11. Liliana
11
LILIANA
For the next two weeks, I watch Roman make progress.
It’s not linear. And that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have bad days. But watching him rep until failure is a special kind of victory as a physical therapist. Not just that, but I can also tell he’s doing his exercises at home. He’s getting stronger and more fluid in his movements, and his confidence is growing. Even on the tougher days, he’s pushing through and leaving with his head up high.
Today has been more of a rollercoaster, though. Since Roman still favors his right side over his left, we’ve been working the left side hard today, and his frustration has mounted. We’re one failed rep away from the resistance band being thrown across the room.
“Come on, give me one more set,” I beg. Half the time, the victory is just getting Roman to do the exercise after he’s already failed. Once he can talk himself into trying again, the reps go a lot easier.
“Remember, even trying the exercise is helping to rewire your brain,” I tell him. “As long as you’re giving effort, you’re getting better.”
Roman releases a heavy breath. I know I’m pushing him to his limit.
“I’m going to burn this goddamn band one day,” he growls. But he re-positions it and goes for the extra reps anyway.
I have to smother my smile so he doesn’t see it in the mirror as he works to flex his foot up.
He does four reps easily. On the fifth, his leg starts to shake. Roman’s jaw clenches in determination, and I internally cheer, since that’s become the tell-tale sign that he’s at the point of I’ll die before I give up .
“Come on, two more,” is all the encouragement I let myself vocalize as he finishes the sixth rep.
It feels like it takes forever, but he gets reps seven and eight. Relieved, I sigh happily, about to open my mouth to congratulate him on a hard session, when I see he’s flexing against the band again.
He’s going for a ninth rep.
And a tenth.
By the eleventh, my heart’s nearly beating out of my chest. I can’t breathe for the risk of disturbing this incredible moment.
He’s shaking so badly, I’m worried the band is going to dislodge from his foot. “Come on, you son of a bitch,” I hear him murmur through a strained breath of his own.
The moment his lift reaches full extension, he lets the band go with an explosive exhale. Twelve .
I plant my hands on my hips, not even attempting to keep the smile off my face. “Well, well, well, look who’s an overachiever. I should’ve known.”
Roman rests his hands behind him and leans back as he calms his breathing. “You should’ve seen me when I was fighting. I didn’t know how to stop.”
“As far as I’m concerned, that was the definition of a fight,” I say, grabbing the band and putting it back in the bin. “Which you won, by the way. In overtime.”
When I turn back to Roman, there’s an amused smirk tugging at his lips. “There’s no overtime in fighting, Doc.”
I quirk an eyebrow, even as I battle a smile of my own. “Not anymore, there isn’t, but Bellator used to do an extra round if the fight was scored evenly at the end.” I force a mock-disappointed expression. “I would’ve expected you to know that.”
Surprise lights in his eyes. God, I love catching him off guard. “Did you just…?”
I just stare at him, waiting expectantly.
He seems to finally pull himself together. “Why do you know that?” he asks bluntly.
I shrug. I did a shit-ton of research into fighting so I could better understand you and hopefully figure out a way to help you. The fact that an organization’s old round time rules stuck in my head was a total accident.
“Everybody knows that,” I say instead.
Roman’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t push me on it, just studies me with a skeptical look on his face.
“Alright, that’s it for today,” I quip happily, clapping my hands together. “See you Saturday?”
Roman only nods in answer before pulling himself over to his wheelchair.
Just then, my phone dings with a text. It’s set to DND when I’m with patients, which means it can only be from one of three people.
I sigh when I read the message.
“Everything okay?” Roman asks from where he’s settled in his chair.
“Fine,” I say with another sigh. “Just my boss.”
Roman gives me an expectant look.
“One of our machines is broken, so a technician was scheduled to come out and repair it,” I explain. “He was supposed to be here an hour ago. My boss just told me he’s only now leaving his last job.”
Roman frowns. “So he’s still coming? Is there anyone else in the building right now?”
I shake my head. “Just me. Since your sessions are late, this place is empty by now. Which means I get to be the one that waits around to let him in.”
“You shouldn’t be in here by yourself. I’ll wait with you.”
My head snaps up, and now I’m the one frowning. “What? No, you don’t have to do that.”
“Fuck that. I’m not leaving you by yourself.”
It takes one glance at Roman to realize he’s made up his mind, and that nothing I can say is going to change it.
“Fine. But when I get bored and make you do more therapy, you only have yourself to blame.”
He huffs a laugh. “Noted.”
And just like that, it hits me that this means I’m about to be alone with Roman, for an undetermined amount of time, without physical therapy to keep us occupied.
Just two people alone in a room with time to kill.
Chewing on my lower lip, I look around the gym. “Should we…stay here? Or would the office be more comfortable?”
