About Face (Love in the Suburbs Book 1) Read online

  Brodie leans against the next treatment table and crosses his legs at the ankles. “This is a no-judgment zone. You’re going to have a hard time making it through your therapy if you try to remain stoic the entire time.”

  “I’m pretty good at the stoic thing. Hell, if they gave degrees in stoicism, I’d have a master’s by now. Maybe a doctorate.”

  He chuckles. “Okay, you remain stoic. I’ll get your brace back on.” He quickly puts the brace on while I grit my teeth and count to one hundred. As soon as he’s done, I let out a whoosh of breath.

  Brodie raises an eyebrow at me but doesn’t comment. He grabs his clipboard. “I’ll put together a treatment plan for you. Based on what I saw today, I think we should schedule visits twice a week.”

  “Twice a week!” I’m nearly shouting. He’s going to torture me two times a week?

  “Assuming you do your daily exercises at home. If not, we’ll have to meet three times a week.”

  I quickly promise to do my exercises at home where no one can hear me scream bloody murder. My grandparents don’t count. They’re family and have to put up with me no matter what.

  “Great. I’ll see you in two days. Have a nice day!”

  Have a nice day? I always have a pleasant day after getting tortured. Sarcasm most definitely intended.

  Chapter 3

  A lady should never judge a book by its cover.

  I’m pulling out my phone to call Grandpa to come pick me up while sitting at the bench outside the hospital when someone plops down beside me.

  “First day?”

  I look over at her and gasp when I see she’s missing part of her right arm. Oh, crap. That was super rude. I immediately start coughing to try and cover up my rude gasp, but she’s not buying it.

  “I may be missing my forearm, but at least I’m not Frankenstein.” She motions to the bandage on my face.

  “If you must call me names, get it right. Frankenstein was the scientist. Frankenstein’s monster was the freak.”

  She laughs at me trying to put her in her place. “I’m Shelby.” She reaches out her left hand to shake mine.

  “Frankie.” I shake her left hand and try not to make it awkward. I do not succeed. She rolls her eyes as she pulls her hand away.

  “You waiting for your ride?”

  I shake my phone at her. “I’m about to call.”

  She jumps up. “Hold off on that phone call. Let’s go get coffee.”

  I motion to the open fields around us. The hospital is on the edge of the suburb my grandparents call home. There’s nothing around us except cornfields.

  “You’re such a newbie. There’s a coffee shop in the hospital. Come on, freak.” She practically throws my crutches at me. “Put some hustle in your bustle.”

  Despite Shelby’s pushiness, she does slow to my pace as we make our way to the cafeteria. I squeal and throw a little thank you up to the goddess above when I see a Starbucks cart. “Go find a table. I’ll get our coffees.” I raise an eyebrow at her and nod towards her arm. “Please.” She waves her left arm. “I can carry a tray. You, on the other hand, can barely manage to stand.”

  I do the mature thing. I stick my tongue out at her before giving her my coffee order and hobbling over to a table near the window.

  “Tell me, what’s a city girl doing having PT here in the suburbs?” I open my mouth to explain about my car accident, but she holds up a hand to stop me. “And no, I don’t want to hear about how you got those injuries.” She points to my leg. “I mean, what the hell are you doing in the boondocks, girl?”

  I laugh and it feels good. For the first time since the accident, I don’t mind the pull of skin around my injury. We’re not quite in the boondocks. At nearly 150,000 people, this suburb is a city of its own. We’re thirty miles away from the city, and although people commute into the city to work every day, it feels as if we’re not merely in a different city, but an entirely different country.

  “I’m on unpaid leave. I can’t do my job in this condition.”

  Shelby scowls. “Who says?”

  “I do. I can’t run around the city finding venues and attending events when I can barely manage to hobble from the sofa to the kitchen.”

  Shelby puts down her coffee and leans forward to put her elbow on the table. She cradles her chin in her hand. “Finding venues and attending events. Sounds interesting. What kind of work do you do?” At her question, I decide she’s going to become my new best friend. No one cares about my work. Sure, everyone wants an invite to the parties I arrange. But as soon as I start a discussion about the work necessary to make such a party happen, eyes glaze over and everyone suddenly has urgent appointments elsewhere.

