4. Casey
4
Casey
Peter’s pupils dilated as he struggled to focus on me, but when I smiled, he seemed to relax a little. He’d been coiled like a spring when I first walked in, ready for a fight. He had deep circles under his eyes, his skin sallow like he was just waking from a year-long nap. His cheeks were dusted with about a week’s worth of whiskers, and his dark brown hair looked like it hadn’t been washed since before his surgery. His eyes, though, looked sharp, a deep blue.
“You don’t look like a doctor,” he grumbled in accusation, his gaze flitting over my jeans and faded band t-shirt. I’d thought it might help put him at ease to dress down.
“Maybe because I’m not one. Your doctors have done everything to put you back together, a good job of it too, judging by your file, but now it’s my turn. I’m a physical therapist.”
I tried to be subtle about checking Peter over. He was already in a delicate state—I didn’t just mean his physical health—and I had a feeling he wouldn’t appreciate me eyeing him over to measure where we were starting from, but I had to decide how to approach him. Was he the type to whine and cry and feel sorry for himself, or maybe smile and pretend there was nothing wrong? No, I doubted he was that one. Maybe he would curse and take a swing at me. It was impossible to tell at the first meeting.
“So, you’re going to make me do some exercise, and then I’ll be able to walk again?” He seemed skeptical, but he wouldn’t be the first.
“Technically, you can already walk. It probably hurts, though, right? Your file mentioned nerve damage.”
His gaze shuttered, and he turned to look up at the ceiling. Right then, he was the type to pretend the pain didn’t exist. Or maybe he hoped if he didn’t talk about it, it would just go away on its own.
If I hadn’t already seen his date of birth in his chart, I would’ve guessed he was older. There was a weariness to him that added years to his appearance. I bet he’d be gorgeous when he smiled.
“Physical therapy isn’t a wonder drug, but the goal is to help strengthen your muscles, regain your mobility and balance, so that when you move, you can do it more easily than you are now.” I was always careful not to make promises I couldn’t keep. I wasn’t a miracle worker, I couldn’t perform magic. “Can you tell me your pain level on a scale of one to ten?”
He sighed, stubborn as hell. “That seems like a really subjective way to measure pain. One person’s one might be someone else’s ten. It’s all about their tolerance.”
I hummed, not disagreeing with him. “Sure, but it’ll give us a starting point. Then when I ask you the same question next week, you can compare it to how you answered me today.”
His eyes flicked back once, twice. Finally, he said, “It depends on what I’m doing. Just sitting here, it might be a three, I guess. But when I move, it flares up to maybe a seven or an eight.”
“Good. And is it sharp or dull?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw as he gritted his teeth, laser focused on a point above him. Oh, he really hated talking about this. “Dull now, but when I try to walk, it’s like being struck by lightning. Makes it hard to do just about anything.”
“That sounds unpleasant,” I said with a light teasing tone. He rewarded me with a rough chuckle, a little scratchy, like he hadn’t laughed in a while, and for just one second, I allowed myself to feel pride in having drawn it out of him. Just one second before I reminded myself to keep my distance and get back to work.
“I see someone has brought a walker in for you. That’s perfect, saves me the trouble from having to wrangle one.” When I mentioned the walker, his lips took a sharp dip, his brow creasing into a deep scowl. I tried to brush past his attitude. “How about we start small. Should we try sitting up?”
He was going to fight me on it, I could tell, so I quickly offered a shortcut. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll even raise the bed up a bit to give you a head start. Just don’t tell my other patients or they’ll all expect special treatment.”
Peter hesitated, and I saw my opening. I was halfway to a small win. He sucked his lower lip in between his teeth, then glanced at me, almost embarrassed. I leaned in and propped my elbows on the edge of the bed. “It’s okay to admit this is hard. What you went through has already been a huge feat. I won’t ever judge you for struggling with this. But Peter, the doctors need to see you getting out of this bed before they’ll let you go home.” Nobody wanted to stay in the hospital. No privacy, the beds weren’t comfortable, and the food… Actually, I didn’t mind the food. It got a bad rap.
Finally, Peter nodded. “Okay, I’ll try, but no laughing or I’m outta here,” he said, with a lightness to his tone. Was he trying to make a joke? I rewarded him with a bright smile, and I saw the corner of his lips twitch as he struggled to maintain his gruff persona.
“Ready?” I asked, hand on the bed control. He braced himself, and when he nodded, I started to lift the head of the bed. So far so good, he seemed to be handling the movement okay.
When I was about halfway, I stopped and wheeled the walker closer. “Okay, now I’m just going to put my arm around your shoulders, okay? We’ll see if we can get you sitting up.” When I set my hand on his forearm, though, he flinched. I quickly jerked my hand back. “Sorry, did I hurt you?”
“No, it’s just… No.”
I knew what pain looked like, in all its forms, even when people were trying their hardest to disguise it, so I believed him when he said he wasn’t hurt. This was something else, something personal.
