29. Liliana
29
LILIANA
I think I’m in shock for the next hour. Once I leave the clinic, I drive home and immediately start packing for my trip. Somehow, having to decide between taking my red or black shorts is enough of a distraction to keep me from thinking about…anything else.
It isn’t until my head hits the pillow and sleep doesn’t consume me—in fact, it’s the opposite: I’m wide awake—that I start to spiral.
I had sex with Roman.
I had sex with Roman .
I had sex with a patient in the clinic.
Squeezing my eyes closed, I try to wrap my head around that sentence. But all it does is bring the memory into focus.
Roman’s lips on mine, his kiss equal parts hungry and sweet. The urgency he touched me with. The feel of him inside me ? —
A shiver runs through my body, and I flip onto my stomach to bury my face in the pillow.
I have never had sex like that. That was…otherworldly. Maybe it was the build-up, maybe it was the connection—whatever it was, that didn’t feel like just sex.
But that thought also makes my heart ache. Because that makes this so much more complicated than if it was just sex.
Flipping onto my back again, I let out an exhale heavy with frustration. This just got so much more complicated.
I should’ve known this was going to happen. God, I should’ve known from day one. From the moment Roman kissed me two years ago, I should’ve known there was no way I could be impartial to him.
Or if not then, there were a thousand other moments that should have clued me in. Jesus, how were there a thousand moments? The texting? The calling? The dinner date? The flirting? I’ve crossed so many boundaries with justifications.
When I think about Trivia Night, and the kiss it ended with, shame settles over my skin like a layer of dirt. Even remembering how badly I wanted Roman to kiss me that night, and how nothing could have prepared me for it when he finally did, I have no excuse for not doing the right thing, the ethical thing, after that.
Wincing, I push off my bed and grab a towel, hoping a shower might clear the fog from my head. I try to convince myself that I’m not turning the water all the way to blue to punish myself.
Ice-cold water should be the least of my punishments. If I hadn’t been deluding myself, sweeping all the signs under the rug, I may have been able to stop this train. Because tonight, it completely tore off the tracks.
Maybe the freezing water does help, because by the time my teeth start chattering, I’m numb both inside and out. I pull my sweats back on with shaking hands and slide under my comforter once again.
The moment I’m enveloped by heat, exhaustion claims me.
* * *
The next day is a blur. Between the 5 a.m. flight that’s only the beginning of a hectic travel day, and the same-day hike that my dad scheduled for us right after touchdown—in order for us to “fight the jet lag”—I barely have time to catch my breath, let alone think about the ticking time bomb that is my career path.
The canyons are gorgeous. The white sandstone walls look like they’re out of a National Geographic picture, and rappelling down them is a rush. When we reach the hike’s main destination and look between the canyons at the pond we’re about to drop into, the sight is so beautiful that it knocks any other thought out of my head.
The next day is much of the same. We’re up early, already half an hour into the hike by the time the sun peeks over the horizon. Today’s hike is the big one. It’s also the main reason I picked Utah as the destination for this year’s family trip. Thankfully, the views are even more stunning today than the ones yesterday, keeping my attention soundly on my next step and nothing else.
That is, until my dad appears beside me during a particularly steep part of the hike and asks, “How you doing, sweetheart? You look tired.”
I aim a glare at my ridiculously-in-shape sixty-year-old father, my leg muscles burning and sweat dropping off the tip of my sunburnt nose. “Gee, you don’t say. I thought a six-mile hike and rappel would be relaxing.”
He doesn’t laugh the way I expect him to. Which tells me everything I need to know about how this conversation is about to go.
“Are you not having fun?” he asks, the concern in his voice obvious.
I take a deep breath and turn toward him with a small smile. “I’m having a great time, Dad, I promise,” I assure him. But, knowing that’s not going to be enough to appease him, I add, “You’re right, though. I am tired. Work stress has me a little beat down right now.”
He nods at that, having heard me say that a few times in recent years. “But you’re okay?” he presses. “With work? And right now?”
My smile becomes a little more genuine, and I reach to give his arm a comforting squeeze. “Yeah, Dad, everything’s good.” And while the pit in my stomach that tells me everything is not good still exists, I mean it when I gesture at the gorgeous canyons around us and say, “This is exactly what I needed. This is incredible.”
He looks around, a shimmer of excitement coming back to his eyes. “It is, isn’t it? Good pick, Liliana.”
We hike quietly for a few more minutes, and I think I’m finally relaxing for the first time all weekend, when my dad curiously asks, “So, your work stress… Is it a specific patient? Or is it your workload in general?”
And I’m right back to tense and stressed the fuck out.
“Why do you ask?” is the only thing I manage to say.
“That’s Dad’s way of asking about that MMA fighter you’re working with,” Sean interjects from where he’s walking behind us.
Predictably, my other brother Colin pipes up from beside him. “What MMA fighter?”
