8. Liliana
8
LILIANA
I don’t bother hitting the books that night, knowing I’m too tired to retain anything I might read about Roman’s injury. But on Saturday morning, I wake up extra early for a spin class, then once my body and brain are wide awake, I curl up on my couch with Garfield and my laptop. And I get to work.
I already did a quick refresher on spinal cord injuries before taking Roman’s case, so now I dive into case studies of SCIs that pertain specifically to T11 incomplete injuries. But even though there are thousands of documented cases with Roman’s exact injury, it doesn’t take long before I realize that reading about the science isn’t going to help me very much. The physical aspect isn’t the real blockade here.
Brushing my hand over Garfield, I nibble on my lower lip as I mull over my options. And then I click over to YouTube.
The accident is the first video that pops up when I type in Roman’s name. And even though I know every detail about the injury I’m about to watch, my stomach still drops and my hands go clammy as I click play.
“I think he’s going for the slam! He’s going to slam his way out of it! Is it going to lock the submission up tighter, or will it make Roman let go?”
The commentator’s voice is excited, at first. I can see the crowd on their feet in the background, the coaches screaming outside of the cage, and if I squint at my screen to look a little closer, I can even see the triumph on Roman’s face as he tightens his legs around his opponent’s head.
And then it’s no longer exciting. In the blink of an eye, it’s the opposite.
My focus stays on Roman as the ref stops the fight, a dozen people come streaming into the cage, and pandemonium erupts everywhere. His expression shifts from victory, to doubt, to confusion, to…nothing. By the time the doctor is waving the paramedics in with the stretcher, Roman’s face is completely blank.
I didn’t think it was possible for me to feel even more for him, but watching the injury that put him in my care does it.
For the next few minutes, I go through the articles that covered the accident, hoping one of them has a quote from Roman or the people around him. Anything to let me know where his head went after the fight. But there’s nothing, and once he was transferred to outpatient care, the coverage pretty much died off.
So then I pivot my research, and instead of looking at the after , I look at the before .
I watch every fight of Roman’s fights. All thirteen of them. Then I start watching the pre-fight interviews he gave for the marketing, and the post-fight interviews he gave directly after. And my understanding of Roman grows.
“Who is that? ”
I startle at the sound of Tina’s voice, my jump scaring Garfield off my lap with a grumpy meow.
“Sorry, bud,” I call after him.
“You an MMA fan now?” Tina asks from her position draped over the couch, her gaze glued to my computer screen where Roman is currently shirtless and sweaty after one of his first fights.
I huff a forced laugh. “Not exactly. He’s a new patient.”
Tina straightens with an appreciative whistle. “Damn. That’s a big change from your usual sixty-year-old patient.”
“You can say that again,” I murmur.
But then her brow furrows with a frown. “Wait…why does he look familiar?”
Twirling my coffee mug, I debate giving her the whole story, but it only takes her five seconds to put the puzzle pieces together.
Her eyes widen. “Oh my God .” When her eyes lock on me, her mouth drops open in shock. “That’s the guy who hit on you at the bar! The famous one who had you all gaga!”
Now it’s my jaw that drops. I throw a pillow at her and exclaim, “I was not gaga over him!”
She tosses the pillow right back at my face. “Girl, I have never seen so many random smiles on your face as I did that week. Trust me: you were gaga.”
I can feel my cheeks heat as I give away the truth. “He was hot and famous— I had no say in the matter.”
“And a good kisser, if I remember correctly.” Before I can toss the pillow again—harder this time—she’s looking at me more seriously. “Wait, he’s your patient? Isn’t that an ethical violation?”
My head falls back against the couch with a heavy sigh. “It’s a gray area. Technically, it’s a judgment call. I was going to tell Fran, but it’s been two years and Roman doesn’t even remember me. And it’s not like anything really happened, so…”
Tina snorts. “Maybe on his end.”
I glare at my best friend. “Rude.”
She blows me a kiss. “So, you’re really just going to sweep everything under the rug and treat him anyway?”
I turn back to my computer screen, lips pursed in thought. “Yeah. He’s been through a lot and…I think I can help him.”
Tina sobers, sensing just how much I mean that. She’s known me long enough to know if there’s anything I take seriously, it’s my job.
“Have you started with him yet?” she asks, and I nod. “How’s it going?”
I nearly wince. “Let’s just say, it’s been a rocky start.”
She nods in understanding. While Tina doesn’t experience patients in the way that I do, as a nurse, she still understands the struggle of a difficult patient.
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” she says comfortingly. “I have faith in you both. I mean, look at you: braving the coffee machine on your own. If that’s not dedication, I don’t know what is.”
I grunt in agreement before frowning down at my now-cold coffee. “Instead of faith, is there any way you could give me a decent latte instead? This one tastes like burnt dirt.”
Tina lets out a loud laugh as she turns and strides into the kitchen. “Sure, babe.”
“Thank you, love youuuu,” I sing after her.
“So how late are you working tonight?” she calls over the sound of mugs clinking and cabinet doors closing. “I’m meeting some friends at Lucky’s for dinner at five, if you want to join.”
“I finish with Roman at five, so I can’t tonight.”