Roman glances toward the office, looking just as uncertain about it as I feel. Spending time together is one thing, but doing it completely outside of our usual environment feels…like a bigger deal.
“We should probably just stay out here, it’s more?—”
But he cuts off with a wince and reaches around to rub his lower back.
“Muscle or chair?” I ask.
“Chair,” he responds. “I spent more time in it than usual today.”
I look toward the break room. “Welp, I guess that answers our question about where we’re spending the next hour. Come on.”
I’m heading toward the break room before Roman can argue with me. I know he can see the giant couch from where he is, and that wince told me he’s uncomfortable enough to want the relief.
Sure enough, he’s made it into the room by the time I find the remote for the TV. Flopping down on one end of the couch, I ask, “So what should I put on?”
His uncertainty doesn’t fade as he transfers from the chair to the couch. He still looks uncomfortable as he turns his attention to the TV.
I thought his tenseness was because we’re in a weird situation, but if he’s actually in pain, then that changes things. It’s been a while since I’ve given a massage, but?—
“I’m not watching some stupid reality TV show,” Roman growls.
I roll my eyes to hide my relief as I turn on the TV. “If you think all reality TV shows are stupid, you haven’t been watching the right ones. And our hour is up, which means I’m no longer obligated to be nice to you. There’s the door.”
I hear his huffed laughter from the other end of the couch. “If our sessions are an indication of you being ‘nice,’ then I’d hate to see what mean looks like.”
Sending him a wink, I turn my attention back to the TV and the Netflix options that pop up. I’m scrolling through the Horror recommendations when Roman says, “ Midsommar was fantastic.”
My head whips toward him. “You’re a horror buff?”
He nods.
“Wow,” I breathe. “I think I like you way more now.” Ignoring the way Roman’s lip twitches, I add, “I normally lean toward the thriller side of things, but I’ll take a horror movie with a good mystery any day of the week.”
“I’ll write you a list,” Roman says with a chuckle.
I lift my eyebrows at him. “Bold of you to assume I haven’t already seen everything on your list.”
He tilts his head, smirking. “You sound pretty sure of yourself.”
Bringing one leg up on the couch, I get more comfortable. “Try me.”
He shifts his upper body to face me. “ The Conjuring .”
I roll my eyes. “What is this, amateur hour?”
“Just testing you,” he says, eyes narrowing playfully. “Alright, how about Seven ?”
“ So good,” I gush. “I think I stared at my TV with my mouth open for the last ten minutes.”
“ Identity ?”
“No idea why that’s considered horror, but I loved that one. The twist was brilliant.”
“ Psycho ?”
“I once held a 24-hour Hitchcock watch party in college. I think I’ve seen every movie he’s ever directed.”
“Now that sounds like a party I would attend. Saw ?”
I shudder. “Love the concept from a psychology perspective. Hate the movies.”
Roman nods. “Ah, yes, I forgot. If you weren’t a physical therapist, you’d be a psychologist.”
I frown, confused by his comment. But when I realize he’s remembering the conversation we had the first night we met, something in me warms.
“How about The Shining ?” he asks.
“I think I’m scarred from trying to read Stephen King’s books as a kid, but that movie deserves its spot as a classic. Stanley Kubrick is a brilliant director.” I cock my head. “But I thought this was your list of lesser-known mystery horror movies?”
“Sorry, I got distracted,” Roman says with another chuckle. “I wanted to hear your thoughts on the big ones. Okay, how about Shutter Island ?”
“Okay,” I gasp excitedly, crossing my legs so I can face Roman completely. He’s watching me with an amused expression. “First of all, love a Scorsese movie. Second of all, that twist had me fucked. up. Did any part of you see that coming??”
“No,” he admits. “I read the book before the movie came out and almost threw it against the wall when I got to the end. I love how it tied everything together, though. Have you ever gone back to watch it a second time knowing the ending?”
“No, but that’s a good idea.”
Now it’s Roman whose excitement is mounting. Pulling one leg up onto the cushions, he shifts to face me slightly so he can drape one arm along the back of the couch. “Have you ever read the book?” he asks.
I shake my head, riveted. By the movie or Roman, I’m not sure.
“You should. Dennis Lehane’s novels are incredible. But this one in particular is mind-blowing because he has one line at the very end of the book that completely changes the meaning of the ending.”
I wrack my brain for the ending scene in the movie. “So the book ends differently?”
“It implies a different ending,” Roman clarifies. “One sentence and it became the most incredible example of revisionism that I’ve ever seen between a book and a film. I’ve always wanted to know who came up with it, if it was Lehane or someone involved in the movie.”
“Wow,” I breathe out. “Guess I know what I’m reading this weekend.”
