He depended on no one.

I couldn’t do that.

But the reality was that he had depended on people in the past few weeks. He’d relied on them to do the right things by him, to help him. Shit, just to get by these days he needed people. He was not comfortable with the situation. Now, again, he’d have to rely on a doctor and a ballet dancer to get him back to what he was. If they couldn’t do it, then he was, literally, fucked. It wasn’t all up to him. He felt a rising anxiety as he approached the door to the doctor’s office.

What if they can’t help me?

There was a small alcove next to Dr. Lindstrom’s office and an efficient-looking blond woman was sitting at a desk. She didn’t seem as pleasant as Melanie, but then why would she? She looked to be around fifty years, the rounded face of a matron, someone comfortable with their life, with what they had done. Now they were just going through the motions.

Trask never wanted to go through the motions, but he wasn’t sure if he could control that now.

“Mr. Jason Trask?” asked the woman, looking down at the appointment book in front of her.

“Yes,” said Trask. No banter here. He suddenly felt self-conscious of his attire again, worried his board shorts and tank top made it look like he was treating his fate flippantly. This wasn’t a question of getting back to walking, of getting back to running or of getting back to football. This was now a question of his life, his manhood, what made him, him. Was he treating it seriously enough? Was he treating it too seriously?

“You can go right on through,” she said. She got up and started to move around the desk towards the office door.

He was in front of the door, but still she came around. “No, really, it’s fine. I’ll get it,” he said.

She kept coming, “Sir,….”

“I said it’s fucking fine,” he snapped, “what do you think I am, a fucking cripple?”

She stopped and looked at him with a neutral look on her face, her lips pursed. He regretted the words as soon as he’d said them.

A cripple and an ungrateful surly bastard.

“I’m sorry,” he said, with a weak smile. “Just getting used to this….” his voice trailed off.

She nodded, but she didn’t smile. “I understand,” she said quietly and slowly moved back towards the desk.

He sighed and pushed on the door. It was slightly ajar already so he didn’t have to turn the handle. The door swung open and he shuffled in.

Dr. Anna Lindstrom was behind her desk, a study in Nordic efficiency and coolness with straight, short blond hair and blue eyes. She was attractive, but in a no-nonsense way. Her white coat added to her appearance of cool competency. Trask was sure that’s what she wanted. He was familiar with how perception affected those around someone. Perception gave you ground before you even had to take any for yourself.

“Hello, Mr Trask,” she said, only a slight hint of an accent. “We were just talking about you.”

We?

“Hi,” he said, still worried about what he’d said to the poor woman outside.

He looked to his left and saw her, the dancer, standing to the side of the desk. Red hair, that was the first thing that jumped out at him. It fell over her shoulders, framing a face that was welcoming, but had seen things. It relaxed him, that she wasn't some sheltered artistic type with a middle-class or privileged sense of duty. Her clothes only increased his anxiety over his attire. Trask was no fashion expert. His idea of dressing up was to wear a tuxedo to an awards function or a shirt to an interview. She was formal, but not formal. She looked like she belonged in those clothes, as if making an effort for her was not an effort, it was simply how she looked. He shuffled into the room fully and the next thought hit him that she was small. Not just in height, but in her frame. Her waist was so small he felt as if he would have been able to encircle it with one hand. Of course, that was not true, but just the thought was an indication of her size.

Ballet dancer….

Dr. Lindstrom broke the silence. He’d been standing there just looking, not saying anything.

“And I’d like you to meet Talisman O’Neal,” she said, gesturing towards the red head. “She’s going to help get you moving again.”

He looked over to her. “Hi, I’m Jason Trask,” he said.

He hobbled towards a chair in front of the desk, not waiting for an offer of assistance.

When he got to the chair, he leaned against it with his hip. He looked down himself at his shorts and top and the corner of his mouth curved slightly, threatening to break out into a smirk. He eased himself around the chair and fell into it and stretched his leg out.

Bloody moonboot.

The two women were quiet as he got settled, as if they were waiting for a cue that he was ready.

“Right,” he said softly, looking at Dr. Lindstrom and then at Talisman, embarrassed at the manouvering it took to sit down. “I don’t know about the dancing, but my taste in clothing could also be due for an overhaul.”

Oh bloody hell.

They were the only three words that came to mind as Jason Trask hobbled into the room. Introductions were made before he took a seat. She chose to remain standing. His eyes had returned to her as he spoke again. His wardrobe. She managed a slight smile.

“Aloha, Mr. Trask. Welcome to Hawaii. Don’t worry about your clothes.”

Her eyes wandered over him sitting there with his leg outstretched.

“You’re dressed just right. Around the island we take a more casual stance about our dress codes than they do on the mainland. As for the dancing, we’ll get to that after Dr. Lindstrom is finished with you. I’m just going to step out of the office so you two can have some privacy. She’ll let me know when she’s ready for me to return. So, if you both will excuse me. “

She walked behind him and headed for the door. The soft click of her heels on the floor was the only thing she could hear at that moment as she got to the door, opened it, stepped through and closed it softly behind her. She offered Amelia, Dr. Lindstrom’s receptionist, an absentminded, friendly smile as she stepped out into the hallway, wiping her palms on the sides of her slacks. That had been the only obvious sign of her discomfort. Luckily for her, Mr. Trask hadn't offered to shake hands.

As a prima ballerina one would think she was use to meeting people with a balance of grace and remoteness. Talis supposed she had fulfilled her part gloriously, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t been quaking within. She had never been much of a social person, opting to live in her dreams instead. Living with her head in the clouds, her mother often explained it to her friends and acquaintances. He seemed friendly enough and quite possibly was. However, this was an injured man. A man who, from what his doctor could tell her and gauging from what she hadn’t, would probably not be able to return to the game he had lived to play for ever so long. It was much like her own career. Dancing had been everything to her. It had been her greatest and best form of expression. Faced with the inability to return to that world she knew and loved so dearly, had devastated her. What reason was there for living when the very thing you lived and breathed for had been torn away? She had been a bitter, withdrawn person back then, but the island had worked its ho'okalakupuna or magic and she had come to realize that there were other ways to express herself through other forms of dance. Ballet was not the be all, end all, of her world. Hopefully aside from helping Mr. Trask recover the use of his leg, maybe she could help him discover the wisdom of the same lesson she had learned. However, right now, lurking under that charming façade was a bear. A grumpy, I’m-going-to-want-to-rip-off-your-head-and-kick-it, bear. She was more than willing to bet a dime to a doughnut on that.

“Miss O’Neal?”

It was Amelia’s voice speaking to her. Talis turned and smiled.

“Yes, Amelia?”

“They’re ready for you now.”

She glanced at the door and took a deep breath. Hopefully, she was ready for him. Her fingers turned the knob on the door as she let herself back into the Dr. Lindstrom’s office.

This was it. They were both on the brink of a beginning. It was now or never.

“Finished with the patient, Doctor?”

She looked at him as she spoke.

“Aloha, Mr. Trask. Welcome to Hawaii. Don’t worry about your clothes.”

The problem was, around her, he would always worry about his clothes. She was perfectly attired. The clothes were her. No effort. No pretense. Just her.

She kept talking but he wasn’t really listening, he was too busy looking.

