by S. E. Law
Dr. Thomas told me about physical therapy. They want to keep my leg muscles strong even though I can’t use them, and I have to strengthen my arms if I’m going to wheel myself around in that chair. I’ve been learning how to get myself around in the wheelchair but with a broken wrist, even that is slow going.
But honestly, I don’t want to go to physical therapy. I don’t plan on getting out of bed much, anyways, because there’s nothing to look forward to in life anymore.
“No, thanks,” I say when Danielle gestures to my wheelchair.
She grins, which is annoying. “I thought you might say that, but you don’t really have a choice. Today is your first day of physical therapy and I am under strict orders to get you there.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t.”
She already has an answer.
“I’m no good at lying,” Danielle says. “Now, up and at ‘em, Summer.”
She pulls on my shoulders until I’m sitting, but I resist her when she tries to turn me.
“I’m not going,” is my flat statement.
“You are, Summer. We can do this the easy way and you can help me get you into this chair, or we can do this the hard way, and I can call in a couple other nurses to manhandle you into the chair. Which would you prefer?”
Danielle may be sweet looking with bright red hair, vibrant green eyes, and a smile that appears completely genuine, but I bet she really will drag me out of bed if she has to. Reluctantly, I use my arms like the doctor taught me and shift my mass around. My legs dangle hopelessly off the edge of the bed like lead weights.
With some help from Danielle, I transfer myself into the waiting chair before she takes off the breaks and wheels me forward. I grab the handholds on the wheels to stop.
“I can push myself,” is my declaration.
She shakes her head. “Not with that wrist, you can’t.”
“I’ve been practicing all week.”
“I know, my colleagues told me. But you’re healing up nicely, and we wouldn’t want to aggravate your progress, now would we?”
I do want at least one of my problems to go away, so I appease her. Sitting back against the blue pleather, I let Danielle push me towards our destination with a sullen expression on my face.
We pass a bulletin board and Danielle stops me. “You know, there are some great events happening this week for our recovering patients. They might seem lame, but they’re actually a ton of fun. You should think about going down to the rec room.”
I don’t respond. Every nurse I’ve spoken to has tried to get me down to these stupid events, but I don’t really feel like interacting with other people. No one needs to see me like this.
With a sigh, Danielle continues down the next hallway. “It’s beautiful out today. If you like, I can take you out to the courtyard after you’re done with PT. How does that sound?”
This time, I deign to reply.
“I’d rather go back to my room.”
Danielle ignores me.
“You’ll love it out there. Candy told me you like looking out your window, so why not go out and see the real thing?”
My lips stay closed. How far away is the physical therapy room? I want to get this over with asap so I can go back to doing nothing. Unfortunately, Danielle chatters on.
“Did you know that we have a library in the hospital? If you want, I’ll take you there so you can check out a few books to bring back to your room. It can get so boring sitting in your bed all day, and it might be nice to have something to read.”
I shake my head. I don’t want to read, I just want to sleep and remember what it was like when I could go to the bathroom without someone helping me. The good old days.
Danielle continues to chatter and I continue to ignore her. I focus on my legs, willing them to move, but as usual, they ignore me. It feels like my bottom half is wasting away right before my eyes.
It’s ironic really. I’ve always been a bigger girl but being overweight has never prevented me from enjoying life. I went dancing, clubbing, and shook my ass with aplomb. Being big certainly never kept me from walking to the bathroom or showering on my own. But boy, have the mighty fallen. Now, if I want to go anywhere, a nurse has to transfer me to a wheelchair. I’ve lost the use of my legs and even worse, I’ve lost my freedom. I hate everything about whom I’ve become as a result of this stupid accident.
And the worst part? There’s absolutely nothing I can do to change. I’m damaged for life, with no hope of becoming my old self. Given that I’m now stuck in a wheelchair indefinitely, can I learn to love myself again?
It doesn’t feel like it. It feels like I’m trapped at the bottom of a black pit, and despair and misery close in on me again. My head drops and a silent tear rolls down my cheek.
