Chapter 5 #2
Lulu’s eyes go to my leg, softening for half a second. “You should invite her to the next brunch. We can all be normal about it.”
“We cannot,” Logan says immediately.
Eli makes a low sound of agreement that could pass as a growl.
“You’re all idiots.” Tamara rolls her eyes. “He needs to take her out to dinner before he invites her to brunch.”
“Oh my god, I’m not inviting the physio for brunch!” I finally blurt. “And besides, she’s not the one who’s hot.”
My outburst stops them in their tracks, and they all turn toward me. I reach for my coffee because I need something to ground me, something familiar, and the mug sits warm in my hand.
“Well, if it’s not the physio,” Zoe says slowly. “Who is hot, Hutchison?”
I inhale deeply and raise my eyes to the rafters for two seconds too long.
Carina Park.
“No one.”
Gremlin hisses so sharply, she startles Dusty into barking.
“See?” I say, using her as a decoy. “Even she knows you’re all full of shit.”
Theo points up at Gremlin and chuckles. “Cat! Ssss!”
“Karlsson offered to help me stretch yesterday,” I say, grasping for any kind of distraction from the hot doctor talk. “And I’m pretty sure I dislocated a rib in the process.”
Zoe’s laugh explodes out of her. “Viktor what?”
“He grabbed my leg,” I say, my knee twinging just thinking about it, “and said relax in his monotone voice. Which isn’t relaxing at all, for the record. And then he pushed hard, like he was trying to fold me in half.”
Lulu wheezes. “That’s… actually horrifying.”
“It was,” I confirm. “I felt body parts I’ve never felt before.”
Jake’s eyes go to my leg again, his voice low. “How’s it feeling?”
“Fine,” I say automatically, because that’s what I always say.
The truth is, it’s getting better. Healing. It’s doing what it’s supposed to. But it’s also a constant reminder that I’m not where I’m supposed to be. That the season keeps moving without me. That the Olympics are sitting out there like a ticking clock I’m not going to make.
That I’m stuck in my own house, counting days.
But I look around at the mess, at the noise, at the people who didn’t even ask if they could come over—they just did. They always do. They fill the quiet like it’s their job, shoving warmth into spaces I keep trying to leave cold.
The house feels different like this, full in a way that makes the edges blur.
But it’s being used for what it was built for, and I like it better like this.
***
The clinic’s quiet when I get there the following day. No screaming kids, no flying teething rings. Just some peppy jazz music that is so at odds with my mood, it makes me want to commit a minor crime.
Jenny at reception smiles like she’s trying to win an award for it. “Good morning, Mr. Hutchison. Go on right through to the physio bay. Heidi is waiting for you.”
“Fine.” My knee tightens like it knows what’s coming. My leg felt fine walking in; it always does. It’s the bending it hates.
Heidi’s already there, ponytail swishing as she adjusts the plinth. She grins when she sees me, seemingly all sunshine and rainbows, but she’s a drill sergeant underneath.
“Morning, Grumplestiltskin.”
I mutter something noncommittal and drop my bag by the wall, my keys onto her desk. My eyes flick, just once, toward the corridor that leads deeper into the clinic where Carina’s office is. I don’t know what I’m expecting. Carina doesn’t belong to me. She’s a doctor. She’s fucking busy.
Still, it pisses me off how disappointed I feel to not even catch a glimpse of her.
“Let’s warm you up,” Heidi says, clapping her hands once. “Nice and gentle today.”
I snort. “That’s what you said last time.”
“And look, you survived!” She’s deceptively cheerful for someone who puts me through hell.
She has me lying back before I can argue, fingers warm and precise as she positions my leg. Her hands are light—not tentative, just confident. Like she knows exactly how far she can push before it turns ugly.
“Okay,” she says. “Bend.”
I do.
“Bend.”
“I am bending!”
“Oh, come on. You can bend more than that, you pussy.”
Pain spikes, sharp and sudden, my breath punching out of my lungs before I can stop it.
“Fuck—”
“You’re not breaking,” Heidi says calmly. “That’s stiffness.”
“It feels like—”
“Like your body’s being dramatic,” she finishes. “Stop whining.”
I glare at the ceiling. “I don’t whine.”
“You absolutely do,” she says, and bends my knee another inch.
My hands curl into fists at my sides, and sweat beads at my temple.
“You’re not going to break,” she adds again, tone firm. “I’ve handled rugby players twice your size who cry louder than you.”
“That’s reassuring,” I mutter through clenched teeth.
She laughs, but she eases off, watches my breathing, then adjusts. The pain doesn’t disappear, but it stops feeling like the end of the world, and more like a challenge.
