CHAPTER 22 Cassie Fields
What I Want Doesn’t Matter
“You want me over there seven days a week ?” I say, and I know I sound baffled, but it’s because I am .
“I know it's not typical, but he’s a professional athlete, and we need to do everything we can to correctly rebuild his knee ahead of surgery,” Dr. Hayward says.
“But I don’t have childcare every weekend,” I point out.
“We’ll pay for someone to come watch them for a few hours. Make weekends lighter so it doesn’t take as long.”
I don’t want to go over to his house on weekends. I don’t want to go over to his house at all , but I’m stuck here. If I protest any more, I’ll lose a patient, and I’ll lose Dr. Hayward’s respect.
“Aside from the weekends, I figured you would appreciate this since you can make your own hours. We’ll clear your schedule, and he’ll be your only patient. He wants you there overseeing his training.”
“Isn't that what his team trainers are for?” I ask.
“You're the only physical therapist on staff with a degree in sports medicine. Given that I was your mentor out of college, I feel as though you are the only therapist we have that can properly manage this patient. If you’d rather let Rick have this patient, I’m sure he’d be eager to step in.”
While it certainly serves as quite the compliment, it also makes me angry. I don't want to be the only one on staff who can handle this case. I don't want to give up the things I've just started building here in the office to tend to a grumpy football player I’m trying to avoid. I don’t want to give up my weekends for him.
I don't want to give up the friendships I've started forming with the other therapists and the receptionists.
I also don’t want to give this patient to Rick. I get weird vibes from him.
What I want doesn’t matter. I’m new here, and now I’m going to be further isolated from my colleagues and coworkers as I’m forced to spend time with someone I'm trying to forget and leave in the past.
It’s chaos when I get home from work until I get the kids to bed, and it all starts over again in the morning. I get them off to school and take a minute for myself.
I fix my makeup.
I spritz on some perfume—the same one I borrowed from Jess that night, not because it helped me get lucky, but because I like how it smells.
I double-check myself in the mirror.
I’ve never done this ahead of going into the office…that’s for sure.
I drink an extra cup of coffee and brush my teeth before I head out the door at nine o’clock on the dot.
I navigate toward the address I got from Tanner’s file, and I find myself up in the hills, standing at his front door fifteen minutes later. My heart is pounding loud and steady, but as I stare at the door, it feels like it’s picking up the pace .
There’s a Porsche in the driveway, and I wonder if it’s his. It’s green, and his favorite color is green. I can’t imagine a Porsche is easy to get into with a torn ACL.
He’s suddenly real to me. Yesterday and the day before, he was a patient. Before that, he was a memory.
But as I stand in this place that’s his, I can’t help but wonder what sorts of secrets I will unlock today.
“It’s open,” he says, his voice coming through the Ring doorbell.
I try the handle and push open the large front door, and I walk into a house that’s surprisingly bright and cheerful. “Tanner?”
“In the family room,” his voice calls. “Walk toward the patio doors.”
I do as I’m told, my eyes fixed on the gorgeous view from here, and I find him exactly where he said he’d be—an even more gorgeous sight than the one out the windows.
Oh, hell.
I am so screwed.
How the hell am I going to stay away from him when we’re smashed together every day like this? I don’t know if I have the self-control to stay away.
He has a huge bag of ice on top of a towel balanced on his knee, and he’s sitting on a sofa end seat that happens to be a recliner with his leg elevated up above his heart, just like he was told to do. There’s something so…endearing about that.
No. I don’t want to be endeared to him. Or enamored with him. Or excited by him. Or any other E word.
He’s a patient. Nothing more.
A patient who you’ve seen naked.
Quiet, brain.
He’s watching television, and he doesn’t make a move when he spots me .
“Good morning,” I say cheerfully. I glance at the television, and he’s watching the same show I was watching with Luca last night.
“Is it?” he asks. He finally peels his eyes from the television to look at me, and I guess we’re getting grumpy Tanner today. He looks rough, like he hasn’t slept or shaved in a couple of days. He’s wearing a T-shirt and basketball shorts, and the frown lines are deep with this one.
“Is that Expedition Unknown ?” I ask.
He grunts out an affirmative response.
“I saw this one last night. No spoilers, promise, but it’s a good one.”
He looks surprised for a beat. “You watch this show?”
“My son loves it. And I figure it’s educational, so why not?”
“I like it, too,” he grunts. He’s still grumpy, but it feels a bit like a breakthrough.
“Are you ready to get started?” I ask, setting my bag down on the little end table. I brought a few supplies for our session along with my tablet from work and, of course, my lunch.