“….As for the dancing, we’ll get to that after Dr. Lindstrom is finished with you….so if you both will excuse me….”

And then she was gone.

He wanted her back, but he didn’t know why. He didn’t like dancing and he was resentful that he was here in the first place, not being able to walk.

In a moonboot for fuck’s sake.

But he wanted her back. There was something about her.

Lived in.

She looked like she knew what he was going through, though, of course, she couldn’t have. She was a dancer and he was a footballer. Trask was wise enough to know that a dancer would have to be as dedicated as any athlete, but a dancer didn’t know what it was like to crash into other bodies at full speed. To feel pain and to inflict pain. Two sides of the same coin. Fun and fear. He was considering flipping the coin when Dr. Lindstrom brought him back from his mental game of two-up.

“So how does the knee feel?”

He didn’t really want to be reminded of it, but that’s why he was here, after all.

“I still have a dull pain,” he said,” but I suppose that’s to be expected. I could do with more drugs, but I understand the reasoning behind reducing the amount.”

She nodded.

“Yes. We have to be careful not to cause you more problems later down the track. The knee will hurt less as your body accepts the tissue added to your knee. The LARS will have you up in a few more months.”

He sat up straighter.

“Really….”

She raised her hands.

“No, no. Don’t get the wrong impression. You’ll be up, but still in no condition to do much strenuous physical work. By around six months you’ll be able to push harder.”

Trask took a deep breath and whispered.

“But I was told three or….”

“Yes,” she said with a smile, “but usually the patients are much younger. Not that you’re old....”

“I guess I am though….” he said, his voice trailing off.

“In sports terms you are, but not in real world terms.”

Real world terms?

Football was his real world.

“For now,” she continued, “you need to rest. You need to work on thinking straight. I’m confident the surgery will work, but I’m not confident you’ll play ever again. I'm also worried about your mental recovery. Is that clear enough and truthful enough?”

“They said you were straight up, Doc, so I guess I’ll accept it and then work to prove you wrong.”

She smiled at his earnestness.

“Well, I hope for your sake you do, but in the meantime Miss O’Neal will help with both your physical recovery and your mental recovery. She’s suffered a similar career-ending injury. Not the same as yours, of course, but it had the same ramifications for her from a career standpoint.”

He nodded.

“So what’s the plan?”

“I so like giving orders,” she said with a wink.

Trask groaned with a look of mock horror on his face.

“When a man is helpless….”

Dr. Lindstrom laughed.

“Well….Seriously, Ms. O’Neal has kindly offered her house for you to stay, She lives by the beach and we’ve agreed that it would be best if you live in as normal a routine as possible.”

“Her house?” he said. “But she doesn’t even know me.”

“Never fear, Mr. Trask, our colleagues in Australia have advised us that you are an honourable man.”

Now it was his turn to laugh.

“I didn’t realise I’d fooled them so well.”

Dr. Lindstrom shook her head.

“I don’t think so. I’ll work on a rehab routine for you, but in the meantime you’ll live with Ms. O’Neal. Her perspective will be of benefit to you and she may also suggest some exercises that will at least give you something to do.” She paused for a moment and smiled at him. “And, of course, occasionally cooking dinner and doing the odd spot of housework might help too.”

Trask rolled his eyes.

“When a man is down….”

“So,” she said, raising the palms of her hands,” what do you say we get her in here so that you can get better acquainted with your new room-mate?”

“Might as well get started,” said Trask, “there’s no time like the present.”

It’s not like I have a future.

Lindstrom walked back to her desk and pressed the phone button.

“You can ask Ms. O’Neal to come back in, thanks Amelia.”

When she’d finished, Trask spoke.

“I was rude to poor Amelia before. I feel bad about it.”

“I’m sure you feel bad about a lot of things and you’ll feel bad about a lot more as your recovery progresses. Don’t worry, Amelia is used to it.”

“Well, she didn’t deserve it….”

Just then the door opened and Talisman O’Neal stepped back into the room and closed the door behind her.

“Finished with the patient, Doctor?”

Maybe staying at her place isn’t such a bad idea.

He turned around to look at her and she still looked good. Gorgeous in fact.

Or maybe not.

“Yes, Ms. O’Neal,” said Lindstrom, “We were just talking about you and how you were going to have Mr. Trask here as a special guest.”

Trask looked up from the seat towards Talisman.

“I really am a terrible cook,” he said, “and I always mix up the colours with the whites in the laundry, and I also eat a lot. Besides that, I guess I’m ok.”

He tried to smile. He wanted to make the best of it. He wanted this to work. He needed this to work.

But a dancer?

“I’ll try my best I guess,” he said. “Dr. Lindstrom thinks staying with you will help. If she thinks so and you’re agreeable, then I’m willing to give anything a shot. Shit, I've got nothing else if I don't get back. Thank you.”

There was a window, to his left. She perched on the ledge of it as he spoke. Her eyes were steadfast on his face. Multiple things were going through her mind as she listened. She spoke when he finished.

“Mr. Trask, you need to let the island work its magic on you. If you let it, it’ll show you tranquility, give you a peace of mind and relax you. You’re probably wondering, about now, how on earth you got saddled with me,” she gave him an amused grin, “but I promise you, you will come to understand, eventually. Just like you’ll come to understand how dancing will also benefit you in the long run.”

Her eyes traversed over him, from his face to his legs. Her look took a sustained pause as she regarded his injured leg. Their injuries were acquired differently, but the end result was shared. If she did her job right, she would not only help strengthen his weakened muscles, but also help repair his spirit. Talisman lifted her eyes back to his face.

“My offering you to share my home with you may be a bit,” she paused as her mind searched for the word she wanted, “unorthodox, but some time ago, someone offered me the same when I was injured. I’m just passing along the magic.”

She glanced at Dr. Lindstrom.

“Are you finished with Mr. Trask, Dr. Lindstrom? If so, I’d like to whisk him away for the rest of the day if you are. Provided, of course, that Mr. Trask is willing.”

As she turned her face back toward his, her eyes held a silent question and a challenge.

The dancer sat with her tiny butt perched on the window ledge.

Dancer? Tiny butt?

It’s Talis, mate. She has a name.

…and a tiny little butt.

He knew he’d have to take her more seriously and even if he would never admit it out aloud, he liked her style. It helped that she looked like she did.

Gorgeous.

Can’t hurt to listen….

“…..My offering you to share my home with you may be a bit,” she paused “…unorthodox, but some time ago, someone offered me the same when I was injured. I’m just passing along the magic.”

Trask clenched his jaw and looked at her.

Talis turned to Dr. Lindstrom.

“Are you finished with Mr. Trask, Dr. Lindstrom? If so, I’d like to whisk him away for the rest of the day if you are. Provided, of course, that Mr. Trask is willing.”

Talis looked straight at him. Her eyes….

You game?

You up for it?

She probably didn’t realise how her eyes were talking to him, but talking they were and they were doing it more eloquently than anyone who’d tried to help him since his….setback…had occurred.

You game?

Shit, no one had dared ask Trask a question like that before – he’d have punched them in the face.

You game?

So what was he going to do? His leg was damaged, possibly ruined, and there didn’t look like there was much chance of being a way back. It wasn’t as if he or anyone else had come up with a viable alternative to get him back.