  “I’m an event planner. I work at a marketing firm planning corporate events as part of the brand management strategy for big names like Google, Coca-Cola.”

  “Sounds cool.”

  I nod. My job is pretty cool. “And what do you do for work?”

  “IT.”

  I roll my eyes at her. IT can mean practically anything. “Can you be any more vague?”

  “Sorry, I’m used to people’s eyes rolling back in their heads and faking strokes when I mention my work.”

  Don’t I know it. “Are you a software programmer or something?”

  “Yeah, I work freelance. Mostly on debugging game software.”

  “Nerd.”

  “Freak.”

  We laugh and then I open my mouth and stick my foot in it. “What are you doing in therapy, anyway?” My face heats but I push forward. “I mean how can therapy help you?” I wave my hand. “Ignore me. I’m trying to ask you about yourself, but I obviously shouldn’t be let of out the house yet.”

  Shelby tilts her head back and laughs until she snorts. She’s completely unashamed of the snort sounds she’s making. And why would she be ashamed? She owns who she is. From a missing forearm to her hair dyed the colors of the rainbow. I’m kind of jealous of her right now.

  “I’m getting fitted for a new prosthesis.” She shrugs. “You’d think a limb made out of plastic, carbon, and steel would last forever, but nope. It takes forever to get the fit right. And, since my old one is busted, looks like I’m a pirate for the near future.”

  “Pirates are cool. Johnny Depp was a complete stud in those Pirates of the Caribbean movies.”

  Shelby scrunches her nose at me. Not a Johnny Depp fan then. “Who’d you get for your therapist?”

  “Brodie.” I sigh. Merely thinking about the man makes me shiver.

  “Lucky beyotch. Brodie is the most wanted man in town. He can eat crackers in my bed anytime.”

  I fan myself. “He’s not my type at all, and I’m all gaga over the guy.”

  “Brodie is every woman’s type. Even my grandma, who uses a walker and whose only form of exercise is clicking channels on the remote control, would jump in.”

  That reminds me. Grandpa is probably waiting for me to call him to come pick me up. I don’t want him to worry about me. When my accident happened, it was my grandparents who were at my bedside day and night. My parents are busy professionals. Mom’s an accountant and Dad’s a chemist. They flew into town when they heard about my accident but left as soon as I’d recovered from my surgeries. I try not to let it bother me. After all, when I’m not hobbling around on crutches, I work sixty-hour weeks. I’d like to think I’d take some time off if Mom or Dad needed me, though. I wouldn’t assume someone would take care of the problem. Or would I? Crap, I probably would have. I reach up to cover my face with my hand. I’m not that person anymore. I can’t be.

  “Hey, where’d you go?” Shelby reaches over and pulls my hand away from my face. She doesn’t ask me about the bandage, though. There are questions in her eyes, but she bites her bottom lip and leans back in her chair. Phew. I’m not ready to talk about my face. I doubt I’ll ever be ready. “Give me your phone.”

  I hand her my phone and she quickly adds her name and contact info before calling herself. “There. W
e’ll probably run into each other again here but call me any time you want to get coffee or something.”

  “I will,” I tell her. With a start, I realize I mean it. Well, that’s unexpected. Usually, I’m too busy and caught up in my job to have time for my friends. My friends all have the same issue. Everyone’s trying to make it as far up the corporate ladder as possible before settling down with a man and starting a family. But right now, I don’t know if I can return to the corporate ladder I was on. It’s not like I can climb with this leg. It will get better. It has to.

  Chapter 4

  A lady should never RSVP to drama.

  “Stop it!” At Grandma’s command, I immediately retract the tongue I’m sticking out at my mirror image. “You look beautiful.”

  Cue eye-rolling. Of course, Grandma thinks I’m beautiful. It’s her legal obligation as a grandparent to find her one and only grandchild beautiful. But she’s obviously blind. How can I be beautiful when I have this ragged scar slashing across my face? I grab a white bandage and carefully cover my cheek with it, making sure not one millimeter of ruined skin is showing.