“Should we try again?” I asked, and he nodded, looking almost eager to try. I slid my arm in behind his shoulders and gave him a little help, but he managed to do most of the work himself. “Great! Do you mind if I untuck your blanket for you? Someone really seems to have done a number on you.”
He laughed lightly, making my insides tingle at the hard-won sound. “Yeah, the night nurse is an eager one.” I filed away that his night nurse had done this, which meant he hadn’t gotten out of bed since last night.
When I flipped back the blanket at the end of the bed, I froze, a genuine smile stretching my lips. “Nice socks,” I said. I’d come face to face with a pair of hot-pink socks that were so fuzzy, there was no way they would fit into a pair of shoes.
Peter’s blush was almost the same shade. “Yeah, uh, my partner brought them for me, to cheer me up or whatever.”
My smile dimmed before I could even register why. I cleared my throat. “That was nice of them.” Why did it matter if he was single or not? It didn’t. So instead, I reached for his feet. “Any pain down here?” I asked, and he shook his head. “Good, then let’s get started.”
Carefully, we got Peter situated at the edge of his bed, his feet on the floor, then I wheeled the walker over in front of him and helped him up to standing. “How about a trip across the room and back,” I suggested, and after looking skeptically over at his destination, he nodded warily.
I followed behind him in case he fell. Although he was shaky enough that it was like watching a newborn colt take its first steps, he seemed stable enough. The pain he was in must’ve been awful, though. He kept his feet low to the ground, shuffling across the linoleum, and his limbs shook with the effort. His hands were white-knuckled on the grips, and by the time we got across the room, he was already sweating. I swore I could hear his teeth grinding. He was a tough one, I had to give him that.
“Do you need a break?” I asked as we began the turn back to bed.
“N-No, I’ve got this,” he grunted. As tough as he was, the closer we got to his bed, the more labored his breathing became, and his vocabulary descended into fuck and shit and a shit-fuck combo.
“Just two more steps,” I encouraged, but he staggered. He wasn’t going to make it.
With a practiced move, I stepped right into his side, an arm around his waist, and controlled his fall, pivoting his body with mine until we both landed on the edge of the bed.
Peter panted, his shirt damp with sweat beneath where my palm still sat on his waist. “Thanks,” he huffed. He was so close, too close, and yet I found myself tempted to lean in.
“No problem. It’s my job,” I said, forcing myself to remove my hands from his body, and I stood up, putting some distance between us. “So, that was a piece of cake, right?” I teased, winking.
Another chuckle, and he shook his head, his hair flopping forward into his eyes. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but… I kinda miss the wheelchair.”
“Aw, c’mon. Are you telling me you would rather someone push you around, when you’re lucky enough to have an alternative?”
He seemed to ponder those words seriously. “Maybe not,” he finally agreed. I could see his alpha stubbornness under the surface. I already knew he was going to be a tough nut to crack. I did love a challenge.
“Okay, so let’s make an appointment for you to come down to the clinic on Monday. We’ll run through some gentle stretches and some easy movement to get you started. How does that sound?”
Peter hesitated, staring down into his lap. He was exhausted, likely feeling dejected right about now. I sat down in the walker’s seat and rolled myself over until our knees were nearly touching. “Peter… I can only imagine what you’ve been through, and I hate to tell you that you have a tough road ahead of you. I need you to be patient, okay? No matter how frustrating and impossible it might feel right now. This is not the end, remember that. It is a beginning to something great.”
He slowly brought his eyes up to mine, and they were glassy with unshed tears. I knew to keep my hands to myself except under a professional setting, but he looked so broken, so hollow, that I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out to offer him some kind of… lifeline. I set my hand on his knee and squeezed gently. “You’re going to be okay. I’ll help you get there, I just need you to trust me.”
He slid his hand over until it was on top of mine, and we hovered there in this moment, somewhere outside of therapist and patient, outside of pain and rehab.
“Knock, knock,” a feminine voice called, and Peter jolted under my hand. I drew back quickly and stood, guilt and confusion making my skin flush.
Peter looked over his shoulder at the beautiful brunette stepping into the room. “Casey, this is my partner, Amy. Amy, this is my new physical therapist, Casey.”
Her smile was so bright and perfect, but instead of making me beam in return, I felt the urge to retreat. “Uh, yeah, nice to meet you,” I said, shaking her hand quickly. She had soft hands, a firm grip—and I dropped her hand as quickly as I could. “Sorry, I have another patient to see. I guess I’ll see you next week, Peter?”
He seemed confused by my sudden icy demeanor as I inched toward the door, unable to make eye contact with him. Well, get in line, Peter, because I was confused too. “Uh, yeah,” he said, waving. “I guess.”
I should’ve stayed to help him get back into bed. At the very least, I should’ve remembered to leave him one of my cards. Instead, I fled, terrified that I’d already broken my number one rule—don’t get attached.