by Jean Stokes
But it works. I'm not tense when she starts pushing again, and then slowly pulls my leg back towards her. It hurts like nothing I've felt before, I can't even believe the original wound hurt this bad, but I can feel my joint sanding itself down, but a more gentle, bruise-like ache as she grinds my leg back and forth.
"There we go," she murmurs, grinning triumphantly. I caused that. She's smiling because of me. She pats my knee and puts her hands on her hips. "Now, water break, and we'll do the other direction."
She stands before I can tell her where the glasses are. I haven't moved anything, and the barracks are all laid out the same way. I hear her filling a water glass from the fridge and she comes back to hand it to me. "Staying hydrated is going to be very important," she says seriously. "So will be doing these stretches. I'll show you how to do them on your own, and I want you to do them at least three times a day."
I groan at the idea, but nod obediently. She smiles, and takes the water from me when it's half empty. "Lie back," she commands, and kneels between my feet again. One of her hands cups the back of my knee, the other braced on the arch of my foot. She makes my knee bend and lifts my leg, working it in a seesaw motion back and forth, like I'm trying to curl up into a ball.
This way is a lot easier and only causes a little pain. I'm not sure if it's because the angle is less painful this way, or because she already loosened me up some, but it's a relief not to be physically biting back curses as she helps me stretch.
"Awesome," she says. "You took that really well." She sets my leg down and I smile, sweating, heart racing, and out of breath, but glad to hear something from her that's not a barked order or scathing criticism.
She stands, and holds out her hands. "Up," she says. I blink at her, and put my hands in hers, grimacing and hissing as she helps me to my feet. "Try to lift your leg on your own." She puts her shoulders beneath my opposite arm so I can lean on her, even though I'm sure that I would crush her if I fell.
I swallow, and attempt it. I manage to get my foot a few inches off the ground before a sharp spasm runs up my thigh, and I'm forced to lower it again.
She hums, but doesn't seem surprised. She pats my shoulder and smiles up at me. "Good. The more you stretch, the easier that'll be."
I nod, taking a moment to appreciate how well she fits under my arm, how warm she is. Her hair holds a vanilla scent with a hint of something fruity, and I find myself breathing it in without thinking about it. Her eyes meet mine, and for a long moment, we simply linger there frozen.
Then, she clears her throat, her cheeks darkening, and steps away. "Now that we've gotten you warmed up and stretched, we can start the real work."
"That wasn't the real work?" I ask, only slightly exaggerating my horror.
She grins and winks at me.
Chapter 10 - SADIE
I really, really need to keep better control of myself.
Working with Dwane, touching him, is affecting me more than I expected. I'm glad that my training and professionalism can win out most of the time, but as I tell him to put on his shoes and join me for a walk around the block, I can still feel the solid weight of his arm around my shoulders, and feel the heat of his gaze whenever he looks at me.
It's clear he's attracted to me. I might be professional but I'm not blind. My lucky leggings never fail to get a guy's attention, and they caught Dwane like a fish on a hook. And, of course, his obvious stares down my shirt.
I walk with him around the block, making sure to bring a water bottle from my car and keep pace with him. I'm pushing him a little faster than he normally goes, but I'm not a jerk and I don't want him to strain himself. He's not kicking out to the side anymore after stretching, which I count as a win, even if he still has quite an obvious limp.
Working with military men is kind of like working with animals. They respond to praise, punishment, and rewards. They like having goals, and I'm good at setting them.
At least Dwane isn't being prickly anymore, aside from a natural side effect of being in pain. It's clear he's willing to put in the effort to try. I'm glad I trusted my instincts and decided to continue his progress in his home where he could be away from prying eyes.
Of course, I'm too aware of my own intentions as well. The truth is I want to be around him, and keep him all to myself. It's been a long time since I felt anything more than a fleeting attraction that was solved by a quick tumble, but I get the feeling that I would actually enjoy being around Dwane for non-intimate reasons.
