“I’m sorry, I really am. It’s that—”
“I miss you. We all do. Why don’t you talk to us instead of closing yourself off?”
That was a great question. Maybe it was because they’d all mentioned something was up with Cliff being away so much and always questioned why I wasn’t more suspicious. I’d waved them all off without a second thought, never thinking I’d have this much egg on my face. Or maybe, it was because they were all doing so well, and while I wanted to be happy for them, I couldn’t find it in me. Just like when when I was a kid, I watched others have a life without participating in one of my own.
“I miss you guys, too. And soon, I promise. I’m sorry to cut you short, but I have a patient and—”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll talk to you next Thursday. You’ll say yes one day. And I won’t stop trying until you do.
I smiled and held in a chuckle, knowing she meant every word.
Shoving the phone into my pocket, I walked into Jack’s therapy room, not at all surprised to see he’d started the session without me.
“Okay,” Jack rolled onto his side to do side leg lifts. “Rangers or Islanders?” He flashed a sly grin over his shoulder in between grunts.
In almost a month, Jack had become my hardest working patient. He was itching to walk, but he had to focus on strength first. He still had a lot to come back from, but judging by his relentless determination, I hoped he’d walk out of here with no issues and never have to look back.
I shook off the pang of disappointment at the thought of the day Jack would be discharged and returned my focus to the here and now. We’d cultivated a friendship I didn’t allow with other patients. Our sessions were filled with smack talking and wordless nods of encouragement when I’d notice Jack’s sweaty blond brow crinkle in frustration. I’d assign other patients exercises and keep close track of their form and progress, but I was never this emotionally invested in their recovery. The thought of how wrong my attachment to Jack was weighed on me more and more. All that, combined with the pangs of my residual childhood crush, and Jack Taylor had become the highlight of my day even if I wouldn’t openly admit it—to him or myself.
“Slow, Jack.” I wrapped my hand around his ankle to mimic a better pace. “Remember, form—not speed—is what I want.”
“And I always do whatever you want.” His voice was gritty but still somehow smooth. I took a sharp breath to ward off the gooey feeling in my belly caused by his comment in that buttery tone. Jack was a flirt, or it’d been so long I didn’t remember what friendly banter felt like.
I gave him the best scowl I could pull off and shook my head. “How does it feel? If you’re in pain, you should stop.”
“No. I can’t stop.” His head popped up in a panic, his cocky smile now faded into a hard line. “I need to walk.”
“And you will, Jack. You trust me, don’t you?” I put a hand on his shoulder. “Rushing it will set you back. You’re doing great, just slow it down.”
I stilled when he took my hand in his and squeezed. Again, not right, but I couldn’t refuse him the comfort.
His eyes darted to the floor before he nodded. “I trust you, I’m just … antsy, you know?”
“I know.” I let a smile curve my lips. “And Rangers.”
A gagging noise erupted from his throat. “Mets and Rangers? Why did you let Kyle brainwash you? I think you need some therapy, too. Detox off shitty teams.”
“Kyle always did say Yankee fans were arrogant.” I peeked down at Jack’s leg, now going at the right pace. He quirked an eyebrow when our eyes met and I nodded my approval.
“When your team is that good, or the best, being humble is silly, don’t you think?” He cocked a brow, and there went the gooey feeling again. Jack’s sessions were exhausting both of us.
“Put that arrogance into your leg raises. Three sets of ten. I’ll be right back. And you can go a little faster than that if you feel up to it—but not too fast.”
“Damn. Control freak, much?”
He burst out laughing at my scowl. “All right, all right.” He brought his index and middle finger to his forehead in a mock salute. “Got it, boss.”
A smile snuck across my lips before I headed to my office to grab a light resistance band for Jack’s ankles. Right before I stepped inside, a tap on the shoulder startled me.
“You’re a little cozy, aren’t you?” Dev, one of the other therapists I worked with—and the one I turned down for a date three times before he stopped asking—glowered at me with his arms crossed.
