Mia chuckles. “I wasn’t going to comment. I’ve known some extraordinarily talented young girls and boys who have the most eccentric names.”
Willow cracks a smile. “I’d have fit right in, then. Darn.”
“I can give Violet a ride home,” Mia says to Willow. “These appointments can take some time.”
My best friend nods. “Sounds good. See you back at the hotel.”
I follow Mia down a hall and into an appointment room. Dr. Michaels comes in a few minutes later, introducing himself with the sort of charm I expect from Greyson. The-world-is-my-oyster type.
Oddly enough, it puts me at ease.
If someone has to be the smartest in the room, I’d prefer it be the doctor with my career in his hands.
He leads Mia and I back into his office. On the wall behind him are two x-rays. He flicks the light box they’re clipped to, then takes a seat. He motions for both of us to sit, too, at the front of his desk.
“You got these x-rays done last week, correct?”
I nod. I had slipped away to have them done midweek. It feels like a lifetime ago. They sent them to Dr. Michaels.
“The good news is, the fractures healed well. The bones realigned perfectly, and the surgeon used minimal hardware.” He gestures to a spot halfway up my leg. “When we talk aboutshatteredbones, it usually means a comminuted fracture—that means it’s broken into several pieces and needs to be reset. I’m not seeing evidence of that here—or you’ve healed spectacularly well.”
“Good news,” I echo. First time I’ve heard those words…
Mia squeezes my hand. “So, what’s next?”
“We’re going to test mobility, see where the pain might be, and strength tests. It’s going to be a long appointment, Violet, and it will get uncomfortable at times.” His expression turns sympathetic. “We see many dancers come through our clinic after injuries. Before we begin, are you sure you want this?”
Am I sure? I’ve never felt so sure in my life. “I’ve been waiting for this opportunity for months.”
He smiles. “All right. Let’s begin.”
The rest of the appointment is a blur. He has me change into athletic shorts and hop up onto a table. He runs his hands down either side of my leg, his eyes narrowed in concentration. He spends a lot of time prodding it, feeling the bone through my muscles.
Then we move to a different room, where Mia guides me through warm-up exercises. She gradually increases the level of each skill. When I step out of the last one, the pain buckles my knee.
I hit the floor.
Dr. Michaels helps me up, bracing under my elbow. “What did you feel?”
I want to shrug it off—but I can’t keep collapsing after exercises if I want to go on stage. No one would cast me.
“I get a shooting pain occasionally,” I mumble.
“Occasionally?” Mia raises her eyebrows.
“Usually daily,” I amend.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“I thought it would go away. It will—”
“It’s most likely nerve damage,” Dr. Michaels says. “Muscular issues would have a more immediate pain and its own set of limitations.”
He helps me back down the hall to his office. After a few steps, I’m able to mask the lessening pain. It’s still sharp but getting better. Mia trails us, and I feel her gaze on my back. We sit again. I bounce my right leg. I’m not usually an anxious person. Dance was my outlet for stress for such a long time, I used it to get more confident. But now I’m slowly disintegrating into a wreck.
“Have you experienced this pain for a while?”
I bite my lip, unable to answer. The doctors thought nerve pain would be the culprit of me not returning to dance. I was just hoping he’d have a different theory.