Dwane is clearly well-loved by his friends. I've seen enough wounded warriors to know that their injuries can so easily define them, and I admire his determination to rise above, to overcome. He's a fighter.
He's also funny. He's actually really funny, especially when I get him going with reminiscing about his time in New Orleans.
"And then Jake—you won't believe this—turns out he had accidentally hired a prostitute for Mark. Oh my God!" He guffaws, his smile bright and wide, making his eyes crinkle at the corners again. I smile along with him, hiding a laugh behind my hand. "You should have seen the look on his face. He was so scared we were going to rat him out to the sergeant."
"Did you?" I ask, as we turn the corner and head back to his house.
"Nah, I ain't a narc," he replies, shaking his head. I laugh again, making him smile. "But that's not to say I didn't threaten him with it occasionally. Got a month of free laundry out of him before he realized I wasn't going to blab."
"How noble," I tease.
"Hey, I hate laundry, and I love messing with my friends," he replies with a shrug. He's still limping, but moving a lot easier than before. I can't help but be proud of how far he's progressed in such a short time.
"Do you miss it?" I ask. He looks at me. "New Orleans? All your friends back there?"
He presses his lips together, and shrugs after a moment as we come to a stop between my car and his house. "I guess a little," he replies, and rubs the back of his neck. "But Witmer has always been home to me, and I have friends here, too."
"Those poor New Orleans girls," I tease. "I bet you left behind a string of broken hearts."
He winces, which surprises me. I clear my throat and nod to his house. "Come on, I'll show you how to do those stretches on your own. Then make sure you stay hydrated and for God's sake, get a warm pack as well as something to ice yourself down."
He nods, and I lead the way back into his house. I sit down on the couch and pat the other seat, and he sits, wincing a little as he settles. "Bend forward and cup your foot," I tell him, showing him how, my knee out to one side so that it doesn't push on my chest. He mimics me, wincing again. "If you can do this on your back it's better, but gravity might help you bend if you're not that flexible."
I lean back, until my shoulders hit the couch, and then slowly let my arms extend, so my leg unfolds just a little, rotating my hip. He does the same, though much stiffer and more slowly.
"Good," I say, smiling. "And you can do the same thing going out." I let my knee fall to the side, knocking his shoulder. He blinks and stares at me as I put my knee all the way into his lap, and extend my leg again. "You'll find it easier to wrap your hands around your ankle for this. This one's good for sitting down. If you're standing, you can just practice widening your stance as much as possible, and then putting your feet back together."
"World's slowest jumping jacks," he says, voice strained. He sits forward and lets his foot go, and then sits back again.
"Exactly," I laugh.
He stares at me, his dark eyes warm enough to feel like a physical touch. I swallow, and pull my leg back into place, resting my heel on the couch with my arms wrapped around my shin. "You did a really good job today," I say gently. "With stretching yourself out and loosening up, you'll be able to walk for longer, and then we can start with adding weights and speed."
He nods. His eyes rake down me, and he wets his lips.
"I appreciate your help, Sadie," he says quietly. "I really wouldn't have been a
ble to do this on my own."
I smile at him and put a hand on his shoulder. "It's my job," I say lightly. "And I'll admit—you like messing with your friends? I like making big strong men cry and curse my name."
He laughs weakly, still strained.
I know if I stay I'm going to do something reckless. It's hard to keep my hands to myself, as evidenced by the hand still on his big shoulder. I pull my hand back and push myself to my feet. "I'll see you tomorrow," I tell him. "0600 again."
"Okay," he murmurs, and stands to walk me to the door. I smile at him when he opens the door for me—how chivalrous—and I know he's watching me as I walk to my car.
And if I open the passenger door first and bend over, pretending to adjust something so he gets a nice view, well, that's my own business.
Chapter 11 - DWANE
Sadie Holloway is going to kill me. Not combat, not a car accident. Her.
I close the door after she drives away and rest my forehead against it, groaning deeply and biting my lower lip. My leg hurts, but in an almost pleasant way, like after a really good workout.