“Cozy?” My eyes narrowed as they fixed on the smug grin on his face.
He jutted his chin toward the therapy rooms. “You and your firefighter patient. Are you friends or something?”
“He’s an old friend of my brother’s, and how dare you insinuate I’m not professional.”
He held his hands up in defeat. “I didn’t say anything about unprofessional, but you’re usually not so … friendly.” The corners of his mouth lifted in a wry grin. “You’re usually so obsessed with making sure your patients do the exercises correctly, I don’t notice you engaging in much small talk. That made me think, this one must be special.”
“Jack is trying to gain the strength to walk. I’m building a rapport of trust with my patient.” I marched up to him, holding back the overwhelming urge to spit into his face. “You focus on your cases, and I’ll focus on mine.”
“Is there a problem?” Kathryn, the managing director of the center, gazed between us.
“Not a thing.” Dev stepped back, his proverbial tail between his legs as he turned to retreat to one of the other patient rooms. “Sorry to overstep. You both have a nice afternoon.”
“Mind telling me what that was really about?” Kathryn whispered.
“Dev said I was cozy with Jack Taylor. He’s an old friend of my brother’s so we chat during our sessions. Nothing inappropriate or holding back his progress. I don’t know why—”
“Because Dev has a thing for you and wanted the promotion I gave you.”
My head whipped to hers. “How did you—”
“Good directors know everything that happens within these doors. Or should, for the most part. You’re one of my best therapists and a consummate pro. Some men don’t like to lose.” She squeezed my forearm before heading back to her office.
I came back to Jack’s table, taking deep breaths to ward off the rage. I was pissed off and … embarrassed. I was cozy with Jack. I needed to put some professional walls between us during our sessions so no one—including the both of us—became confused.
“All right, Jack. Let’s give this a try …” I trailed off when I noticed the wince of pain on his face. He groaned and buried his face into the pillow.
“What happened?” I dropped the band and rushed over to his leg.
“A cramp. I hope I didn’t fuck it up and go too fast.”
I examined the leg and didn’t notice any tears in the sutures or new bruising.
“You’re using muscles that have been asleep for a while. It looks fine, but we’ll try the band another time. I’ll get you some ibuprofen, and you can go have an iced coffee break outside.”
The disappointment and frustration on his face broke my heart. It was a look I’d seen on dozens of patients, but from Jack, it made my chest ache.
Was I doing him a disservice by being his therapist while battling these feelings? Feelings that, despite my denial, grew for him each day? Maybe I should reassign him?
He gazed up at me, searching my face for answers, and I could tell, my prediction of the future. I didn’t have any of that yet. I had high hopes, but promising him would be cruel at this early stage.
“When is your next patient?” His normally booming voice was small and cracked my heart. The tough-as-nails therapist I proclaimed myself to be was nowhere to be found around Jack, no matter how hard I tried to act the part.
“Later this afternoon.”
“Come with me?” His eyes locked wit
h mine, and the pained expression on his face killed me. I wanted to see him cocky and playful as before, not so unsure and beaten. My inclination was to drop everything and sit with him until he felt better.
But I couldn’t do that.
I was supposed to help heal and give comfort, but at that moment, my want to soothe Jack had nothing to do with my job as his therapist. I’d been blurring that line entirely too much. This was a wall that needed to go up, for both our sakes. The random meetings in the cafeteria were one thing. Making time for him outside the therapy room deliberately sent off a slew of mixed signals to both of us.
“I have updates and notes to catch up on. Next time, maybe.” My hand fell on his forearm. “This isn’t a setback; it’s part of the process. You won’t dwell on this, right?”
A sad smile ghosted across his lips. “If you say so, boss.”
I tapped his arm and walked back to my office, my heart and mind heavy.
I could be Jack’s friendly therapist, but not his friend.
It was too tempting to want more after that.
13
Jack
“One more time, Jack,” Danielle instructed from behind me. “Practice is the only way to make this easier.”