He glances at his wrist. “You’re early.” He’s still grunting.
“Sorry?” I say, and it comes out like a question.
“I have five more minutes with the ice.”
“Okay.” I pull my tablet out of my bag and tap around as I look through my notes for the types of exercises I want to run through with him today. Some are stretches he’ll hold for twenty minutes or so, and others are a little more intense.
I decide to give him the rundown while we’re just sitting here, so I sit beside him on the couch. He barely lifts his head to look at me.
“Let’s go over what we want to accomplish today. We’ll start with some different knee extensions, test out some heel slides and ankle pumps, and focus on some quad and hamstring exercises. Do you want me to show you the plan for your upper body workouts?” I ask.
He grunts out some reply that I can’t really decode, so I start going through a comprehensive plan.
“What about running?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I’m sorry, but running is going to be off the table for a while.”
“Great,” he grunts.
“We can take some walks depending on how you’re feeling. Eventually we can work light cardio in, but we have to get the swelling down first,” I say.
His timer dings to signify that it’s time to remove the ice, and I move to take it from him, but he stops me.
“I can do it,” he hisses.
Okay. So clearly he doesn’t want help today.
“Are you okay?” I ask tentatively.
He sighs heavily as he presses a button, and the recliner footrest moves slowly back down into place. “No, I’m not.”
“Would you like to talk about it?” I’m about to launch into the fact that mindset plays a significant role in any recovery, but he just shakes his head and grunts again.
He limps over to the patio with his giant bag of ice, and he tosses the contents of the bag over the side of his deck. He hobbles back in with the empty bag and tosses it on the counter before he returns to me. “Let’s get this going.”
I take him through the first extension, and he’s supposed to lay on his back with his leg extended in front of him for twenty minutes.
Rather than trying to strike up conversation, I examine his knee, take notes, and run through the rest of the day’s plan while I wait for the timer to end.
It feels interminable. In fact, the entire day feels that way.
We ice his knee every other hour .
I try to make conversation, but it’s impossible. I’m met with grunts.
And I get it. He doesn’t want to be in this position, but he’s letting himself get pulled under, and that’s the worst thing he can do for his own recovery.
It’s fresh, though. It’s new, and it’s a hard pill to swallow, so I’m being as patient as I can while giving him as much grace as I can.
Around noon, I pull my lunch out of my bag and eat it quickly while he’s in the middle of another twenty-minute exercise. He limps out of the room without a word when the timer beeps and makes his own lunch in silence. I wait patiently for him to finish, but I really don’t know how long I can make these house calls and sit here in silence waiting for him.
Maybe I’m more invested in him because of the fact that we have a one-night history. I want him to be okay. I don’t want him suffering…even if a small part of me resents that entire night and the mistaken identity that followed.
“How late are you staying?” he demands at around two in the afternoon.
“I’m happy to give you a list of what you need to do for the rest of the day and go now, but that’s up to you since you’re the one who requested home care,” I say.
These really are exercises he could do by himself, but he’s certainly paying for it. In-home care doesn’t come inexpensively, that’s for sure.
I try to put it out of my head that he’s doing it to indirectly pay me . I refuse to allow him to take away from my goal of financial independence. He had no idea that Dr. Hayward would offer me up on a silver platter when he said he preferred home care to going into the office every day.
And he doesn’t need therapy every day. He could do this without my guidance. But since he’s a VIP patient and he’s a superstar, he gets what he wants. I wonder what else he gets because of that.
He clears his throat. “What time do you need to go?”
“The bus drops my kids at ten after three, so I need to be back by then. Usually I’m scrambling out of the office at three and praying there’s no traffic.” I offer a wry smile.
He glances over at me. “What if there is?”
I shrug. “I’ll call a friend and beg her to watch them until I can get there.”
“Nice to have friends,” he murmurs.
“I have a great group of girlfriends. They were in Vegas with me that night,” I say, and I realize my mistake a second too late.
I was trying to avoid talking about that night . I don’t need to make the tension between us any worse, though the mention of that night seems to soften him just the tiniest bit despite the grunt of acknowledgement.
We watch more of the history show while we work, and I learn he’s a bit of a history buff. History was never my favorite subject—science was—but I’m learning to appreciate it through Luca, who loves everything about it.
At two forty-five, he says, “You should go.”
I nod. “Let me just go over what I want you to do toni—” I begin, but he holds up a hand to stop me.
“I’ve got it from here.”
I press my lips together and nod. “Okay. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I head out the door without so much as a goodbye, and all I can do is hope he’s in a better headspace tomorrow.