Another part of me aches, but I force myself not to pay it any attention.
I need to go to the store and get some warm packs, or at least something I can use that will mimic it. And I desperately need the distraction. I take advantage of the post-workout endorphin high to go up the stairs and change into a pair of jeans, and head back out towards the local grocery store.
I enter and blink in recognition when I see the woman from the bar last night. Ava, Scott's friend. I walk over and smile at her in greeting where she is at her register.
"Oh, hi!" she says, blinking owlishly at me. "Dwane, right?"
"Yeah. I was wondering, which aisle are the warm packs on? Or anything that gives off heat."
"Aisle nine," she replies with a bright smile. I nod and thank her. "No problem, Dwane. Nice seeing you again!"
I smile, and leave. I wonder when Scott's going to make a move on her. She seems cute, and she looked at him the other night like he hung the moon.
I find what I'm looking for and check out with Ava, and head back down the street towards my house. Halfway there, I hear a too-familiar truck. I sigh to myself and look over my shoulder, narrowing my eyes as all four of the Burchell brothers park and spread out behind me, grinning in a way that only promises trouble.
"Hey, friend!" Michael greets from his lead position. "Can't help but notice you're still hanging around."
"I have as much a right to be here as you. More, in fact," I tell them. "I just got transferred here. Permanently."
Ethan laughs scornfully. "They don't want a cripple in the Army," he hisses. "You're gonna fail out like you must have in high school to join the force. No one wants you here, Foster."
I narrow my eyes at them, and look around. We're in a public place, any kind of altercation isn't going to look good on my record, and while the Burchell brothers are arrogant, cocky jerks, they're not going to start an all-out fight in the middle of the street. Certainly not against a disabled, minority veteran. That doesn't look good for anyone, even in a place like Witmer.
As if sensing my thoughts, Ethan spits on the ground in front of me. "Don't think you're safe just 'cause you're dumb enough to get yourself blown up," he snaps. "We're watching you, Foster. If you stay here, there's gonna be trouble."
"Are you threatening me?" I say, raising my voice so that passersby can hear me. I know it catches the attention from a couple in the parking lot, who have stopped loading their groceries and are watching the scene with wide eyes.
"Of course not," Michael replies with a snake oil salesman smile, putting a hand on Ethan's shoulder and squeezing tight enough his knuckles go white. "Wouldn't dream of it. We just want to make sure everyone understands each other, you know? Man to . . . you."
I glare at them all, and shake my head. "I have no fight with you," I say, keeping my voice loud. "And I'd appreciate it if you left me alone. Keep this up and I will go to the sheriff."
Michael laughs, like this is the best joke he's ever heard. "You have a good evening, Mr. Foster," he sneers, trying to insult me by not referring to me with my military title. If they think I'll take offense to something like that, they're sorely mistaken. I'm not that proud and hotheaded like my friends.
"You as well," I say. I wait for them to pile in their truck and drive away. Subtly, I give them the finger from my side, pretending that I'm fidgeting with my bag.
I can feel the couple still staring at me, and I smile at them and give them a cordial nod, before I continue on my way. If something like an idle threat from a couple of hicks is enough to scare me away, then I have no business being in the military.
I'm not a coward, not anymore.
I can't help but think about what I did run away from, before. The thoughts make my stomach turn sourly, and I frown at my feet as I head back into my house, and close and lock the door behind me.
I sigh. The air still smells like vanilla. Like Sadie.
Despite the ugly encounter I'd just had, I find myself smiling.
*
I'm ready when Sadie comes back the next morning. She's wearing the same outfit, only her tank top is purple instead of black. She grins when she jogs up my driveway, ponytail swinging back and forth.
"There he is!" she greets, patting my shoulder and stepping inside. I didn't move the couch back into place, so she returns to the open area of the floor. "See how much better it is when you use a warming pack?"
I have to admit she's right. My leg feels much better than it did the previous morning.