The redhead, the dancer, no....Talis, was perched on the window ledge looking at him. She didn’t know him, but she was willing to help. He could tell she didn’t really think he’d get back, but if he worked with her then….maybe, just maybe….

Everyone else was trying to temper him, keep his hopes low. You’ll be ok, but….

She wasn’t saying yes, but she wasn’t saying no. She was for him to give her a chance. That was all. Come with me and possibly some magic….He could do with some magic in his life, just a little.

She was prepared to have a crack. She was actually leaving herself open to criticism if it failed, but at least she was having a crack. That took guts and genuine care. If there was a trait Trask admired, it was someone prepared to have a crack.

Now, she was sitting there, the skinny little red head with the iron will and the eloquent eyes. She was willing to help. Not maybe help, but definitely help. Not, you’ll never get back to one hundred percent help, but unconditional help.

Just….help.

Trask was a polite man, especially when it came to women. He still opened doors and he offered his seat if he was anywhere crowded. It made him the darling of the female supporters. Other people rolled their eyes, but he'd come from a small town and he'd learnt about respect. This woman deserved respect.

You game?

He smiled at her, looking into those eyes, steely, but warm.

You game?

He didn’t even like to swear in front of women, but politeness was the last thing that was going to help him. Politeness? This was his life.

You game?

Trask’s smile got wider.

“Fuck yeah…..er....ma’am.”

Trask’s smile got wider.

“Fuck yeah…..er....ma’am.”

That smile. Damn. In that moment she wished she had done some research on her newest client. But there was something about Jason Trask that made her want to simply, well, experience him. She didn’t merely want to read about him but, oh, when he smiled like that, she wished she knew more. Outwardly, none of her thoughts showed. His words brought an impish grin to her lips. Her eyes reflected amusement, satisfaction and approval. Her head nodded once and she laughed.

“Ma’am is not necessary. Call me Talis, please. It’s short for Talisman. I’ll answer to either.”

He was willing to try. That’s all she needed to know. Regardless of where it took them, she just wanted him to try and accept her help and her words. Those who came for help, fought her. Every damn inch of the way. Always a battle. Always the anger. At first. At some point, it all started to make sense. Their rehabilitation went smoother then. A few of her clients expressed their interest in her personally and she gently set them straight. She had seen it before. They spent a lot of time together, shared some intense moments and when all was said and done, they left the island, grateful for her help and never looked back. She had never been in jeopardy of losing her heart to any of them. Andre had made her quite gun shy. Intellectually she knew that not all men were such cowards nor were they jackasses but it was far easier and safer to not even try to invest her heart. Besides, these men were there for a moment in time. They were her clients. Her job was to help heal them, not fall in love with them. The time would come when they would say good-bye and board a plane back to where they belonged. She would become just a memory that would eventually fade from their minds.

A quick glance at Dr. Lindstrom, which produced a nod and a smile, told her they were done here for the day. Talis pushed off the edge of the window and stood beside Jason.

“Good. I’m glad to hear you’re onboard with the program, Mr. Trask. Since your good doctor is done with you for the day, how about a drive to see your new home for the next several months? We can even stop at your hotel and pick up your bags if you like, then you don’t have to worry about checking out later. The choice is strictly up to you, of course.”

She didn’t expect him to protest. Her lips turned up into another smile as she waited for him to get to his feet again. He had taken her up on her silent challenge. He had guts and spirit. That was a good thing. He was going to need both in the days ahead. Days that were going to be filled with pain, of being pushed to his limits and then past them. Talis walked beside him to the door, turning there to bid Dr. Lindstrom good-bye before they left and headed out into the sunshine of the Aloha State.

“Good. I’m glad to hear you’re onboard with the program, Mr. Trask. Since your good doctor is done with you for the day, how about a drive to see your new home for the next several months? We can even stop at your hotel and pick up your bags if you like, then you don’t have to worry about checking out later. The choice is strictly up to you, of course.”

Choice?

What choice did he have? Talisman O’Neil was willing to help and he wanted his career back. His life. He grinned to himself. A talisman was exactly what he needed and a Talisman had indeed arrived.

“My bags? I pack light,” he said, “we can get them sent over later. Let’s see where my new housemate lives.”

He winked at her, feeling comfortable already. He had a feeling Talis could make everyone comfortable, but her coolness appealed to him. Not a rude coolness, she had a warm coolness, if such things were possible. Oxymoronic.

Hey, Jason, you’re a footballer remember, you’re not supposed to know how to spell oxymoronic, let alone know what it means.

He chuckled as he got up.

Yeah, don’t want to look too intelligent, I might scare the lady.

As he grabbed his crutches tightly and got up from the chair, he reflected on what it was about her that made him so comfortable. Yes, her intelligence and steely strength were obvious. He had to admit her lithe classy appearance and red hair helped. She was….sleek, yes, that what she was....sleek. He liked that and yet….he came back to the coolness. It felt good to not have to be the strongest person in the room for once. To not have a woman fawning all over him just because he was famous. He certainly wasn’t famous here, in the land of surf, sun and leis, but he was certain that it wouldn’t have mattered to Talis anyway. Yes, she was a class act and she was strong. Most importantly, she was willing to help him and that was what he needed.

Badly.

Help from a strong ally.

Male or female.

He smiled again as he finally regained his balance.

Might as well be a gorgeous female….

He noticed Talis looking at him, waiting patiently for him to get up. He appreciated that. He didn’t need help, he needed patience.

Let me do it.

I’ll get there.

Eventually.

He smiled wanly at her.

“Sorry, just getting used to moving like a glacier,” he said to lighten the mood. “And some people say my heart is even colder than one.”

He hopped on his crutches towards the door.

“We’ll be back Dr. Lindstrom, I’m sure,” he said with a nod and then turned and went towards the door.

When he got there, there was no hand to open it, no one to hold it for him. He felt Talis behind him and she then moved to be beside him, patient.

Thank you.

He balanced himself and opened the door.

“Ladies first,” he said.

She walked through the door and waited a few metres beyond it.

Patient.

“I sure hope you parked the car close,” he said. “I know I was putting on a determined face for the doc, but shit, this stoic routine really sucks.”

He smiled at her again and they proceeded towards the elevators. His knee was really starting to throb now and he wasn’t prepared to show it or move any slower than he already was. He watched her as they made their way down in the elevator, the natural discomfort of relative strangers in a confined space.

“By the way,” he said, “I snore too.”

He looked at her.

Fuck me.

I like this woman.

He recalled Marcus Aurelius - misfortune nobly born is good fortune. Trask would never go as far to say that he was happy with his predicament, but meeting this woman would at least ease the pain, a little, maybe. He needed to get back and he also needed to learn and this was his chance. He would never again have this much time on his hands to grow, to develop. All he could think about was football and his knee and yet....he had a chance at something else.

Bigger than football.

Bigger than his knee.

He had a chance to to work out who he was.

Who am I?

The doors opened and they got out, Trask naturally waiting for his talisman to exit first. They made their way slowly towards the entrance, towards his new life. He would have plenty of time to think and contemplate things.

Until I get back my old life….

