Dare to Dance

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The doctors were all rushing around me, making phone calls and arrangements for me to go into surgery when I got back to London. I appreciated their efforts to get me fixed up as soon as possible, I really did, but I couldn’t concentrate on a single word they were saying. My eyes remained glued to the white paneled ceiling as I replayed their words over and over in my mind.

You reversed your last surgery.

Your tendon was already weak, it couldn’t hold up to the same injury twice.

You completely tore it.

You may never dance again.

The last one was the most painful. It was the most final. It felt like my life support had been ripped away and I was struggling for air. My heart shattered into a million tiny pieces that would never become whole again. My world was crashing down around me for the second time, all due to the same freaking injury. I was an idiot, a complete and total idiot. Niall had warned me. He knew how dangerous it was for me to attempt that trick again, to put my ankle through the same sort of strain it had been through before. Why didn’t I listen to him? God, if I had just listened we wouldn’t be in this hospital right now. We would still be enjoying our vacation, enjoying being with each other. I ruined everything.

They said with having the same rupture twice, my chances of a reoccurrence in injury were higher and the tendon would be so much weaker than the other side. That’s why my chances of returning to dance were lower. High impact moves like jumps and leaps could result in more damage. The surgery would fix me, but there was no guarantee it would save my career. They were ripping everything I loved right out from under me and it was my own fault.

The tears came of their own free will.

The doctors seemed to notice and quiet left me in the room. Loneliness washed over me as I covered my face with my hands and began to sob. I wanted to curl into a ball and just cry, but I couldn’t even do that without severe pain racing up the back of my leg. I wanted Niall’s arms around me, comforting me as he’d stroke my hair and his voice would sooth my nerves when he told me everything would be okay. I didn’t even get that because he was busy booking our flight back home and insuring I would get there in time for my surgery tomorrow. 

It was a miserable feeling, knowing I had ruined the rest of our honeymoon with one stupid act. Every fiber of my being screamed at me for being so careless. What made it worse was these doctors couldn’t even help me. They weren’t equipped to perform my surgery and had to send me home. I didn’t want to go, I didn’t want to face our friends and have to explain that it was my idiocy that landed me back under the knife. 

As if on cue, the door creaked open and the familiar Irish accent I needed broke the silence engulfing me. “Kora? Oh, Kor….” I heard his converse scuff the tile floor as he walked to my side. His fingers wrapped around my wrists, prying my hands away from my face. “Don’t do this. Don’t beat yourself up.” Niall’s rough thumbs, callused from years of guitar, ran across my cheeks, capturing the tears rolling down my face. “You’re going to be okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

I pressed my face against his chest, wrapped my arms around his body. He was solid, a rock in my spiraling life. Even if I lost dace, I would still have him, he would still be standing by my side. He was what was most important, I reminded myself. He was my everything, he could get me through this.

That thought combined with the comfort of having him holding me was enough to quiet my sobs. His fingertips played with the ends of my hair, twisting and untwisting the strands. It distracted me from the pain in my ankle and my chest long enough to let coherent thoughts form in my head.