I grunt, finishing the set. She hands me a towel and starts walking me through the custom rehab plan, full of exercises designed to torture me. But I’m listening, because underneath the chirpy personality, she knows exactly what she’s doing.
By the end, my quad is shaking, and my pride’s taken a hit, but my leg feels less stiff.
“You’re good at this,” I admit, begrudgingly.
She laughs. “Don’t sound so shocked.”
As she runs through next week’s plan, my eyes drift back to the corridor again. Not deliberately, more without thinking.
“Carina’s tied up today,” Heidi says, like she can hear my thoughts. “She’s been bouncing between cases all morning.”
“Didn’t ask,” I reply immediately.
Heidi stifles a grin. “Okay. Sure.”
I choose to ignore that entirely, grab my bag, and leave before she can say anything else irritatingly perceptive. When I’m about halfway to the parking lot, I pat my pockets.
Empty.
“Fuck,” I mutter, turning back.
I head back in, trying not to limp too obviously, and make my way down the corridor toward Heidi’s office to grab my keys.
The door’s slightly ajar, and I can hear voices from inside. I recognize Carina’s straight away.
“I just—I don’t know what else to do…”
I freeze. Her voice is low and almost pained, like she might be crying, or about to.
“You’ve done everything you can,” Heidi replies gently.
There’s a rustle of paper, followed by a sigh.
“The fundraiser’s not pulling in what we need promo-wise,” Carina says. “Moreno’s pulled strings, I’ve called in every contact I have, but we need more press, more names—just… something.”
There’s a silence, then I hear her voice break. “He keeps asking if he’s going to lose his leg, Heidi.”
Something tightens in my chest as I hear movement, some rustling, maybe a quick hug.
“He’s just a kid,” Carina continues, voice barely steady. “He shouldn’t be asking me that. He shouldn’t be thinking about it at all.”
I stay where I am, frozen in the hallway. Her voice breaks, and in that moment, I realize, with a deep, unyielding certainty, that I’ll do whatever it takes to never hear her sound this broken again.
“He smiles at me every time I come in,” she says. “Like he thinks I can fix it. And I can’t promise him anything.”
Heidi murmurs something I can’t hear, and Carina exhales. She sounds tired. Uncertain. Nothing like the surgeon who told me not to be an asshole while shaving my leg. Nothing like the capable surgeon who cut into my knee with precision and steadiness.
This is something really fucking heavy, and I hate how she seems to be carrying it alone. That she’s not getting what she needs to make this work for a kid in need.
I knock before I can overthink it, and the voices cut off.
There’s another murmur and a rustle, then a moment later, Heidi opens the door. Carina looks startled when she sees me, quickly turning to a filing cabinet and wiping at her cheeks, before turning back, her expression schooled back into place.
That pisses me off, though I understand it.
“Reid,” Heidi says. “Sorry, did you need something else?”
My eyes snap to Carina’s for a moment and take in her flushed cheeks before coming back to Heidi’s.
“Left my keys,” I say, gesturing to where they sit on her desk.
“Oh. Sure, come in.” She steps aside, and I move to grab them, but don’t leave. Instead, I turn slowly toward them both.
“I, uh… overheard a bit,” I admit. “Didn’t mean to.”
A careful silence stretches. I assume this has patient confidentiality written all over it. Carina’s shoulders stay squared, but her eyes are still shimmery.
“Sorry,” I begin. “I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s fine,” she says quickly. Then quietly adds, “It’s not fine, but… it’s fine.”
I shift my weight, knee aching in a way I welcome.
“No, it’s not fine.”
She blinks. “Reid—”
“I can come to your gala.”
She freezes, and Heidi’s head snaps to meet Carina’s eyes.
“I mean it,” I say, before I can talk myself out of it. “I’ll go to the gala. Hell, you can auction me off if you want, whatever you need. Media shit, smiling for pictures. You said it needs more names? I can bring a couple guys.”
Heidi’s eyebrows go up.
Carina’s mouth opens, then shuts. “You don’t have to d—”
“I want to.”
It comes out gruff, but it’s honest.
She studies me for a long moment. “You’re recovering. You shouldn’t put pressure on yourself.”
“I’ll be sitting down, Doc. I think I can manage that.”
A flicker of something crosses her face. Relief, gratitude. Hope. Or maybe that’s just me hoping I’ve somehow eased some of her panic. Some of her pain.
“Okay,” she says quietly. “Thank you so much.”
I nod and back toward the door, trying not to think too hard about any of it.
But as I walk out into the afternoon sun, her voice echoes in my head.
He keeps asking if he’s going to lose his leg.
And fuck, I hate how much that gets to me.