Jason Trask was charming. She hadn't expected that. That wink of his in her direction might have made her heart flutter if she wasn't who she was. Oh hell, who was she kidding? The wings of butterflies had fluttered in the pit of her stomach but while he was charming, ruggedly handsome, he was also her patient. Her client. That took precedence above all else.

“I sure hope you parked the car close,” he said. “I know I was putting on a determined face for the doc, but shit, this stoic routine really sucks.”

She tapped her bum leg with her hand.

"You're preaching to the choir, Mr. Trask," she turned her head to glance at him with a smile of understanding, "but I promise you, it'll get better. It'll never be perfect again, but it'll be better. I park in the handicap spaces. I hate the idea, but my leg insists. We're right over there."

Talis gestured toward the parking lot on the side of the medical building. She lifted her hand, the one holding her keys and pressed a button on her keyring. A red convertible's lights flashed on and off. She smiled.

"That's my baby."

She walked beside him, tailoring her pace to his. There was an easy, laid back air to her. She liked blaming it on the islands. It was a short walk to her car. Talis paused on the driver's side and waited for him to open the door on his.

"Throw your crutches in the backseat," she invited as she opened her door and eased down into the driver's seat.

She waited for him to fold himself into the passenger seat and buckle up. With both hands on the steering wheel, she turned slightly toward him.

"I doubt I'd hear you snore, Mr. Trask. The sound of the crashing waves will probably block that out. I live on the North Shore. The waves can get pretty fierce up there," she turned the key in the ignition, " we'll take the short way home this time, right up the H1. It cuts right up the middle of the island. We'll take a spin around the island another day, do some sight seeing. Take a picnic lunch."

It was late morning so there wasn't a lot of traffic. Talis pointed out the turn off for Hickam Air Force Base and for Pearl Harbor. They passed through a younger part of the island, Mililani before they glided through an older part known as Wahiawa. They had passed by what use to be Wheeler Air Force Base and even Schofield Barracks. Conversation was hard to sustain in an open convertible. For the most part, she left him to enjoy the scenery. H1 flowed into the H2 then turned into the Kamehameha Highway which would take them home to Haleiwa. There was still unincorporated land on the North Shore. Cane fields, though small, could be seen even pineapple fields.

As they rode into Haleiwa, they slowed down and drove along the highway with the ocean on his side and majestic steep mountains on hers. The sound of the ocean filled her ears as she turned off the main road and started up a dirt one before she turned sharply into a driveway. She stopped the car in front of an old plantation house. It was rustic and spacious. There were three stairs up to the front lanai but there was also a ramp. Talis turned off the car and twisted in her seat to look at him. Birds flew overhead. A soft breeze blew off the ocean. The skies were blue with a few wispy clouds.

"Welcome home, Jason Trask."

They walked towards her car, Trask with his crutches, just trailing Talis, who walked gracefully despite her prior injury. He could have kept up, but he couldn’t be bothered and there was no doubting that the view from his position was just fine anyway, all things considered. Mainly her butt….

May as well enjoy it.

He had grown up close to a thoroughbred breeder and he remembered the language they used for racing.

One out and one back.

It meant just behind the leader and to one side. Trask had to sit one out and one back for now. Talis had to show him where to go and what to do. It was all so foreign to him. She was going to direct things, even having to drive him to the house.

Driven.

Fuck.

Trask had always been renowned for his drive and determination. He had never been the biggest player or the fastest player or the strongest player or even the most skilful player. He was a player’s player. He was the man they looked to when things were going wrong. He could change games, cultural attitudes and group dynamics just by the force of his own will. He led by example.

Do as I do.

He didn’t have to say much.

Do as I do.

He was driven.

That was Trask.

He furrowed his brow as he walked.

Or was it the old Trask?

Now he was walking around with a pair of synthetic ligaments in his leg and he couldn’t even rehabilitate himself without help. Worse, he needed a tiny waif of a broken-down ballet dancer to look after him and drive him. He didn’t doubt she had steel, but….

For fuck’s sake.

Driven.

His mind snapped back to acknowledge her voice.

"It'll never be perfect again, but it'll be better. I park in the handicap spaces."

Perfect? Trask didn’t need perfect, he just needed a functioning leg. It didn’t seem too much to ask when so many unhealthy slobs had two functioning legs and would never get close to using them to their potential. He clenched his jaw to stop from swearing.

I park in the handicap spaces.

Fuck.

They got to the car and he threw the crutches into the back seat at her suggestion and got in. A red convertible. It didn’t match her hair, but it was bright. He needed bright. Or a light. It was a long tunnel….

They took off and he relished the open cabin as they cruised out of the carpark. He sat his muscled arm on the top of the door. He'd kept doing his weights in a wheelchair to make sure he maintained his tone. Free from his crutches with the sun on his face and the breeze in his hair it was almost like….

No, it isn’t.

He was being driven.

Driven.

She said she lived on the North Shore, in Haleiwa and it all meant nothing to him, of course. In Sydney, the North Shore had been a posh area, unaffordable to all, except the mega rich. She carried herself as if she was wealthy, but maybe it was just classy.

Yes, that was it, she was classy.

He saw a sign for Pearl Harbour and made a mental note to visit the historic location. He winced as he remembered sitting in the theatre for what seemed like an interminable length of time. His girlfriend of the time had wanted to see it. It had been compared to Titanic. He almost laughed....it sure sank. He hoped the real Pearl Harbour was better than the movie.

As they got closer to Talis’ home, she pointed out cane fields and pineapple plantations to him. It wasn’t the same feeling of expanse of where he was from, but it was calm and it was relatively quiet. There weren’t many cars on the road and he felt less agitated than he otherwise would have been with someone else driving.

The road was now bordered by mountains on one side and the ocean on the other. It reminded him of where he’d grown up on the Southern Coast of New South Wales. He was pleased to have the ocean on his side of the car, it always relaxed him. He figured it was its size and power. When it came to a contest, there was no match for the ocean. Sometimes it was good to know there was a contest you couldn’t win, to just relax and submit. The ocean was his master and he knew it and he loved her for it.

Soon they were on a dirt road and the car wended its way along until, with a further turn, they drove down a driveway and finally stopped in front of a large house with a covered porch around it. It was not unlike a Queenslander house from home and it looked warm, inviting and full of character.

He smiled to himself.

Good for drinking beer on a warm evening.

The porch had steps, but not many and there was ramp access if required.

Fuck that. I’m....not....disabled. Steps it will be.

Talis turned off the car and then he sensed her slowly turn towards him. He kept his eyes looking straight ahead, as if he was coming to grips with his surroundings, absorbing it.

It was peaceful here. He could feel the light breeze on his face, coupled with the dull roar of the waves and the cacophony above from the various birds. Trask took a deep breath and leaned his head back onto the convertible’s headrest. He closed his eyes.

He could handle this. There was no one around to prove anything to. No one to ask him if he was finished. No to ask him what he was going to do next.

Next?

Fuck that.

Football is what I’m doing next and this red head is going to help me, even if it kills both of us.

"Welcome home, Jason Trask."

He sat up and nodded at her. Why talk? Why waste words? He might need them later.

Driven.

He hadn’t come here under his own steam, but he vowed that when he finally left, he’d be in the driver’s seat.