I nodded, white-knuckling the side rails. My leg was still attached to me, but even after all this work and therapy, it didn’t feel like my own. At least, not the way it used to be. I never thought I’d see the day I’d have to put in actual effort to walk. I had good mobility on the crutches, but now was when the real work began. The pain didn’t bother me as much I’d imagined it would. It was the weakness and the immobility I didn’t know what the hell to do with. I’d lost track how many times I walked back and forth, and waiting to feel stronger or at least more connected with my leg. All I’d felt was exhausted and sore. I was basically Bambi.
My sister loved classic Disney movies when she was little and watched them on a continual loop. From the day she learned to crawl, she dragged me into her bedroom and forced me to watch them with her. None of us knew how to tell her no, so I sat and watched Lady and the Tramp and Bambi over and over again. Both of us cracked up at Bambi as a fawn, slipping and sliding on the ice. The poor thing had no clue how to use his legs, and I found his flailing back and forth across the screen fucking hysterical—at the time. I felt every pin and laceration in my leg, and what should have been a natural gait was so forced, I would have fallen over three times if not for the bars. Bambi was only a cartoon, but I felt a sting of shame for laughing at something in the same lousy predicament as me.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say I had sea legs. Or a sea leg.” I tried to laugh, panting as I lifted my gaze to meet Danielle’s.
She dropped a hand on my forearm. “It will get easier, Jack. I promise you. And you may not think so, but you’re doing great. Just keep going.”
A calmness washed over me. I wasn’t sure when it happened over the past month, but she’d become a hell of lot more than just my therapist. She understood me in a way no one else did. Not my parents, not my friends, not anyone. She knew the struggle and how hard it was, but instead of pitying me in my weakest moments, it was then she pushed the hardest.
“You got it, boss.” My leg trembled as our gazes locked, but that wasn’t only due to my injury. The waters of our patient and therapist relationship muddied during our almost-nightly meetings in the cafeteria. There, she was simply a beautiful woman with a sweet smile and a past she wouldn’t share with me. Still, every night she let me in a little more. Every laugh I drew out of her made me feel like a king, and she lingered a little longer each time we stumbled upon each other accidentally on purpose. Maybe it was due to the solitude mixed with the occasional hopelessness, but I looked forward to every second I spent with Danielle. If I judged by the soft smile she greeted me with every day, it wasn’t such an impossibility that she did, too.
“Your leg and knee are still healing, and knees are tricky things. When we get your quads strong enough, you’ll feel much more stable.” She patted the table to motion me over. “It won’t feel the same for a while, but each day will get better.”
I hobbled to where she stood and pushed myself up by my arms, my insides jumping like a kid at Christmas. After a long and grueling session, Danielle reached for a jar of lotion and massaged my leg from my thigh down to my ankle. She had gifted hands, and my dirty mind along with my neglected dick pondered what else she could do with those hands. Or what I could do with mine.
“Hey, I’m happy I can walk, period. I first learned to walk about twenty-six years ago; I can relearn.” Could I be a firefighter again and pull on eighty pounds of gear and run into a burning building? Danielle said she’d get me back on the truck, and ever since the accident that was all I wanted, but I tried to taper the line between hope and fooling myself.
“The human body is an amazing thing. The way it can heal, come back, sometimes stronger than before.” Danielle’s hand glided up and down my leg with the perfect pressure. I held in a moan as her palm dug into my aching muscles. “My goal is still to get you back on that truck, and I see nothing that would make that change.” A smile curved her lips before her eyes darted away. Her chest expanded before she took in a quick breath and dropped her gaze.
My eyes followed to where hers had been and then clenched shut at the realization. Track pants hid nothing, and sometimes I liked the leg massages a bit too much. I kept my eyes closed as I listed the Yankee world championship years in my head long enough to bring down the bulge in my boxers. When they popped open again, a blush had crept up over Danielle’s cheeks. It was so fucking adorable, I almost gave thanks for my bum leg, since that was the only thing holding me back from taking a fistful of that gorgeous dark hair and covering her mouth with mine. And deep breath, 1996, 1998, 1999 …
“So, I did all right today?” I quirked an eyebrow and laughed at her pursed lips.
