Of course, I didn’t. Instead, I wrapped an arm about him and tried to help him up. He weighed a ton. I noticed his left leg was nonresponsive. I felt a burst of panic at the thought that my carelessness had somehow caused him to break a leg or sever a nerve.

“Oh my god, you are injured,” I cried. “Lie back. I’ll call an ambulance.”

I tried to help him back down, pushing him when he resisted.

“Annabelle, stop,” he said. “Just . . . leave me be.”

“But you’re hurt,” I protested. “I can’t—”

“What the hell was that noise?” The door slammed open and there was Jackson. He looked winded as if he’d run here. He took in the scene, weights scattered and us on the floor, at a glance. “Christ, I take a minute to go to the john and all hell breaks loose.”

He dashed across the room and grabbed a wheelchair. A wheelchair? He parked it next to Nick and set the brake. I backed away and Jackson swooped in. He reached down with his giant hams for arms and lifted Nick up, setting him gently in his chair.

He leaned down and met Nick’s gaze and asked, “You all right, brother?”

Nick nodded. But he wasn’t. He was pale, sweaty, and breathing hard. He looked rattled, and I noticed his hand shook when he pushed the hair off his forehead. Jackson turned to me.

“You good, Annabelle?”

Like Nick, I just nodded. I was trying to process too much, and I felt as if my brain was going to short out. What was wrong with Nick? Why was he in a wheelchair? Had he always been in one? Is this why I never saw him outside? I had so many questions!

Jackson’s gaze flashed to my skirt. I quickly grabbed the remaining panels and pulled them tight over the gaping hole.

“What the hell happened?” Jackson demanded.

“I fell—” I began at the same time Nick said, “It doesn’t matter.”

Jackson and I both glanced at him. He looked broken in body and in spirit, and I felt my heart clutch in my chest.

“How can I help you, Nick?” I asked.

“You can’t.” He said the words with a finality that hurt.

“But—”

“Just go, Annabelle!” he bellowed. He lowered his voice when he added, “And don’t come back.”

15

Without waiting for a response, Nick spun his wheelchair away from me. Dismissed. I didn’t know him well enough for it to hurt me as much as it did, but it did.

Not wanting to upset him any more than he already was, I began to back toward the door. Jackson cast me a sympathetic look and said, “I’ll walk you out.”

“You don’t have to,” I insisted.