I step inside and go straight to the wall of pictures. Dance team competitions, selfies with my girls, photos of Jack and me at nearly every event you can think of—concerts and football games and the beach and house parties. Bonfires on the lake.
“You know I love surprises. So,thanksfor that.”
Willow snorts. She and I met in high school, and we’ve been through thick and thin together. We’ve seen each other at our best… and worst. Evidently.
“The team wanted to be here when you got back.” She smirks. “Well, most of them.”
There are some girls on the dance team that Willow and I never vibed with. They’ve just got sticks up their asses, so why would we be friends with them? They only cared about chasing whatever team was doing well. Football, hockey, lacrosse.
Boring.
I go to my closet. “Jack and I broke up.”
“I know.”
“Of course you know,” I grumble. “You still invited him.” I yank it open and flip through clothes. I lost weight while I was away—but most of it was muscle mass. My body is soft where I used to be strong. Physical therapy helped, but not nearly enough. Not enough to give me back the muscles I had before.
“He begged. And he does look cute when he’s on his knees…”
I glare at her. “Seriously?”
She shrugs, still smiling. “I think he missed you. He made a point that you like to isolate when you stress, which istrue. You can’t deny it. We’re just trying to prevent that from happening, is all.”
Freaking hell. I can’t explain the knotting high in my chest, but I need to explain it to her. “He missed the dance team, peppy version of me. I’ve been doused in…” I struggle to find the right way to explain, finally settling on, “gray.”
“Violet’s gone to the dark side, then? Well, to keep up with that thinking, how about this?” She plucks out a black sequined dress.
I’ve only worn that one a handful of times. It’s short and sexy, and immediately bile rises up my throat. I swallow hard.
“No.” My voice is flat.
She raises an eyebrow. “Is it because—”
“I’m not going to show off my leg on my first day back. Or ever.” My leg. I really don’t want to talk about my leg. “My days of shorts and skirts are over.”
I pick out black leather pants and a pink sweater. Compromise. There’s snow on the ground, after all, and if we’re going out, I don’t want to freeze to death.
Willow closes my door and leans against it, filling me in on the latest drama while I change. She doesn’t flinch when I pull off my pants and reveal the thick scar on my lower leg. The surgeons did their best, but they had to cut me open. My tibia and fibula were both broken—snapped nearly clean through.
My leg took the direct impact of the accident.
I was lucky they didn’t use hardware to keep me together when they reset the bone. After surgery, I had physical therapy in the hospital. Then crutches for weeks while it healed, with strict orders that I couldn’t put any weight on my leg. After that, physical therapy to slowly help my muscles get used to walking, bending… functioning.
Crown Point University let me take a medical leave of absence for the fall semester. I’ve had to add an extra class to my schedule this semester, plus both semesters next year, to graduate on time.
That’s the only silver lining.
“You look good,” Willow tells me. She extends a tube of lipstick toward me.
I finger-comb my blonde hair into somewhat respectable curls and then swipe on the dark-red color. It’s bolder than what I would’ve normally gone for, but I trust my best friend’s judgment. It gives my pink sweater a bit of an edgier vibe.
Probably.
Maybe it’s wishful thinking.
She loops her arm in mine. In the living room, our friends are spread out on the couches and the floor. Now that I look closer at them, they do seem ready to go out. Flawless makeup, nice clothes. Dresses, heeled boots.
“Where are we going?” I ask.