“Fishing for compliments?” She crinkled her nose and draped a hot washcloth over my leg. Damn, that meant my session was over.
“Let’s say, if I did okay today, you buy me a Dr. Pepper tonight?”
She froze as she lifted the warm terry cloth. It was one thing to plan in our heads to meet after therapy, another to make an actual date out loud. A cafeteria candy date. Sad and pathetic, maybe, but I needed to see how she’d respond if I suggested it.
“I don’t know how you drink that crap. But if that’s what keeps you on track, sure, I’ll be a sport.”
I laughed. “I like when you’re a sport. It’s cute.” Of course, I wasn’t happy with that one little win. I needed to push.
She shook her head and let out a long sigh. “Yeah, I’m cute as a button. Keep it up, and I’ll make you walk double laps tomorrow.”
“I look forward to it.” I stepped down from the table and grabbed my crutches. “See you later?” I raised a questioning eyebrow.
She crossed her arms before she could hide the twitch of her lips. “You’re a relentless ballbuster.”
“I’m told I get that from my father. I think I’m feeling a Kit Kat instead of my usual. See you later?” Our gazes met, and suddenly those three words were laced with a ton of intention.
“Fine. See you later,” she whispered. If my imagination wasn’t fucking with me, her voice held a touch of a rasp
I nodded and hobbled away. I stopped short at an itch in the back of my knee. I was comfortable with crutches now but still clunky as hell with annoying shit like that. I stopped and swiveled to give it a scratch and noticed Danielle staring at me. Our eyes locked again, and she turned around on a huff.
A huge smile pulled at my cheeks all the way back to my room.
14
Danielle
“Do you ever go home?” my boss, Rachel, inquired as she peeked into my office.
“I do … eventually.” I gave her a quick smile over my computer screen as I typed up the last of my notes, hoping she didn’t catch the tension in my reply. Tonight, I’d planned to meet Ja
ck, not just run into him and pretend we were simply in the same place at the same time.
“You know, you don’t have to do every single session.” She crossed her arms and leaned into the doorjamb. “There are plenty of assistant therapists who can monitor patients under your supervision.” She clicked her tongue and shook her head. “That would give you time to catch up on notes earlier and then maybe go home and catch some late July sunshine.”
“But we’re getting complicated cases lately; I don’t feel right just handing my patients over.”
She was right, though. If I accepted help sometimes, I wouldn’t have to work so many hours. Even though it made sense, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I took comfort in control at work. Plus, until Jack, I wouldn’t know what to do with any free time.
The rest of the therapists had left over an hour ago, and after Rachel’s exit, I planned to mosey into the cafeteria as if I hadn’t obsessed about it since my session with Jack this afternoon.
We had this … connection. Granted, Jack was isolated here from the people he knew, and I was a familiar, friendly face he’d most likely latched on to. But sometimes, it felt like more. We talked about everything and nothing at the same time each night, sometimes for hours. I didn’t know anything about his personal life, and he knew nothing about my shitty past, and I didn’t want that to change. The last thing I wanted to see in his eyes was pity. I had that in spades from my family.
“All right, see you tomorrow. And get out of here. Do something fun.”
I returned Rachel’s smile with a stiff grin of my own. My idea of doing something fun was splitting a Kit Kat with my patient. I needed help.
Sucking in a shaky breath, I made the short walk from my office to the cafeteria. Scanning the room, my heart sank when I realized it was empty. My chest deflated in disappointment. He either hadn’t come, or I’d made him wait too long.
“Hey,” I jumped at the smooth whisper breezing against my neck. My head swiveled to Jack’s contrite half smile. Gray sweatpants hung on his hips, and a navy-blue New York Yankees T-shirt stretched across his broad chest. I held in a desperate sigh as my tongue darted to the side of my mouth to check for drool. I was twelve again, only this time, admitting my hopeless crush had both professional and personal repercussions.
Think Twice Page 8