“Holy shit, I forgot to tell you,” Sean starts excitedly. “Do you remember that Philly fighter Roman Ward? The one who got paralyzed during his title fight? He’s Lily’s newest patient.”
I turn back to glare at Sean and find Colin gawking at me. “No way ,” he breathes out. “That guy was a freak of nature. He probably would’ve made it into the Hall of Fame. That’s your patient?”
Not wanting to engage in this type of conversation, I bring my attention back to the scenery. I hate talking about who Roman used to be.
“Alright, you two, you know she can’t talk about her patients,” my dad scolds. “That’s not why I asked.”
“Then why did you?” I ask.
“You just seemed…different with him,” he answers carefully. “I guess I was curious if he was the reason for your work stress.”
Fuck.
“I’m not different with him,” I argue, wondering if my defensive tone is as obvious as it sounds to my ears. “I mean, he’s a tough patient, but that’s about it.”
I hear my brother’s snort behind me. “Lily, you were worried about him being with another therapist for one session. I’m surprised you didn’t make us shorten or postpone the trip.”
I spin in place and send another glare in my brother’s direction, my heart rate doubling.
“So, I give a shit about my patients, sue me,” I snap. “His recovery is…precarious. I didn’t want to mess anything up.”
Sean blinks at me in surprise, shocked at my outburst. I’m shocked, too. But if my brother picked up on something like that during one ten-minute visit, then who knows what else I made obvious. And now, I’m panicking.
“Okay, give it a rest, you two,” comes my dad’s voice. His hand drops onto my shoulder. “Lily, we just wanted to make sure you were okay. That’s all.”
Sean nods in agreement. “Yeah. Lil…I didn’t mean you caring was a bad thing.”
I wince and swipe a hand down my face. “I know. I’m sorry, that was an overreaction. I’m just tired.”
“Do you want to go home?” my dad asks, his worry coming back to the forefront.
I shake my head instantly. “No, not at all. I meant it when I said this trip is helping.”
“Uh…the view over here might help even more in a second,” Colin comments from a few feet ahead, the awe in his voice obvious.
That effectively ends the entire conversation, because now we’re all too curious not to check what he sees. The three of us walk over to where Colin is standing, looking down over the canyon edge.
“Holy fuck,” Sean murmurs.
Holy fuck is right. It’s probably one hundred feet to the bottom, but where I expected the bottom to be sand or rock, it’s the prettiest blue water.
“Wow,” Dad whispers, in awe. “That’s incredible.” He looks up at me with a smile. “I’ll say it again: good pick, Liliana.”
I return the smile with one of my own, the sight before us somehow driving all my panicked thoughts about Roman to the back of my mind.
For a little while, at least.
* * *
They come flooding back the next day.
When I get a text from Roman that says, Can’t wait to see you on Monday. Hope you’re having a fun weekend.
I drop my head back against the lounge chair, my eyes sliding closed and my heart dropping into my stomach.
It’s the last night of our trip, and we’re going out to a restaurant. Everyone else is getting ready, but I needed a minute alone on the balcony of the hotel. Just to catch my breath.
That idea is shot to shit with Roman’s text coming through.
Because now, all I’m thinking about is Monday. About what I need to do on Monday.
I was already thinking it, but my family’s comments about Roman yesterday made it clear that I can’t keep treating him. I’m so far past the point of unprofessional and unethical that even the subconscious reasoning I was giving myself about our relationship not being harmful to Roman’s recovery isn’t enough. I need to transfer him to another physical therapist.
Fran already gave me the green light when I took him on as a patient. I know I could send her an email right now with a request to have him be treated by someone else, and she would transfer him without a question. This should be easy.
Should be.
But in reality, there’s nothing about this that’s easy. Not the request of transferring, not the process, nothing.
I hate this. I hate the idea of not having sessions with Roman. Already, my heart is splintering at the thought of not seeing him, of not helping him on bad days and laughing together on the good ones.
And this could get so ugly. Roman already doesn’t do well with hiccups in his recovery, so what’s he going to do with a new therapist? Is it going to disrupt his therapy entirely? What if he stops making progress? All I’ve ever wanted for him is a better quality of life, and I’ll hate myself more than I already do if this ends up hurting him in the end.
And I don’t even want to think about how he’s going to handle this in a non-physical therapy sense. I mean, it’s obvious there are feelings involved here. There’s a strong possibility he’s going to take this as a personal rejection. Which could have disastrous effects on his recovery by itself, as well as his mental health.
God , this is so bad. This is so bad. What was I thinking? How could I let things get this far?
And even as I spiral about what’s next , I don’t let myself contemplate the answer to that question. Because I know exactly what blinded me to my own actions.
Just as I know that I’m deluding myself about Roman being the only one who won’t handle this well.
Because I haven’t even done anything yet, and my heart is already broken.