“Have you ever read Gone Girl ? That’s another one that was adapted really well. Not horror, but the mystery storyline’s breadcrumbs were exceptional in the book.”
I stare at Roman, unable to hold back my smile. “Sounds like you read a lot.”
His excitement fades to slight sheepishness as he shrugs. “I guess.” Self-deprecation tinges his laugh. “It’s not like I have anything else to do.”
I’m not buying into his effort to diminish his interest. “ Shutter Island came out over a decade ago.”
He looks like he wants to brush me off again, but after a moment, he sighs. “Alright, fine. I like reading.”
A slow grin stretches across my face. “If I’m remembering correctly, your exact words on the night we met were: I was a huge nerd in high school .”
He sniffs. “What’s your point.”
My grin grows. “Thrillers aren’t your go-to reads, are they?”
Bingo.
He looks almost offended that I’ve figured him out. “So what if I like reading historical nonfiction?”
History. Interesting.
I raise my hands in surrender. “I don’t know why you’re getting defensive; I was the girl who liked going to the college library on Sundays for a ten-hour study day. I can probably out-nerd you by a thousand.”
“Okay, yeah, you win. That’s psycho behavior, Liliana.”
God, I love how he says my full name.
The thought is a startling one. One I definitely shouldn’t be having about my patient.
I mentally stumble over my thoughts as I try to return to an acceptable, professional question. “So…horror movies and historical nonfiction. Are there any historical horror movies?”
He’s watching me in a way that makes me wonder if he can see my very unprofessional thoughts. After a moment, he answers, “Most people would call those war documentaries.”
I laugh despite myself. “Touché.”
“What do you like to watch?” Roman asks. “Or read, since we’re on the topic. Those nerdy characteristics couldn’t have disappeared after graduation.” When something occurs to him, he makes a sour face. “Please don’t tell me you still spend your Sundays reading clinical studies all day.”
Not until you came along.
“God, no,” I fib instead. “My job and my days are so insane that I usually need some kind of escapism by the time Sunday night rolls around.”
He nods in understanding. “Guess that explains the thrillers. So, fiction then? What else do you like?”
Wrapping my arms around my knees, I debate my answer. “I go through phases, I guess. Right now, I’m in a fantasy phase. I’m either reading fantasy or watching it. Recently, I watched all seven seasons of True Blood .”
Roman’s eyes widen. “Jesus. That’s a lot of vampires.”
“And it’s technically horror, too,” I add with a grin. “You’d love it.”
“Pass, but thanks,” he says dryly. “I’ll stick with my WWII documentaries.”
Chuckling, I shrug. “Your loss.”
“So…is that what your time outside of here looks like?” Roman asks curiously. “Or are you still jumping out of airplanes with your family in your free time?”
Why does the fact that he remembers so much of our conversation two years ago make me giddy?
But it’s not just that. It’s also that he cares enough to want to know more about me now .
“Not as much as I used to,” I say with a smile I can’t tame. “I was right about my job taking up most of my time and energy. Although I still go on crazy trips with my family.” Then I have to ask, “How on earth do you remember that? It was two years ago .”
Roman shrugs nonchalantly. I think that’s going to be his whole answer, but then he says, “I liked you. I thought you were interesting.”
My heart starts to pound. Because remembering our conversation is one thing, but admitting the why …
It’s the first time I’ve gotten confirmation that I wasn’t the only one invested that night.
Suddenly, a loud knock sounds on the back door of the clinic, interrupting my quickly spiraling thoughts.
My head whips toward the gym. “Who?—?”
“The technician,” Roman says stiffly, already pulling his wheelchair over to pull himself into it. “Make sure he confirms who he is before you open the door, though.”
I glance at the TV, my brain still scattered from the interruption. It feels like we just sat down. I mean, we never even started watching anything.
I’m moving on autopilot as I stand up, round the couch, and near the back entrance. “Who is it?” I call out.
“Mark, from Humphrey’s Repair,” comes a gruff voice. When Roman nods, I open the door to an older man who looks more frazzled than I feel. “Sorry for the lateness. One job got pushed and suddenly my whole day is screwed.”
I stand aside to let him in. “I understand. Did my boss tell you which machine it is?”
He’s already moving toward the treadmill in the corner as he nods. “Yup. I’ll try to be quick so you can get out of here.”
“Okay, thank you,” I answer. “We’ll just…hang out here in the meantime.”
I close and lock the door, far too aware of Roman’s presence behind me. Of the fact that when I turn back, I have no idea what to say to him.
Based on the clock on the wall, Roman and I talked for almost thirty minutes. We somehow went from being unsure we could even exist in a space where we weren’t physical therapist and patient to chatting about our favorite movies.