Not being….driven.

The car ride to Haleiwa was done in silence. Talis didn’t mind. It was hard to hold a conversation anyway when in a convertible. While she wasn’t a mind reader, she could tell Jason had a lot on his mind. His injuries were fairly new as was his incapacitation. Such matters were not easily for anyone to adjust to, but an active athlete? Almost impossible. It hadn’t been much different for her either, really. First there had been the anger, the feeling of injustice and then came the acceptance of the matter. It didn’t have to mean that they would never do what had done before, but with an injury, nothing was ever the same again. Some say it got better, stronger. She begged to differ. It never was, however, tissue, muscles and ligaments built a strong support system around it to protect the body, but the site of the injury itself? Was damaged. Always would be weaker than it was before. This was not something she was going to share with Jason, however, at least not yet. Right now, her job was to get him nimble and back up on his feet. Then there were other matters. Jason was a man. A fine, looking specimen to boot. Men’s egos and pride were a fierce, sensitive thing and they were easily brusied. Men prided themselves on being independent and they didn’t want anyone thinking they were weak. She was a giver and a nurturer but what made her good at her job was her ability to understand basic human nature.

Talis noticed his glance at the stairs and knew his eyes caught the ramp as well. A small wry smile tipped the corner of her lips as she turned and vacated the car, moving around behind it and heading for the ramp. Her leg was a little stiff today. She recognized her limitation and wisely chose the ramp. About halfway up, she turned toward the car, one hand on the railing and gave him a direct look and a warm smile.

“Well, are you coming in so I can show you all the usual amenities or are you going to sit there in the car all day and sulk over something you can eventually change, Mr. Trask?”

She waited a second or two, then made her way up the ramp and disappeared inside the house. Talis dropped her purse and keys on the long table just beyond the doorway before making her way to kitchen. Without even waiting or looking over her shoulder if he was following, she opened a cupboard and took down two glasses that she filled with ice. Opening another cupboard she took out several bottles, setting them on the counter along beside the iced glasses and began pouring ingredients into a shaker. After giving them a good shake, the concoction was poured over the ice in a glass. Setting one aside, she started in on the other.

Talis’ heart went out to Jason Trask. She wanted to offer him encouragement and understanding, but that wasn’t what he needed right now. There was a time and place for such things. What he needed right now, was a touch of compassion but letting him feel as independent as possible. The urge to help him, to take out his crutches and hand them to him, had been strong, but she quelled it. She had noted how well he got around already. It was human nature to do for someone who was injured but they didn’t need that. They just needed some common courtesy and understanding. Jason was probably feeling like a cripple as it was and she pretty much figured it rankled.

Her home was small, but comfortable. It housed three bedrooms. Hers, a guest room and another one she used as a personal studio. What made the house seem airy, light and open, were the doors and windows. She usually kept them open when she was home, even when it was raining. The furniture was covered in a bright Hawaiian print that was faded these days from use and weather. She kept things pretty uncluttered but there were enough things around to make it feel homey. Talis was just pouring the last of the brown liquid into the last empty glass when she heard his crutches on her bare wooden floors. Setting the shaker in the sink, she picked up both glasses and turned.

“Care for a drink, Mr. Trask? Come in, sit down and relax. We’ll have a drink and then I’ll show you around the house before I make us some lunch.”

She was holding up the glasses and nodding toward her open livingroom where there was a six foot long couch and two chairs. There was a wall that housed a flat screen TV and was flanked on either side, by the two chairs to one side and the couch on the other. Though the chairs were turned to face the couch, they could be easily turned toward the TV.

“Or if you like, we can sit out on the lanai. The view is worth it. This time, it’s your choice. You won’t always get one,” she teased.

Beyond the windows at the back of the house was a small mountain range. Craggy peaks and edges that forged shadowy valleys. It was simplistic in its strength and glory. Breathtaking. Between the house and the range, were pineapple fields and when the tradewinds blew just right, the sweet scent of ripe pineapples assailed you.

Talis got out of the car and walked stiffly towards the ramp. Trask watched her closely as she moved. She seemed tiny to him, but gorgeous and it was difficult for him to look at her and think of rehabilitation rather than recreation. The only thing that annoyed him was her method of ascent onto the front porch. There was no way he was going to use the ramp. If he had to sit in the fucking front yard all night, then he would. He smirked.

I wonder if she’s got a fucking tent?

She turned around to look at him when she was halfway up the ramp.

“Well, are you coming in so I can show you all the usual amenities or are you going to sit there in the car all day and sulk over something you can eventually change, Mr. Trask?”

He smirked again. Feisty too, but he already knew that. It wasn’t a good sign for him though. He needed to concentrate on his leg, on getting better. He liked strong women. Smart women. Good women. They were….more fun to quell.

Get that thought out of your fucking head, Trask.

He nodded to her, indicating she should go on ahead. The truth was he didn’t want her to see him if he actually couldn’t get up the stairs.

Three fucking stairs, mate. If you can’t get up three fucking stairs….

He opened the door of the car and slid out, standing on his good leg and holding the other just off the ground. Using the open door for support, he reached into the back seat and pulled out his crutches. He shut the door and then looked around at the house.

Trask had run so many kilometres, he’d lost count. He’d climbed hills, trained at altitude, run in sand with a tyre tied to him. To be the best he could be, he’d done it all. Whatever it took. Now he was looking at his next challenge. Three steps. Three fucking steps.

Whatever it takes.

He started towards the house. It was only a few metres and he took his time as he contemplated the steps. They weren’t the biggest steps he’d seen, but they weren’t the smallest.

What are you, a step expert now?

He got to the foot of the steps. Talis had long gone into the house. He looked around. Irrational he knew, but no one was going to see him fail. He wouldn’t fail, but still….

Whatever it takes.

His jaw tightened and he placed the crutches on the first step. Then he used them to support himself as he hopped onto the step with his strong leg.

Made it.

It seemed easy enough, but he knew that the next two would be harder because he had less room to manoeuvre. It wouldn’t matter. He was going to do it. He had to do it.

He placed the crutches on the second step. His forehead had a bead of sweat on it now, not from the exertion, but from the trepidation he was feeling.

If I fall backwards, I swear….

He leant on the crutches and used his arms to raise himself slightly and then placed his good leg on the second step. There wasn’t much clearance and he clipped the step, but his foot eventually got a purchase and he was able to lever himself up again.

Two steps.

Two thirds of the way there.

He contemplated just diving onto the porch, but he figured that would be undignified. He smiled to himself. Most undignified. Now, there was more sweat on his brow and he could feel a little trickle down his back.

Three steps....not such hard work.

Who are you kidding?

He’d worked out how to get to the middle step, so he did the same thing again. He placed the crutches on the porch and with a strong heave he practically jumped onto it and nearly toppled over. He regained his balance and looked around quickly. No one had seen him. He’d used the steps. Now his armpits were hurting a little from bearing his weight on the crutches, but he didn’t care. It had taken five minutes, but he’d used the steps.

Whatever it takes.

“Fuck you,” he muttered under his breath.

He didn’t know who he was swearing at. Still, it felt good.

Fuck you.