“You could always meet us for drinks after,” Tina suggests. When my nose crinkles in distaste, she laughs. “Stupid question, my bad. I forgot who I was talking to.”
“I would’ve been down for dinner,” I say, feeling a little bad for turning her down so quickly. I just really dislike bars. Usually, my weekends are spent hanging out with Tina at home, but on the rare occasion I go out to dinner with her and her friends, I always end the night when they switch from restaurants to bars. I think the last time I went out drinking was the night I met Roman.
Although the mocktail he introduced me to has been ordered a few times since then.
“I know, babe. You don’t have to explain yourself,” she reassures me as I hear the espresso machine turn on. “How about this: what if we do a movie tomorrow night? I’ll order us dinner, and you can pick out the snacks.”
I perk up instantly. My Sundays usually consist of a family barbecue at my dad’s house—followed closely by an evening spent recuperating from my unruly brothers—but the idea of takeout and a movie sounds like the perfect weekend finisher.
“Sold. And that new bakery just opened that sells those incredible red velvet cupcakes. I could grab those tomorrow.”
“There you go,” she says with a chuckle. “It’s a date.”
Suddenly excited about my new weekend plans, I decide to push my luck. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to watch Hugh Grant’s new movie, could I?”
As she walks toward me with the steaming cup of coffee, she quirks an eyebrow. “That religious horror movie? Not a chance. Nice try, though.”
I sigh. “Worth a shot. No chick flicks, this time, please. Let’s watch a thriller or action movie or something.”
“Deal.” After she hands me the mug, she leans down to drop a kiss to the top of my head. “I’m going to my parents’, so I probably won’t see you today if you’re going into work soon. But we’re on for tomorrow.” She nods at my laptop. “Good luck with your research.”
Settling deeper into the couch with my new cup of caffeine, I open my computer and murmur, “Thanks. I’m going to need it.”
* * *
Later that day, I walk into my appointment with Roman committed to finding the method that’s going to make Roman care about his recovery.
It takes less than fifteen minutes for that determination to fly out the window.
“Let’s try the other leg now,” I suggest.
Roman glares at me. “If I can’t do it with this leg, what makes you think I can do it with the weaker one?”
So far, I’ve smothered every sound of exasperation. But this time, I fail.
Roman’s eyes glitter with anger. “I’m sorry…am I boring you?”
I slump against the wall. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t supposed to come out. I’m just frustrated.”
“ You’re frustrated,” he repeats in disbelief. “How do you think I feel?”
I cock my head. “I have no idea how you feel,” I say, wondering if an honest conversation is what we need here. “I’ve never been paralyzed before.”
Clenching his jaw, Roman goes back to the exercise.
Deciding to take the risk, I continue. “It must be even harder as a professional athlete. I’m sure you’re not used to your body not doing what you tell it to.”
“I’m not unfamiliar with failure,” he says, almost as if he couldn’t stop himself from engaging. He seems caught off guard by it.
I push a little harder. “But I’m assuming you followed that failure with pushing yourself until you achieved the victory, right?”
He doesn’t respond, but the look on his face tells me I guessed correctly. This is a man who’s not used to hard work not being the answer.
“You know, you could do that here, too,” I suggest carefully. “It’s just going to be different levels for success, and probably more failures than normal. But maybe if you look at PT the same way?—”
“I’ve already talked to a dozen shrinks, Liliana, I don’t need another one,” he snaps.
My eyes widen. I introduce myself as Lily to all my patients, in the hopes of making things more casual. My dad is the only one who calls me Liliana. My dad and?—
“Oh my God, you do remember me!”
His cheeks pinken. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Suddenly overwhelmed—by emotions and familiarity—I lean forward and smack his arm. “Why on earth didn’t you say something?”
He frowns down at the place I hit before turning his pointed gaze back to mine. “Clearly, I was worried it would ruin our professional relationship.”
Now it’s my turn to blush. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
Roman glances toward the office I first met him in. “If you knew who I was, why didn’t you tell your boss? Isn’t this a conflict of interest or something?”
I also look toward the office, chewing on my bottom lip with indecision. “I thought about it,” I say after a moment. “But I figured…it was two years ago, and nothing really happened.”
When I bring my attention back to Roman, I’m surprised to find an odd look in his eyes.
Even more surprisingly, I feel my body warm at the sight of it.
“Not nothing ,” he says in deep voice.
The same deep voice that had me following a total stranger up the steps to a roof deck.
The voice that now has a shiver running through my body at hearing it again.
“Do you want me to have her switch you to someone else?” I ask in an almost-whisper. I’m not sure if I’m more scared that he’s going to say yes, or no.
He thinks about it, never once looking away from me. When his answer finally comes, relief flows through me.
“No, I don’t want to work with someone else.”
I swallow thickly, then paste a smile on my face and nod. “Okay then. But we agree that this needs to be professional from here on out. Which means we probably shouldn’t talk about that night.”
At that, a hardness enters Roman’s eyes that cools every bit of heat from our conversation.
“I’m not too fond of talking about before, anyway. So that won’t be a problem.”
And God . His answer breaks my heart all over again.
But it also solidifies my desire to help him, so I tell myself the end decision is correct, no matter how we reached it.
I gesture toward the resistance band in his hand.
“Good. Then give me one more set on the right foot with this.”