My wheelchair stops suddenly in front of a closed door.
“Welcome to the physical therapy wing,” chirps Danielle. “We’re a big hospital, but we only have one physical therapist on staff. What we can’t handle in house, we send to other practices, or our patients get recommendations on their own.”
I don’t know why Danielle thinks I care.
“You’re going to love Dr. Maddox.” Danielle moves to stand in front of me. Her cheeks are flushed pink. “He’s so handsome. I’m tempted to hurt myself just to get his hands on me.”
Oh my god, that’s so lame. She has no idea what she’s talking about. When I don’t say anything, Danielle continues to ramble. “Even people who aren’t treated at the hospital fight for appointments with Dr. Maddox. It’s not just because he’s hot, although that certainly helps. He’s great with his patients too. You’ll see. You’ll be a new woman when I pick you up in an hour,” she winks.
I doubt that. If the ten nurses I’ve seen this week couldn’t help me, what makes anyone think this Dr. Maddox will have any luck? Plus, why should I care how handsome he is? I haven’t had a proper shower in a week. My hair is a mess and my face is still bruised and swollen. No one could be attracted to me when I look like this. In fact, no one will ever love me again full stop. Jonah hasn’t stopped by once since I got hurt. If even he can’t stomach looking at me, why should I expect a hot doctor to notice?
Not that I do. I’m not looking for anything with anyone. It’s frankly annoying that Danielle keeps bringing up how attractive this doctor is, as if something might happen between us. Utter wish fulfillment on her part. Maybe she’s hoping I’ll hook up with the hot doctor and tell her all about it in great detail so that way, she’ll be able to live vicariously through my experience.
Well, she’s mistaken if she thinks that’s going to happen. I don’t even know if I’m functional down there, if you know what I mean. Things seem to work, but who knows? I could be in for an unholy surprise, if I ever get close to a man again.
Danielle knocks on the door, but no one answers. She turns to me with a happy smile.
“Don’t worry, sometimes he goes down to the cafeteria between appointments.” She turns the handle and wheels me inside, parking me next to a black exercise bench. “This is where I leave you, but I’ll be back for you in an hour.”
I’m tempted to ask her to send someone else because her cheerful disposition is just too much. But that seems unkind and I merely wave as she disappears through the metal door.
Careful to use mostly just my good arm, I wheel myself over to a wall of exercise equipment. It looks a lot like the gym I used to go to, back when I could actually use this stuff. There’s a rack of handheld weights, and several pieces of exercise equipment, including a treadmill which taunts me with its revolving belt.
Morose once more, I move to another part of the room where a huge machine is set up. It looks like something from outer space with wheels, pulleys, and straps. What is this thing? A BDSM contraption of some kind?
But suddenly, out of nowhere, a deep voice rings out in the otherwise empty room, making me shiver and go warm at once.
“I can see you’re intrigued by our new piece of exercise e
quipment. It looks like just the kind of thing a pretty girl like you might benefit from. Would you like me to show you how to use it?”
I swing around and meet the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. Oh my god, this is Dr. Maddox? My breath grows tight and my pupils dilate as I take in the gorgeous man in front of me.
10
Summer
I try to stay calm. Breathe, Summer, breathe, the voice in my head commands.
It’s hard though. The man I can only assume is my physical therapist stares at me with an amused expression. His perfectly sculpted lips turn up just slightly at the corners into a smile. His shoulders are relaxed, and I can’t believe how wide his chest is, which tapers down to a manly vee with long, strong legs.
He’s H-O-T.
Dammit. Danielle wasn’t lying. Dr. Maddox’s black hair and vibrant blue eyes are captivating, and I can’t look away, much less breathe.
Until I realize what I look like. While a god-like man stands before me, I’m a pigsty by comparison. I’m not showered. My hair is a total rat’s nest and the last time I put on makeup was last Friday night, right before my accident. I wish more than anything that I had on mascara and lip gloss at the very least, but alas, I know I probably look like a waxen corpse.