Trask made his way towards the door, more quickly now that he was on flat ground again. He went through the door and made his way to where he could hear the noise of tinkling glasses. He hobbled into a kitchen where Talis was busying herself making drinks. She must have heard him and turned to face him. He hoped she hadn’t noticed the time he’d taken to get in.

“Care for a drink, Mr. Trask?”

He looked at the drinks she had in her hands and pursed his lips. He wasn’t convinced they were drinks. At least not drinkable. Some sort of brown liquid. He looked towards a lounge area, but that didn’t appeal, not in such a beautiful place. She must have noticed that, she seemed to notice everything.

“Or if you like, we can sit out on the lanai. The view is worth it. This time, it’s your choice. You won’t always get one.”

There she goes again. The feisty talk.

Trask rolled his eyes.

“Outside will be fine, ma’am,” he said. He looked her up and down deliberately and winked. “Even though the view is just fine in here as well, it’s too nice a day to waste inside.”

He didn’t wait for her response as he turned and started to make his way towards the door and the porch. He got there and spent a few seconds looking around. She wasn’t wrong, the view was worth it. He hopped towards a seat and sat down as she followed. He could hear her coming through the door and made a mental note to remember that the wooden floors here carried sound. There’d be no way he could move around quietly. As if ihe could move quietly anyway....

“Now,” he said, sighing and looking at the drinks in her hand as she approached, “I don’t suppose you have beer, do you?”

“Outside will be fine, ma’am. Even though the view is just fine in here as well, it’s too nice a day to waste inside.”

She was taken aback for all of two seconds. Had he just flirted with her? She stood there staring at his back as he hobbled off outside. Talis let her eyes wander over his back and linger on his buttocks. Not bad. Her head tilted slightly as she took advantage of the view as he moved away from her. Not bad at all. She gave herself a small mental shake and followed him outside.

“Now, I don’t suppose you have beer, do you?”

Talis glanced at the drinks in her hand, sliding them onto the table between two chairs, one of which was occupied by Jason Trask. One grump extraordinaire.

“Beer, huh? They don’t like hard liquor where you’re from, Mr. Trask? This is a Long Island Iced Tea but I think I might have a beer or two in the frig. I’ll go check.”

She turned to go back inside, stopped and turned around again.

“Would you like a glass with that beer?”

Without waiting for a reply, she whipped around, striding back into the house. She had dealt with men like Jason Trask before. Athletes. They had only one thing on their minds, how to get back to what they did best. For some it was all about the money. For others, it was about the fame, the ladies and the parties. For others it was all about getting back to what they knew. It was all they knew. Recovery was five tenths physical recovery. Five tenths, mental. Sometimes, it wasn’t about recovery but acceptance. It was the hardest thing to let them stumble through the steps of acceptance, in those times. She rarely shared her own story. After all, this was about them. Their journey. Not what she had come through.

She went back to the patio, beer and glass in hand, setting both in front of him. Sitting down in the other chair, she reached for her Long Island Iced Tea, taking a sip before she spoke again.

“The name is Talisman, Mr. Trask. Talis if you prefer. It’s not ma’am or Miss O’Neil,” she muttered into her glass, “ma’am makes me feel old.”

Setting the glass on the table, Talis turned her head and looked at Jason’s profile. He was staring out over the small mountain range view the back lanai afforded. Her eyes took a walk, moving from the profile of his face, they skimmed what she could see of his torso and moved down, taking in his legs. They lingered on the injured one for a time before they came back to his face.

“Tell me how it happened.”

Her voice was quiet. Gentle. Soft.

“The name is Talisman, Mr. Trask. Talis if you prefer. It’s not ma’am or Miss O’Neil….ma’am makes me feel old.”

He grinned.

Feisty again. Controlled feisty. Polite feisty. But feisty nonetheless.

He tried not to grin too much, otherwise she might think him disrespectful, and disrespect was the last thing he felt for her.

She placed the beer and a glass on the table, gracefully of course, and Trask felt bad that he’d asked for it rather than drinking her concoction. The brown drink did look lethal though, so he would probably have it as a chaser. He smirked.

After the beer.

She sat down across from him.

“Tell me how it happened.”

No need for small talk, no skirting the issue.

I like you.

She was soothing, not pushy and raised her glass for a delicate sip of the tea, as she called it. She looked at him, moments passing silently and he was pleased that she could sit in silence, waiting during the pauses that many men seemed to need. Most women didn’t understand that, the silences. He spoke in silences. Maybe he had been concerned so much with his fitness and with his sport, that he’d forgotten how to communicate outside of that sphere….

And fuck….I better stop….any more introspective and I may as well donate my tongue to science.

He watched her sizing him up. She didn’t do it in a crass or threatening way. She was just trying to get a gauge of who she was working with. It was only to be expected. She didn’t seem like the sort of woman to cut corners, to take on a job and then not put her full effort into it.

He smiled.

They would probably get along then.

Cool. Calm. Her face was framed by her red hair, giving her an air of detachment, but her words and her eyes indicated something else. Empathy. And below that, he could even detect care. Trask took a long pull on the beer, eschewing the glass she’d provided. He felt like a kid at school being asked to own up for some misdemeanour and averted his eyes to the horizon, thinking of his life, reflecting.

Because of her.

“I play football or rather, according to some of the experts,” he said, correcting himself with a wry grin, “played football.”

He took another mouthful of the beer, not looking at her, looking at the view, at the sky, anywhere but into the eyes of the woman. He talked in the peculiar way of some men, as if talking to himself, forming the words in his head and then projecting them into the air. Not really aiming at her, just putting it out there.

They were only words.

No.

They’re real.

He didn’t want her to see his doubt, maybe even his fear.

I’m scared.

Fuck.

“I’ve played it all my life except for when I’ve been injured, like now.”

He swallowed. He was talking now, letting it out. It wouldn’t have mattered if Talis was there or not, he needed to talk, if only to himself and for himself.

But it was better she was there.

Fuck.

“I was not suited to it or at least I was told that. I was prone to injury.” He looked down at his leg. “From fifteen, all I could think of was football, despite the protestations of everyone around me….”

He caught himself.

Fuck.

Protestations. Better stop that, she’ll think I’m smart or something.

“Er….people thought I wasn’t physically cut out for it. They knew I was good, but they didn’t think my body could withstand it professionally.”

He shifted his eyes back to her. She seemed relaxed, sipping on her “tea” and looking at him, taking his words in, making him feel better. It was almost as if she was taking his stress and anger and filling herself with it, absorbing it, taking it on board, to help him.

Let it out.

Those eyes.

Let it out….

“Of course, that just made me more determined,” he continued. “When I finished school, I was drafted and had to leave home. I was seventeen years old. I had already weakened my thumb and now it dislocates just even opening a car door. My shoulder had been reconstructed and my ankle was a mess. I also had,” he smiled, running a finger to his face, “quite a few broken noses.”

He finished the last of the beer, but he liked the talking, this talking. Maybe he just liked talking to her. At that moment he didn’t want her to get another beer, to leave him there. He wanted her to stay, so that he could keep talking. The walls could go up at any time and he needed to talk, about anything, about the things he couldn’t talk to anyone else about. She liked it, she knew he needed it and he could sense her empathy.

I’ll help. I’ll share. Let it out.