  Grandma places her hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “You’re going to have to stop covering it up at some point.”

  Yeah, no, not happening. “Maybe I should stay home.”

  “No, you are going out with your friends and you’re having a good time. Maybe you should find a man to put a smile on your face.”

  “Grandma! I am not going to find a man and you know.” What does she think I am? A slut? Lord knows, I’m not a saint, but a one-night stand with a man I’ve just met is a sin I’ve yet to commit. And thanks to my ugly face, those types of shenanigans aren’t in the cards for me right now. Probably never again in fact.

  “You don’t have to get intimate with him but maybe a bit of slow dancing and some lip action would put you in a better mood.” I gasp. Lip action is not a phrase I want to hear come out of my grandma’s mouth ever again. “I love you, dear, I do. But you have been nothing but a grump since your accident.”

  I open my mouth to defend myself – surely I haven’t been a complete grump – when I hear a car honk. Saved by the bell! “My ride’s here.”

  “Aren’t they going to come in?” I shake my head. Grandma makes a face but for once keeps her mouth shut. Miracles happen. Instead, she reaches down to hand me my overnight bag.

  My girlfriends watch as I slowly make my way to the waiting car. By the time I get there, I’m sweating like a pig. I’m sure I look super glamorous with sweat pouring down my face and my overnight bag crossed over my body. Evening wear and a cross-body bag – who knew the two went together? Spoiler alert: They don’t.

  I stop at the rear passenger door and wait for someone to hop out and help me. Bailey finally opens the door and exits the car just as Suzanne honks the horn again before motioning at me to ‘hurry it up’. Even with Bailey’s help, it’s a struggle to get into the backseat of the car without falling on my ass. I nearly strangle myself with my stupid overnight bag before finally managing to get in the car. Climbing into the back seat of a car is way more difficult than the front seat. Duly noted.

  I finally collapse in the seat and lean my head back to take a little breather to recover. I swear I wasn’t a klutz before I needed the assistance of crutches.

  “What are you wearing?”

  “Did you raid your grandma’s closet?”

  “Did you change your style?”

  I open my eyes to see three pairs of eyes belonging to my three friends – Suzanne, Becky, and Bailey – focused on me. Correction – they’re focused on my outfit. I’m the first to admit the outfit is not my finest, but it’s not easy finding a ‘clubbing’ outfit in my condition. I had to choose a long skirt to hide my hideous leg, and it couldn’t be formfitting due to my bulky brace. I thought the sexiness of my top, a skintight, see-through black mesh body, would play off the boring skirt. Obviously, my girls don’t agree.

  “I think she looks cute,” Bailey says with a smile. Suzanne and Becky give her looks to indicate she’s obviously lost her mind.

  “We don’t have time to worry about this now. Traffic was a bitch getting out here.” Suzanne turns around and takes off with a squeal of tires.

  As soon as we’re on the highway, it’s smooth sailing to the city as the traffic is headed in the opposite direction – fleeing the city. Everyone’s jabbering about how epic tonight will be. I don’t bother joining in. I had another physical therapy session today and my leg is killing me. Even staring at Brodie’s fine body did nothing to distract from the pain he caused. I had to take an extra pain pill before leaving the house.

  “What do you think, Frankie?” Bailey pokes my side with a finger to get my attention. “Will he ask me out again?”

  I shake my head. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

  “I knew you weren’t listening.” She huffs. “I was telling you about my date last week.” Bailey is always going out on a date. The woman is on the hunt for true love. She wants a husband, kids, the whole shebang. But no man wants to hear about your marriage aspirations on a first date. Unfortunately, she can’t seem to stop herself from announcing her desire for a husband practically the second she meets a man. She doesn’t go on many second dates.