“Out of curiosity,” Roman starts, jolting me from my thoughts. “If you were alone in a room with a strange man, what would you use as a weapon in here?”
For a moment, I can only blink at him. “A weapon?”
He nods. “Something tells me you would pick an interesting one.”
Frowning, I look around the room. “Um, I guess…maybe a dumbbell? Oooh wait, no, I’d grab one of the walkers. I’ve never checked, but I’m pretty sure Mrs. Wilson is whittling one of them down to a shank underneath the tennis ball at the end.”
“See? I knew you’d have a good answer,” Roman says with a light laugh.
I bite down on my smile, my uncertainty from a minute ago nowhere to be found. Now, the silence between us is a comfortable one. Roman’s gaze stays locked on the technician as the man fiddles with the treadmill, while my attention moves back and forth between him and Roman. Once or twice, my smile gets away from me as I remember something Roman said tonight.
“Yup, I had a feeling it was going to be this pin causing the issue,” Mark says, straightening from where he was crouched. “I don’t have the part with me that I need to fix it, but I can come back tomorrow. During business hours, of course.”
I nod. “I’ll let my boss know.”
He nods in return. “Alright then. I’ll get out of your hair.” He moves toward the back door, but pauses before he turns the handle. “By the way, as a technician, that was a terrifying conversation to overhear. But as a father, I’m proud of your answer.”
My cheeks burn hot immediately. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you could hear us.”
With a hearty chuckle, he pulls the door open. “It’s alright. Tell Mrs. Wilson I’m proud of her, too.” And then he’s gone, leaving me flaming with embarrassment.
I clap my hands to my scorching cheeks. “Oh my God .”
As if he was waiting for the technician to leave, Roman suddenly lets out a full-bellied laugh. “That was amazing. Better than I could have hoped for.”
I whip my head toward him. “What do you mean, hoped for?”
He’s grinning shamelessly. “It means I wanted to make sure he knew not to fuck with you if you happened to be alone with him again.”
I think I’m even more confused now. “Again? I wasn’t alone with him now .”
Roman sobers as he gestures toward his wheelchair. “I mean, you basically were. It’s not like I would’ve been able to do much.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I don’t know if I should smack you for assuming I don’t know how to protect myself from a strange man, or for assuming that you can’t .” When I prop my hands on my hips, Roman’s surprised expression just makes me frown harder. “Let’s not act like being in a wheelchair means you couldn’t have broken that guy’s limbs with fourteen different submissions. I saw the Santera fight. You basically choked him out with one arm.”
A myriad of emotions flashes across Roman’s face: more surprise, amusement, pride. But in the end, he settles on pure delight.
He’s grinning like a fool when he says, “That tidbit of Bellator knowledge wasn’t an accident, was it?”
I sniff. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Liar. You did research on me, you little stalker. Admit it.”
Crossing my arms, I aim a glare at him. “Only if you admit you’re not nearly as helpless as you want me to think you are.”
“Alright fine, I concede,” he says, lifting his hands in surrender. “Last thing I want to do is make you angry enough to grab Mrs. Wilson’s walker.”
I glance toward the equipment room. “I should really figure out which leg she’s whittling down.”
Roman’s smile has a giggle escaping my chest. This whole night has been unexpected, but I can’t deny that I had a lot of fun. That Roman made it fun.
“You ready to close up?” he asks.
I nod. “I just have to grab my coat and purse.”
Roman jerks his head toward the break room. “Go. I’ll wait.”
I don’t know why I’m surprised to hear he’s going to wait. Clearly, there’s a protective side of Roman I haven’t seen before.
Once I have everything I need, I gesture for Roman to exit the back door while I set the clinic’s alarm. Then before I know it, we’re both in the parking lot, trying to figure out how to say goodbye. In the end, all I manage is, “See you on Saturday, I guess?”
He nods. “Sounds good.”
“Don’t forget to do your PT homework,” I say with an awkward laugh.
That earns me a look that screams really? “I’ll do mine if you do yours,” he says with a lifted eyebrow.
I frown. “What’s my homework?”
“Watching Hereditary . You’re not allowed to call yourself a horror fan if you’ve never seen it.”
A shudder runs through me at even the title. “I can’t do paranormal horror by myself. I’ll have nightmares for weeks.”
Roman shrugs. “Didn’t realize my homework was optional. Guess I won’t do mine, either.”
Now it’s his turn to get a really? look. “Fine. I’ll watch it. But if you get an email from my boss saying you’ve been traded to a new PT, you’ll know why.”
His chuckle floats behind him as he starts toward his ride. “Goodnight, Doc.”
I’m still smiling as I walk toward my car. “Goodnight, Roman.”