Nothing said, but there all the same.

She was….a nurturer. He would have to find out more about her too, but for now….

Trask picked up the brown drink and took a sip.

Nice.

He could learn to like those….

He continued.

“But….they took a chance and drafted me. Fact was, I looked like something from an old Boris Karloff film. I had that much tape and strapping to keep me together, my mates used to call me The Mummy.”

He laughed gently, looking beyond Talis into the distance as he recalled the banter unique to sportsmen. Locker-room talk it was called, but it was an important part of his life, the curiously male characteristic of showing affection through gentle put-downs and sarcasm.

“I was always an hour early for training or a game because the trainers would need to strap me up so I would stay together,” he said. “But an interesting thing happened once I turned professional. With the exception of a major injury in my mid-twenties and besides the normal niggles we all have, I could basically stay on the field most of the time. A jab here and there and I could hold it together.”

He paused to take a sip of his drink.

Damn, that drink is good. Too good maybe.

He didn’t want to stop, he was on a roll now.

“Also, I had what they called the X factor I suppose,” he went on, raising his hands to the sky, no hint of self-consciousness, just his usual confident self.

Was she doing this?

Bringing me back?

“People liked me. Mothers would tell their kids to be like me. Opponents respected me. My team mates would do anything I asked and they walked taller when I was around. Even the coaches would ask me what we should do.”

He sat back and reflected a little further, looking at her. It was true; his talent hadn’t been just about the football. There were better players than him, but there were no players who could change things like him, who could draw people, both within a game and also with fans. He had been “the face” of the game. Hard, but dignified and fair and rarely was a bad word said publicly about him.

Unless being a hard and competitive bastard was a bad word.

No….not in Australia.

It was a compliment.

I need to get that back.

This isn’t fucking fair.

He looked at Talis, her eyes still intently on him, listening. Many people had conversations and were thinking of what they were going to say while the other person spoke. She was not like that. She wanted to listen to him. She was drawing him out and the odd thing was, it didn’t feel uncomfortable.

“I didn’t enjoy it at first. I felt the responsibility of everyone looking to me. Then, it started to grow on me. I found that I liked being the leader, being the go-to man. It became what I was, my identity. It wasn’t about football anymore, it was about being a man. Making people better. Acting like a man. Not always perfect, but always trying…. Now....”

Trask’s voice drifted off. He looked into his glass, both to check it and for a chance to compose himself.

Always.

Trying.

This was just another obstacle….

He smiled, looking at her this time.

“I’ve had a beer and a tea as you call it,” he said. “I think the combination is growing on me.”

He turned his lip down on one side, pressing his lips together in thought.

“And you, Talis. You were a dancer. What did you dance?”

He wanted to say what happened? He wanted to say how do you cope? He wanted to say it’s a shame to be cut down. He wanted to say….

Shit.

She had him talking. He wanted to say….too much.

But he was sure she would come to that. It was her job to rehabilitate him, not for him to pry, but he wanted to know about her. Sitting on her balcony, near the beach, he couldn’t have been further away from his world, but he felt comfortable. He’d almost forgotten about his knee.

Almost.

He wanted to get to know her.

He wanted this to continue.

For now.

It was the things he didn’t say. She could only imagine and Talis was pretty sure she had said them all herself. It was because she had been there herself. Oh, definitely not the same way he got there himself, but strip away the superficial and get right to the meat of the matter, they or rather, she, had been down the same road. For that reason, she tended to skip the niceties. The thing was, for the moment, she’d let him get away with only telling her part of the story. The rest would come with trust and trust was something you nurtured after determining the other party was worth the effort and the time. Talisman let him talk, about whatever came to his mind to share. For now. She listened intently. Truly interested in what made this man tick. What was important to him. At the same time she was assessing him and not apologetic for it one bit. There were small lulls in the conversation as he mused to himself, but he always picked up the conversation without her prompting. They were comfortable lulls. Their conversation was easy, unhurried in any way and comfortable, as if they had been doing this for years. That was something new for her. In the past, she had always been aware of her patients, as patients. Jason Trask had a way about him. Talisman watched as he finished his beer, but didn’t request a new one, instead, he reached for the Long Island Iced Tea. Her eyes widened a little at that. Knowing how potent the Iced Teas were, the simple fact that he was chasing the beer with it, impressed her.

“I’ve had a beer and a tea as you call it. I think the combination is growing on me.”

She smiled, setting her own glass on the table after having taken a small sip from it. She was wise enough to know her own limitations and Long Island Iced Tea, for her, was meant to be sipped. Slowly.

“And you, Talis. You were a dancer. What did you dance?”

So now it was her turn. Settling back into her chair, she stretched her legs out under the table, mindful that his own were under there. Even to this day, she could only sit for so long with her legs in a single position before she had to stretch them because of the ache that settled in. It was annoying, but like everything else, she had learned to adapt. Her shoulders dug comfortably into the back of the chair. Her arms rested lightly on the arms of the chair as she quietly continued to study him for a moment. He wanted to get to know her. What made her tick. Fair enough. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t expected this. Her eyes settled on his.

“I was a ballet dancer. The leading lady in our troupe. I loved to dance since I was a little girl. My parents told me they were always in awe of me, that they had produced a child like me. From the time I learned to walk, they said, I had a grace, an elegance about me. I never noticed it myself until I started ballet lessons. It made me want to work harder, be the best, because I had been given this gift that I didn’t see so much of in others.” Her lips quirked slightly, “ That sounds arrogant, doesn’t it? I don’t mean it like that. I just noticed things, like how when our arms came up over our heads, mine seemed to… I don’t know, float?”

She demonstrated by lifting her arm off the chair, hand turned just so and made it move in a backwards fashion with not only a graceful wave, but with her fingers in a certain position, a certain refinement about them that could not be construed as contrived. Her arm returned to the arm of the chair.

“Though the other girls were the same age as I, there were just things I could do naturally, that they had to be shown how to do. Not, that I was perfect by any means. If anything, our teacher was ruthless where I was concerned. I use to go home and cry like my heart was breaking. I felt like I couldn’t do anything right, but my mother explained to me that my teacher saw great potential in me as well as a great gift and for that reason, pushed me all the harder for it.

When I got older, I would come home with blood inside my ballet shoes. I had to soak my feet in salts for hours because the tips of my toes were raw and bloody. I have to hand it to my parents. They were supportive. They paid out a lot of money for my lessons, never once complaining about the bills or the early morning drives to get me to practice or recitals. They believed in me. A lot of people did. I couldn’t let them down by not giving a hundred and ten percent all the time.”

It was there she paused, reaching for her glass again, lifting to her lips with that hint of eloquence that was inbred in her. He had asked her what she danced, not for a history of how she got there. Talis had just broken one of her own rules. Never give them more than they ask for. She glanced over the rim of her glass at the man who had gotten her to do so.

Damn.

“Are you hungry, Mr. Trask?”

Trask listened to her, but he watched her as well. Not obviously, just the odd glance here and there and nodding at the appropriate times. She looked relaxed and comfortable, almost languid. That was a good sign. Trask’s energy and intensity often meant that people were on edge and nervous around him. Talis didn’t seem to be agitated at all and he liked that since it made him feel more relaxed and less self-conscious. In fact, the only thing he felt self-conscious about was the fact that he’d downed both his drinks in quick time and she still had most of her “tea”. Trask could drink like a fish, but that was not necessarily socially acceptable nor did it bring him much cache. It was just something he did. Something he hid. Something he did to forget.