She has me sit down again and works my leg out. It's still incredibly painful, and I hiss and curse at her, making her laugh, but it loosens up a lot more quickly. "Do you sleep on your side, or on your back?" she asks idly, as I lie back so she can help me stretch the other way.
"Side, mostly," I reply. "My good one."
"Hmm. Is there any particular reason you don't sleep on your back, or do you just prefer it that way?" she asks, cupping my foot and getting me to bend my knee and stretch as she talks.
I grit my teeth, wincing at the tug on my hip and thigh, and reply, "Never really thought about it."
"Try sleeping on your back for a while, still keeping this leg elevated with a pillow or something. It'll stop you tightening up so much during the night," she advises. I nod to show her I heard her, but can't really manage to speak as she pushes my knee up almost to my chest, making the tendon running from the back of my knee to the top of my thigh twinge in protest.
"Wilco," I say, jokingly.
She smiles, and gets up, helping me to my feet. "Lift your leg," she murmurs, tucking herself under my arm again to help support my weight. I can't help the way I curl my fingers around her shoulder, wanting to hold her close. She smells like saltwater today, something that makes me think of the ocean, of coconuts and bright yellow flowers.
I can only manage to get my foot a few inches off the ground, like before, but I hold it up for longer before I have to drop it back down. She smiles, and pats my chest. "Good job."
"Amazing where a little effort gets you, I guess," I reply. She presses her lips together and nods. I don't want to let her go. And she's not pulling away.
I stare into her eyes. I know at the slightest hint of invitation, I'll lean down to kiss her. I want to, so badly it feels like I can't see, I can't walk or breathe without her touching me.
Her eyes darken, pupils flaring out to eclipse her irises. Her cheeks are flushed, and her chest is rising up and down rapidly. She bites her lower lip and I tighten my fingers around her shoulder.
"Sadie," I whisper.
She sighs, and lowers her gaze. She shakes her head and I let her go immediately. I don't want to force her into anything, even though I'm so sure she feels the attraction and heat building between us. Objectively, there was no reason for her to physically help me stretch, after the first time. She'd shown me how to do it on my own, and while it's more diff
icult and hurts way more, there's no reason for her to keep helping me herself when she could just watch and make sure I was doing it right.
"Sadie," I say again.
She sighs, flipping her ponytail and rolling her shoulders. The flex of muscle draws my eye, and I swallow when she turns around to look at me. "Dwane," she says.
"I know that tone," I murmur weakly, attempting to smile.
"Look, I'm not the kind of girl who skirts around something, especially when it seems so obvious to both of us," Sadie sighs. "I find you incredibly attractive, and I'm pretty sure you've stared at my assets more than anything else since I got here."
She's not wrong. I still cringe in guilt.
"But you know nothing can happen between us," she continues gently. "You're technically my patient, or whatever, and fraternization within a division is frowned upon. I don't like paperwork, and if you ever want to get deployed again, you can't have any kind of smudge on your record. So this," she gestures between us, "can't happen."
I sigh, and fight back my instinct to argue. I rub the back of my neck. "No, you're right," I admit. "I just . . . you're possibly the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. And I like you a lot. It's difficult."
"Believe me, I know how you feel," she says, her cheeks turning another shade darker. How can she get even more gorgeous when she blushes? Clearly, this woman is some kind of angel. I feel like she was made just for me. "But my job is to get you in fighting shape, and your job is to let me. It's just the way it has to be."
I nod. I expected the rejection to hurt more. It aches a little, but not as badly as I'd feared it would. It's nice to hear that she's attracted to me, too, that this isn't just one-sided. Nothing she's said has been wrong. We both value our jobs and records too much to risk anything like that.
"Is that going to be a problem?" she asks, arching a brow. "If it is, I'll request you be added to my larger team, or put you with another trainer. I don't want to, but I will if that's what it's going to take."
"No," I say immediately. "No. I can control myself. I'd like for us to be friends, if that's not going to make things difficult for you, but I swear." I raise my hands and grin at her. "No touching the merchandise.”