Quitting the Quarterback (The Nash Brothers #4)

CHAPTER 21 Tanner Banks

Focused and Clinical

So I’m just…out of luck?

I don’t think so. Tanner Banks is a lot of things, but a quitter isn’t one of them.

I’ll be seeing her a few times a week at a minimum for the next few weeks, and possibly more than that after the surgery. I’m not sure how I feel about that yet, but my gut is telling me I shouldn’t just walk away. I shouldn’t just let her walk away, either.

Sometimes my gut says things I ignore, and rarely does that benefit me. But my gut told me not to say anything to Miller or Nick about Cassie. I tell my brother virtually everything, and I’m not sure why this secret bears protection.

Actually, that’s not true. I need to keep this secret because I know what he’ll tell me.

It’s a conflict.

I mean…obviously. Of course it’s a conflict. She could very easily get in the way of my full recovery, in particular if I’m distracted by her.

Again .

But I won’t be. If anything, having her there might be exactly what I need to work even harder.

Miller isn’t coming with me tomorrow morning since he’s got workouts planned with the other running backs, though Nick will be there with me to listen to what the doctors say and report it back to Coach.

But he doesn’t need to be in the room while I’m getting work done. It’s not standard for a doctor to administer the physical therapy. It’s why doctors hire physical therapists for their practices. I’m sure Dr. Hayward will want to oversee things, but I imagine I’ll get at least some time with Cassie.

And if the doctor’s office doesn’t lead me straight to her, well, I’ll demand that she’s who I work with.

I need time. I need the ability to explore the connection I felt that night, and if this is my only option since she already said she can’t be with me, then so be it.

I sleep like shit again, which is wholly unusual for me. My entire persona is the athlete who gets good rest, eats right, and kills every workout ever put in front of him. You don’t get to the elite level I play at by slacking.

But I’m not currently playing at any level, and that’s why I sleep like shit. I’m tossing one way as I replay the injury in my mind. I toss the other way and see her face. And every shift, every motion, every toss pulses a deep ache in my knee that leaves me feeling bitter and frustrated.

It’s going to be a long, long road to recovery.

So long, in fact, that I briefly debate having a cup of coffee to start the day as I’m sitting with ice on my knee watching the highlights from the Monday Night Football game I watched in full with my brother last night—except for the part I missed to talk to Cassie.

He asked me who was on the phone, and I told him it was nobody .

She isn’t nobody. I’m not sure exactly what she is, though.

I hobbled into the den for privacy while he continued watching the game, and I think the call left me with more questions than answers.

Will she tell her boss she knows me? Will she make it so we can’t work together?

These questions plagued me during all that tossing and turning.

I’m tired and cranky, and I don’t want to take that out on the people who are put in place to help me.

I also don’t know if I can avoid it, though. Miller waits on me hand and foot, going so far as to bring me the ice pack before he leaves, and I hate that feeling. I can take care of myself. I want to take care of myself. I’m not used to asking for help, least of all from Miller. But I get it. He wants to make things more comfortable for me. Everyone does, which is nice, and I’m grateful…but I also want to figure out how the fuck to just make it stop.

It's annoying.

I can take care of myself. I can get my own goddamn ice, and having someone bring it to me is one of those little things that makes me feel like I’m not capable.

I am fucking capable.

Nick picks me up at eight forty, and he treats me like I can’t fucking walk.

I can. It doesn’t feel great, but I don’t need the wheelchair he makes me use. I don’t need his support with his arm around my waist. I just want to be left alone, and I start off on a cranky tone with him so it won’t come as a surprise later when I ask him to leave the room so I can have some time with Cassie.

It’s a stupid plan, obviously. I should get this out of my head and just let her do her job so we don’t wind up fucking my knee up even more .

But I guess that’s just not who I am.

The car ride to the doctor is quiet, and I still don’t say much as we make our way through the lobby. Some security guard stops us. “Tanner Banks?” he says.

I nod and press my lips together into a tight smile.

“Sorry for the injury. The crew up at Motion are the best, so you’re in good hands.”

“Thanks,” I say, and I give him a nod.

Great. I’m already recognized here, which doesn’t bode well for me maintaining my privacy as we move forward. Word will get out that this is where I’m being treated, and because I’m a football player, people will show up wanting things from me. Photographs. My signature. Game tickets. My fucking shirt.

When I get up to the office, I am taken immediately back to the exam room again, where Dr. Hayward and Cassie are both already waiting for me. The doctor motions for me to sit on the table, and he starts to examine my knee with Cassie close by.