Like now.

He thought it best if he concentrated on her rather than impose on her for another drink, as that would come eventually, there was nothing surer.

Be strong now, it’s not all about me.

Listen.

“I was a ballet dancer. The leading lady in our troupe. I loved to dance since I was a little girl. My parents told me they were always in awe of me, that they had produced a child like me. From the time I learned to walk, they said, I had a grace, an elegance about me. I never noticed it myself until I started ballet lessons. It made me want to work harder, be the best, because I had been given this gift that I didn’t see so much of in others. That sounds arrogant, doesn’t it? I don’t mean it like that. I just noticed things, like how when our arms came up over our heads, mine seemed to… I don’t know, float?”

He listened. It was more than he normally did. Sitting still for this period of time was more than he normally did, but now he had to, and if he had to, then this, listening to her, wasn’t the worst way to do it.

She lifted her arm up and elegantly showed him a move. Trask didn’t know Swan Lake from Sleeping Beauty or Fonteyn from Nureyev, but he knew someone who knew what they were doing.

He shook his head, with a small smile.

“No,” he said softly, “It doesn’t sound arrogant. It sounds….right.”

Her toned arm in the air, her elegant manner, her empathetic conversation. He could just about….

Fuck, I need another drink.

She kept talking and he kept listening, an unusual state for Trask.

She’s going to help me.

Then….she stopped. The story stopped. He’d enjoyed listening to it.

What happened?

It wasn’t his place to ask.

Yet.

But ask he would. Trask was like that. Blunt. Hard. But honest. He would ask.

What happened?

She took a sip of her drink, a small sip, bringing back Trask’s self-consciousness as he glanced at his empty drinks.. He looked down as she laid the glass down, her legs stretched out under the table. They looked perfect, but they weren’t. She struggled to walk and yet she seemed so….

….capable and serene.

What happened?

Trask didn’t feel capable, much less serene. He felt like a caged wild animal. He felt angry and he felt cheated. He would never feel serene until he was whole again. A footballer. An athlete. A man.

A man?

Did he have to be back to what he had been to be a man?

Is that what defined him?

For Trask, it was not an option.

He had to get back.

She was his way back.

The dancer.

He hoped she would survive him, that he didn’t use her up, take her essence, her being, to feed his empty one.

She’d kept talking and he’d kept listening, his mind split in two, one half listening respectfully as she deserved, the other half arguing with itself.

“….I couldn’t let them down by not giving a hundred and ten percent all the time.”

He nodded and pursed his lips.

“The responsibility to perform is innate in people with high expectations of themselves, they feel like they owe it to those around them to extract the maximum from their God-given abilities,” he paused for a moment and then continued against his own better instincts. “Many people such as parents and family sacrifice and place their own desires and ambitions to one side to let the truly talented ones have the best chance of growing, of….”

He caught himself and then stopped. It was habit. He was an athlete. He didn’t like showing he was intelligent as it meant showing more of himself than he wanted to, than was necessary, but he felt comfortable with her.

Fuck.

She took another sip and then put her drink down again, the loquacious redhead with the languid manner, the one that had him talking too much, revealing too much.

Stop thinking about it, she’s not for that. He glanced down at his right leg to keep his mind on track.

She’s here to help you.

“Are you hungry, Mr. Trask?”

He looked back up at her and smiled.

“Always,” he said, with a smirk.

He hadn’t wanted to smirk, but he couldn’t help it. It wasn’t a good sign.

For her.

I hope she survives.

He really didn’t care what he ate. He wanted a drink and the preparation of dinner would at least be an excuse for that.

“I would be happy to help,” he said, with a slight pause, “….in return for another beer. I’m not that nice.”

He smiled softly and started to get up. At least it stopped him looking at her legs under the table. It took an effort and she was patient, as usual, but eventually he was up and the crutches were under his arms.

“Let’s go….”

I hope she survives.

“Are you hungry, Mr. Trask?”

“Always.”

Talis caught that smirk of his. Good. That was a step in the right direction. There would be ups and downs in the future. A carnival ride. She had a hard time looking away from him. That smirk, it brought a certain look to his eyes.

Ut-oh. Careful, Talis.

Her eyes slid over him again and she felt a tingle of awareness slide through her.

“I would be happy to help….in return for another beer. I’m not that nice.”

That made her laugh as she got to her feet, her glass in hand as he struggled with his crutches. There was more to her story but there was relief in not reliving it in exchange for making dinner. Even after all this time, she hated reliving the cards life had dealt her. It changed little. Nothing was going to make her dancer again. Talis led the way into the small but spacious kitchen. Setting her glass on the counter, she opened the refrigerator and extracted a cold bottle of beer, pausing to open it for him before extending the offering in his direction. After he took it from her hand, Talis proceeded to remove salad fixings from the frig and a large salad bowl from one of the cupboards. Everything went in front of him along with a cutting board and a sharp knife.

“Here you go. You can make yourself useful by fixing the salad.”

Talis opened the frig again and withdrew two steaks on a platter. She placed the platter on the counter and began unwrapping and then seasoning the steaks.

“It was opening day,” she began again without prompting, “everyone was in a tizzy, rushing here and there, worrying over costume fittings, practicing…..”

Talis paused, setting aside the salt and pepper shakers, palms flat on the countertop on either side of the meat platter. She was staring at the red meat as if… as if what? It was going to get off that plate and skitter off somewhere?

“It was lunchtime,” her voice was low, hushed, “I stepped off a street corner than I had stepped off a thousand times before. Funny how all I can remember is faint sound of a car’s brakes and someone screaming. It sounded like it was coming from a long way away. Like, it was happening to someone else, you know? That was all I registered before I felt something slam into my side and everything went dark.”

Talisman rooted out a roll of suran wrap and covered the meat platter, setting it aside. Turning, she opened a bread box and withdrew a small loaf of bread and began to slice it open.

“I woke up in the hospital. Alone. Not that I expected anyone to be there. They were all performing. It was opening night and the show must go on.”

After retrieving a small tub of butter, she began to spread it on the just sliced open loaf of bread.

“Everything I had worked so hard for. Everything I had ever wanted to be since I was a little girl. Gone. In one small moment of inattention.”

She put the loaf back together and slid it back into its wrapper, spinning about in a graceful move to set the oven to on. Turning back, she leaned a hip against the counter, watching him.

“It took months of rehabilitation. A lot of hard work and tears of pain and frustration. It took years to accept that I wouldn’t dance again. “

And it took just a blink of an eye to destroy my love life.

She had deliberately left out that part. Her love life would be of no interest to him and it would serve little to tell of it. But she knew what he was thinking. He’d put up with her. He’d do whatever it took to make his leg workable again and he would go back to doing what he was good at. But from what she had read in his chart, that wasn’t likely. There was always a chance. Human nature was always proving doctors wrong. So, she wasn’t dismissing the chance he’d get his life back. She was just going to prepare him for the fact he might not.