Bring Me Back

by Jessie Gussman

  She smirked, grabbing his proffered hand. “I’m Dusty, and I’m going to do one month, maybe six weeks of this crap, then I’m going back on the circuit.” She met his eyes while she spoke. Deep and solid green, they seemed to be searching straight into her soul. Something about his expression, his firm, warm handshake, his confident bearing – she wasn’t sure what it was, but she trusted him immediately, which was unusual for her. Usually people had to prove themselves to her.

  He blinked, pulling his hand away. Instead of walking around and sitting on the other side of the desk that took up most of the small room, he perched on the corner of it, on her side.

  “Are you comfortable in that chair?” he asked.

  “Not really.”

  He jerked his head at the chair behind the desk. “Sit there. It’ll be a lot easier on your back and leg.”

  She didn’t appreciate the command given without even a modification in the way of a “please.” But in her current state, it was hard to get comfortable, and she’d take what she could get.

  “Thank you,” she said, standing carefully. He made no move to help her. Not that she could blame him after she about snapped his head off when he opened the door for her. She gimped around and sat in the big, comfortable office chair.

  “There’s a stool there to prop your leg on.”

  She looked down, and sure enough, a small, wooden stool poked out from under the desk. “Thanks.”

  His head was bent over her chart. “You’re welcome,” he said without lifting his head.

  She could tell him what was in the chart. That’s she’d fractured two vertebrae and her femur. Torn ligaments in her knee and right shoulder. Bruised five ribs. Was lucky to be walking.

  Whatever. The season was going on without her, and she wanted to get back out. She had been so close to being the first woman to ever win the big championship. She hated feeling that slip through her fingers. Technically, so far she’d only missed three points races. Even though she hadn’t raced, she was still fifth in the standings. She could still pull off a win. And how much sweeter it would be winning after coming back from such a massive setback.

  The seconds ticked away. Dusty resisted the urge to squirm. She wasn’t used to sitting still this long.

  When he finally looked up, he didn’t ask any of the questions she’d been expecting. “Where’s your ride?”

  She rolled her eyes. It was written right in her chart that she wasn’t allowed to drive. “My friend dropped me off. She had some errands to run and a baby and toddler that will fare much better at the park down the road than in the waiting room here.”

  “I’d like to meet her when she picks you up.”

  She glared at him. “That’s your way of making sure I didn’t ride my Harley here?”

  His eyes brows lifted a fraction. Ha.

  “I hadn’t considered that you might ride your Harley to your first outpatient physical therapy session after breaking your back, your femur, bruising your ribs, and ripping ligaments in your knee and shoulder.” He tilted his head. “My bad.”

  She snorted, trying to keep her lips from quirking up. “It’s easy to underestimate me.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” He tapped the chart. “I see you just got permission today to walk on that leg. It’s only been four weeks. Did you have the doctor in a headlock when he wrote that?”

  She pursed her lips. “No.” She waited a beat. “I had him pinned to the floor with his arm twisted back and up around his ear.” Crossing her arms over her chest she waited.

  He nodded like she’d told him the truth. “Another thing to keep in mind.”

  Her eyes ran over his torso and noted how his biceps strained against the sleeves of his polo shirt. She wasn’t going to man handle him. Not that she was used to winning in physical contests. Soaking wet she might weight one hundred ten pounds. No, if she wanted to beat the boys, she had to do it on her bike.

  And right now, she needed this guy to help her. “Listen, the doc at my appointment today didn’t really want me walking without the crutches. But my femur wasn’t a compound fracture, it was just a crack, and the x-rays clearly show that a good solid bit of bone has formed over the split. The best thing I can do for it is to start using it regularly.”

  His lips thinned, but he didn’t argue with her. She appreciated that quality in a man.

  “Well, you definitely surprised me when you’re only four weeks out and don’t have crutches.” He crossed his arms over his chest. His shirt stretched tight. Dusty kept her eyes pointed up at his face. “A wheelchair wouldn’t have surprised me.” He wiggled the folder that was under his arm. “I definitely knew I needed to go back and read your chart in detail.” His jaw stuck out. “Some clients I have to motivate to move, and some I have to hold back. I know what category you belong to.”

  “Me too. And you’re not holding me back. There’s a big race in six weeks and I’m planning on being in it.”

  His mouth tightened and his eyes slid away, but, again, he didn’t argue. Good.

  “You’ve got to understand, Dusty, that doing too much can be just as detrimental as not doing enough. I’m on board to get you up and moving like you’re used to, without pain, as fast as we can. I’ll work with you as hard as I can. But in return, you’ve got to promise me that you’re not going to jeopardize our progress by pushing farther than I say you can.”

  He raised his brow. She dropped her eyes. Everything in her was on “go fast.” She didn’t really have another speed. But again, that feeling that she could trust him, sat like a comforting hand on her shoulder.

  “Dusty, you broke your back. You’re very lucky we’re talking about getting back normal motion instead of me teaching you how to empty your catheter bag.”

  She jerked her head. “It didn’t happen and we’re not talking about it.”

  “I think you can regain full motor function, and I think you can live pain-free for the most part. But only if you do this right. You’ve got great reports from your surgeries and from the hospital therapists. Let’s do this thing right, Dusty.”

  She found herself nodding before she even realized it. “Okay. I’ll do what you say.”

  “That’s the attitude.” He stood. “Let’s go out and get started.”

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