We continue to stare each other down, both waiting for the other to be the first to move. Or more likely, Dr. Maddox is probably wondering what the hell is wrong with me since I’m gawking at him like an awkward teenage girl.
I break eye contact to look down at my outfit. The hospital lets me wear my real clothes now, but all I’ve been willing to put on are sweatpants and baggy t-shirts. I look like a total bag lady.
I wish I could disappear into myself. Why didn’t I put in more effort? Even five seconds brushing my hair or the tiniest swipe of lipstick would be welcome now. Especially since I’m a personally stylist. My clothes at this moment are an utter travesty. I normally wouldn’t be caught dead out of my house in this outfit because I love being stylish and cute, but today, I’m Summer the Hobo. Oh god. Why now?
I glance past Dr. Maddox to the clock on the wall. It’s almost nine, which means I have an hour to kill with this guy. Shit. I hope I don’t smell bad, even if I look a mess. Dr. Maddox is still watching me, and I shoot him an awkward smile.
“I’m Summer,” I say weakly. “Hi.”
If I don’t break the silence, we’ll be here all day. Not that I mind, considering the view of this man is a lot better than the courtyard outside my room.
Remember Jonah, my brain chastises.
I shake the thought away. If he wanted me to remember him, he would’ve come by to see me. Besides, looking isn’t a crime, I just can’t touch. Of course, there’s no chance of that, seeing that Dr. Maddox is my physical therapist.
He smiles, the white grin making me feel warm inside.
“I’m Dr. Ridge Maddox,” he intones. He holds out a hand for me to shake. I accept it gingerly, and then pull back as if a spark passed between us. His eyebrows go up.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
I mumble.
“Um, yeah. Sorry, I think it was static electricity.”
His eyebrows go even higher but he begins to talk, and I watch raptly as those sculpted lips open and close. My mind starts to drift to places it shouldn’t go. His mouth on mine, and then wandering lower before taking a nipple between his lips. His hands on my body, caressing my curves. Fingers sinking into my hips as he…
I’m rudely jolted awake.
“Are you listening to me, Summer?”
I blink away the image and go beet red.
“Sorry, what did you say?”
His amused smirk returns. “I was telling you about myself. Did you hear a word of what I said?”
I shake my head. “Sorry, I guess my mind wandered.”
Dr. Maddox laughs, amused. “It’s okay. Are you paying attention now?”
I shift so I’m looking at him full on. It’s a mistake, because now I can make out the defined muscles of his torso beneath his t-shirt and god, he’s so toned. Not bulky, but rather with just the right amount of mass to be fit and athletic. Meanwhile, his eyes bore into me like he knows my every secret. Like he knows why I wasn’t paying attention before. I want to melt into a steamy puddle right here, but inside, I force myself to focus.
“As I said, I’m Dr. Ridge Maddox, but you can call me Ridge. Or Dr. Maddox, if you’re more comfortable.”
“What kind of name is Ridge?” I slap my good hand over my mouth. “Sorry, that was rude of me.”
He chuckles. “It’s fine, Summer. It’s my mom’s maiden name, so they gave it to me as my first name. I think it’s fitting.”
It certainly matches the ridges of his abs, which I can’t stop staring at under the thin material of his shirt. It helps that they’re right at my eye level.
“Would you mind sitting down?” I ask. “My neck is starting to hurt,” I say apologetically. After all, this man has to be at least six foot four. He’s huge and gorgeous, and my mouth waters.
“Of course,” he says, taking a seat on the exercise bench across from me. Oh damn. Now I’m lined up with his square, perfect jaw. I think it might be worse than his chest in terms of distractions and clear my throat, trying to get myself in line.
“Can you tell me about your qualifications?” I ask. There, that’s better. I think that’s what you’re supposed to ask a new doctor before they start working on you.
Ridge nods.
“I started to do that before you zonked out,” he teases. “I have a Doctor of Physical Therapy degree and did my residency at UCLA. Beyond that, I have a number of board certifications, including one in women’s health, and have been in practice for over ten years.”