So close that I can smell her familiar vanilla sandalwood, and I’m transported back to the night we shared.

“The swelling looks about the same. Did you ice it yesterday?” he asks, pulling me out of my memories.

I nod. “Every other hour for fifteen minutes at a time.”

“Great. Do that again today, and I’m going to have Cassandra get you started on some strengthening exercises today,” Dr. Hayward says.

I glance at Cassie, but her eyes won't meet mine.

“I also need to mention that I was recognized in the lobby on the way up this morning, and I don't want any distractions. I think it might be better if we could shift the therapy sessions to at-home care.” I say the words with zero ulterior motives, but then something happens that I wasn’t expecting .

“That's understandable,” Dr. Hayward says with a nod. “And we can certainly accommodate you, though home visits come with additional fees.”

“I understand, and I want whichever therapist you send to be well compensated for the additional work.”

“Of course,” he nods. “I will clear Cassandra's schedule and have her come work with you if that’s okay.”

Is he kidding me? If that’s okay ? It’s absolutely okay. More than okay. “That works for me.”

“Cassandra, does that work for you?” the doctor asks her.

She looks uncomfortable but ultimately nods her agreement.

Of course she does. She's trying to build a name for herself in this field, and taking the reins of my recovery has the potential to make her a star. That’s not me being cocky. That is just a fact.

“Great, then it’s settled. You two can work out the schedule that suits you both, though Cassandra is only on the clock here from nine to three.” He nods at Cassie as if he just did her a favor. He has no idea that he just did me a favor. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to have Cassandra work on some strengthening exercises with you this morning.”

“Mr. Banks, can you lie back on the table?” she asks as Dr. Hayward walks out of the room. We’re not quite alone yet, so before I lay back, I glance at Nick.

“If you want to take five, there’s not much for you to see in here,” I say.

He nods and excuses himself from the room, leaving Cassie and me alone.

My first inclination is to pull her into my arms and make her remember why we were so good together that night, but I won’t risk getting her in trouble at work.

“Do you really think this is a good idea?” she asks as soon as the door shuts behind Nick .

“What?” I ask innocently.

“The two of us alone together. Straighten your leg,” she says, and she watches while I do what she says.

“I think the last time the two of us were alone together, we had a hell of a time,” I say quietly.

She sighs then snags her lip between her teeth. “I’m less worried about flexion right now and more worried about strength. Let’s do some quad sets, okay?” She takes me through some basic exercises where she has me tighten my thighs and hold for five seconds. “Make sure you aren’t engaging any other muscles,” she says, and she sets a hand on my thigh to feel the flex there.

Jesus Christ.

My dick swells at her touch, and this is probably a huge mistake, but I can’t seem to stop myself.

She’s nothing but professional, refusing to acknowledge the sudden bulge in my shorts as she’s back to being focused and clinical. We do twelve reps before switching to another set of exercises, and she’s not engaging in conversation, instead focusing on the task of rebuilding the strength in my knee.

“That’s all for today. Be sure to ice as soon as you get home,” she says. “What time would you like me to come tomorrow?”

I smirk at her question, but then I ask softly, “What time is easiest for you?”

“I’m on the clock nine to three, as Dr. Hayward said.” Her tone is clipped.

I clear my throat. “Then nine to three.” Miller won’t be home since he’ll be at practice, so it’ll just be us. Unless Nick finds a way to insert himself into the equation, which he just might.

“Where do you live?” she asks .

“My brother and I are sharing a house near our practice facility up in the hills.”

She presses her lips together. “The practice facility is about twenty minutes from my house.”

“Then come over at nine twenty,” I say. “I don’t want this to be harder for you.”

“Then why did you just make it so I have to come to your house every day to administer the same type of therapy I could do here in the office?” she demands. She’s angry, but I can’t puzzle out why.

“You’re rehabbing a professional athlete. Don’t you think that’ll open doors for you?”

“How do you know what kind of doors I even want opened?” she asks.

It’s a valid point, one I hadn’t really considered, but a part of me thinks she’s not really considering the full picture, either. “Well, what do you want?”

“I told you last night, Tanner.” She sighs. “I’m just trying to rebuild my life. I don’t need these kinds of complications.”

“Neither do I,” I say, my eyes averting to my knee as my meaning is entirely different from hers.

Her eyes meet mine, and hers soften for just a beat. She holds onto my gaze longer than I expect her to before she says, “Fine. I will see you tomorrow.”

And then she walks out of the room, leaving me feeling hollow and empty despite the promise that I’ll get to see her tomorrow.