  “How did it go?” I ask, although I have zero interest in Bailey’s dating life right now. Today will be the first time I’ve been out since the accident. I’ve been housebound for the past eight weeks waiting for the cast to come off. No one was holding me hostage or anything, but when every accidental brush against your cast makes you want to scream in pain, becoming a hermit and binge-watching Netflix seems like the right thing to do.

  The idea of being out in the public again makes sweat form along my brow. Will I be able to get around on crutches without falling on my ass in front of a bar full of people? Oh god, what if I take a nosedive and end up on some stranger’s lap? Face to crotch? There are about two million ways I can embarrass myself playing out in my head.

  Nope. I am not going to worry about what might happen. Instead, I smile at Bailey and concentrate on what she’s saying. She prattles on for the entire drive into the city. She likes him. But maybe she doesn’t like him. He’s perfect husband material. But maybe not after all. My head spins from listening to her. To be honest, it all seems kind of trivial to me. Gah. That was mean. This is Bailey, one of my three best friends. Don’t be petty, Frankie.

  We finally arrive at the club in the city. Suzanne pulls into the valet parking and everyone jumps out of the car. Well, everyone except me. Bailey stands outside of the car waiting for me, but then Becky grabs her arm and pulls her away. She resists but finally gives up with a shrug and a wave to me. The valet sees me struggling to get out of the car and rushes around to help me. “Here,” he says as he holds out his arm. “Let me.” He practically lifts me out of the car before handing me my crutches. Bless him.

  I thank him and head towards the bar. The doorway is empty. My friends have disappeared. Darn it! I sigh and hobble my way into the place. As soon as I open the door, stimulation overload hits. The music is blaring, strobe lights are flashing, and it’s packed to the gills. I let my eyes adjust for a few moments before looking around to find my friends. They’re at a table way over on the other side. Of course, they are.

  “Excuse me.” “Pardon me.” Everyone ignores my attempts to be polite as I try to squeeze through the crowded bar on crutches. With a shrug, I give up and start banging my crutches against people’s legs to get them to make way. And voilà! The path magically opens up.

  “There you are!” Becky shouts as I approach. “We ordered you a dry martini.” She points to the two martinis sitting on the table. “It’s happy hour!”

  I smile in thanks, although I shouldn’t be drinking martinis. My pain meds and gin do not go together. A bit of wine is okay, but hard liquor is asking for trouble. I’m usually down for a bout of trouble, but I’ve got trouble enough right now, thank you very much!

&n
bsp; “Have you talked to your boss lately?” Becky asks when I finally manage to lower myself in a chair. I barely have time to mumble ‘no’ before she continues. “Because I heard they’re looking for a replacement for you.” She looks at me and I could swear there’s an evil glint to her eyes. Nah, can’t be. She’s my friend.

  Fortunately, I’m already aware of this gossip as my assistant has kept in touch during my convalescence. I know they’re looking for another event manager, but it’s not to replace me. “It’s all good. They’re not replacing me.”

  Becky’s frown is there and gone so quickly I wonder if I imagined it. The pain medication must be messing with my mind because she’s smiling now. She grabs her drink and lifts it up. “To our girl being back!”

  Bailey and Suzanne shout, “Here! Here!” before downing their drinks and immediately picking up their next one. I take a sip of my martini and look around the room to see if I can catch a waitress to order a glass of wine. Fat chance of that happening. One of the ‘cool’ things about this place is how the waitresses are dressed in revealing outfits. The chance of one of them noticing me with the men clamoring for their attention is about as likely as me walking out of this place. Martini it is.

  The music suddenly swells louder. “This is my jam!” Becky shouts before jumping to her feet. “Let’s dance.” Suzanne quickly follows her. Bailey stands and raises her eyebrows at me. Is she asking if I want to dance? Um, no, not going to happen. Me on the dance floor is not happening anytime soon. I have yet to put any weight on my left leg. Unless I can figure out how to dance on one leg, I’m out of luck for a few months. I shoo her away to the tiny dance floor in the corner of the bar.

  I sip my cocktail while I wait for my friends to return. The song changes and another one starts, but they don’t come back to our table. I wave my hand in front of my face to get some air. The rush of people is making it hot and stuffy.