The words flow from his lips effortlessly. Ridge is obviously used to answering this question.
“Do you like it?”
He smiles. “I love what I do because I get to help people like you.”
I blush. Now I’m embarrassed that I even asked the question in the first place. He’s obviously qualified because you don’t become a doctor without going to like a million years’ worth of school. Plus, didn’t Danielle say he’s the only PT at the hospital? He must be good because the hospital can get its pick. Why oh why did I make him prove his credentials?
Because you wanted to hear him talk, the pesky voice in my head says. It isn’t wrong. Plus, he looks like a freaking male model, and not a doctor. If I saw him on the street, I’d never in a million years think “that guy can solve my medical issues.” If anything, I’d think maybe he plays a physician in a soap opera.
“Did I pass the test?” Ridge asks, the corners of his lips twitching.
I nod.
“Good. How about we get started, then? We’ll do a massage first.”
I jerk back.
“What, you’re a massage therapist, too?”
Ridge quirks his brows. “Medical massages are common in physical therapy. It’ll help wake up your muscles and warm them up a bit.”
I laugh hoarsely. “How is that possible? I can’t even feel my legs.”
Ridge studies me a bit.
“How much have the doctors told you about your injuries?”
I shrug. Truthfully, every time they talk, I tune them out. All I need to know is that my legs don’t work anymore. What else is there for them to say?
But my handsome PT leans forward, resting a large hand on my arm. Despite my long sleeves, the skin on my arm lights with warmth from his touch.
“The truth is, Summer, the doctors aren’t really sure why you can’t move your legs. Based on the X-Rays and scans, there’s no damage to your spinal cord at all. We’re starting to think that maybe your symptoms are psychosomatic.”
I blink. “Psycho what?”
He smiles. “Psychosomatic. It means that you have physical symptoms that appear to be caused by something psychological. Since there’s no damage to your nerves, we have reason to believe that the paralysis is mental i
n nature. Your other doctors and I have talked about it, and we believe there may be a psychological block causing your symptoms.”
I gape at him.
“A psychological block? Are you saying that this is all in my head? Are you calling me crazy?”
I clench my fists. How dare he? If I could walk out of here, I would. That’s proof enough that I’m not making up the paralysis. Besides, who would do this to themselves? Who would willingly make themselves a paraplegic? The nerve!
I start to wheel myself away, but Ridge stops me. “That’s not what I’m saying, not really. All I’m saying is that there’s a mental factor contributing to your symptoms. That doesn’t mean you’re doing it on purpose. It just means that the paralysis might be psychological.”
“What mental factor?” I say in a scornful tone.
Ridge shrugs. “We’re not sure. It could be PTSD, stress, depression, or a combination of all three. I’ve seen this kind of thing happen with veterans coming home from war. Their minds play tricks on their bodies, and in this case, I think something similar might be happening. We just have to figure out how to get your mind to leave your body alone.”
My anger recedes a little, but I’m still upset. This whole time I thought something in the accident broke me, and made me this way. Now I find out it might be my stupid brain causing it all? What the hell? My body’s betrayal is complete.
“Okay fine,” I say after a few minutes. “For argument’s sake, I’m going to let you be right this once. Let’s just get this medical massage over with.”
Ridge smiles, completely unruffled by my surly tone.
“Great.” He grabs the handles of my wheelchair and pushes me to a corner of the room where a simple massage apparatus is set up. “I’m going to lift you onto the table. Is that okay?”
“Sure,” I grumble. He tucks his hands under my legs and I wrap my arms around his neck. Easily, like I weigh nothing, he lifts me and sets me down on the table. No man has ever been able to carry me effortlessly like this, as if I weigh nothing more than a feather. It’s a turn-on and I’m breathless when Ridge encourages me to lay on my back. He hands me a hospital gown to put on over my clothes, and then has me strip off my sweatpants. I haven’t shaved my legs since before the accident and the bristly little hairs look like hedgehog fur. Damnit. I should have let Candy do it for me.