Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Ferris
“If you would just be reasonable, beta—”
“No, Mama.” I turned and gave her the most withering stare I could manage, which wasn’t very withering at all. I was in pain and I was tired and I was stressed because I didn’t seem to be getting any better.
Though to be fair, I also hadn’t started physical therapy yet.
But the surgery had taken a lot out of me, and I still felt a little weird, even though it had been several weeks since I’d gone under the knife.
School was keeping me occupied. Several of my classes let me finish online, and the two that refused were kind of nice because limping around campus kept my mind off, well, everything.
But PT was finally starting today, and I was so ready. I needed to get back on my feet properly. Not just because I was ready to hit the ice—it was bad enough I had to miss the end of the season at school—but also because while I loved my mom, she was on my last nerve.
I never thought I would miss the frat house, but I did. I missed my bed. And my things. And my privacy. I missed jerking off without getting to the edge of an orgasm, only to have her or my auntie pounding on the door and trying to feed me soup.
“Ferris,” she said, her voice dropping. We were just outside the PT’s office, and people were starting to stare. My chest felt tight.
“Please let me do this by myself. You and Auntie can go get coffee or something. Come back in an hour. Okay?”
“You don’t think it’s better if I speak with your therapist and tell them—”
“I don’t.” She blinked in surprise, and I felt bad. “Mama, please. I’m a grown adult, and if I can’t do this on my own now, how can I expect to get by at my job? You and Dad aren’t moving down here.”
“We’ve talked about it,” she said slowly.
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, and I know he said no. Please, Mama. Just…go.”
For a moment, it looked like she was going to fight me. Then she softened and pulled me close. “I don’t think I’m ready for my baby to be grown up yet.”
“But I am grown up.” I think she was trying to be sweet, but my brain was too tired to understand neurotypical nonsense today. “I’ll text you when I’m almost done.”
She kissed my cheek, then turned and walked off, leaving me to hit the blue automatic door button and step in.
The check-in process was easy since I’d done all the forms online, and just as I hit the chair with the edge of my ass, a nurse appeared to take me back.
It wasn’t at all what I expected. I’d seen a lot of medical shows and movies, and I was picturing a big room that looked kind of like a gym with padded floors and parallel bars and other things. This was just like a doctor’s office.
How were they going to help me fix my leg on an exam table?
“Alright, Mr. Redding. Why don’t you have a seat in the chair, and we’ll get your information in.”
I zoned out after that. The one thing I was amazing at was answering on autopilot.
My brain could go elsewhere, a calmer, happier place, while my mouth did the work for me.
I winced when she prodded at me and tried not to be too annoyed when she took my vitals, but eventually, she was gone, and all that was left to do was wait.
Fuck. I should have brought my crochet bag. I did my best not to feel self-conscious about my hobbies, but I tended to get odd looks in public, so I avoided taking it anywhere except my room. And occasionally to class if most of the students weren’t judgy assholes.
I felt all squirmy on the inside, and I wanted to hop down and start pacing, but I couldn’t do that either. I wasn’t full weight-bearing on my leg, which was really fucking with my stimming.
I tapped my fingers instead, then rocked a little, and hummed in the back of my throat.
For a moment, I swore I could feel the minutes ticking by like it was a heartbeat.
Tap tap tap!
I jolted, and it took me a second to realize someone was knocking. “Come in!” Was I supposed to say come in? Oh god, was I supposed to get undressed? She hadn’t said anything. I was still in the chair, damn it.
I hopped up and shifted to the table, sliding my ass onto the tissue paper just as the knob turned. And then my entire world flipped upside down.
For a second, I thought maybe I was hallucinating. I’d dreamed of Quinn so often, sometimes I woke up thinking he was in bed beside me. It took me too long to orient to the fact that I was not only in a strange bed, but that I was alone.
I didn’t expect one night with a man I barely knew to affect me that way, but apparently, my brain decided to latch on to him the way it did my hyperfixation meals or my special interests.
I blinked, and yeah. He was still there.
Great. What the fuck did I say now?”
“Mr. Redding. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I almost choked on my own tongue. “You’ve met me. You had fingers in my ass.”
He paled, then fumbled to close the door quickly without slamming it. “That’s…you can’t say that here.”
I stared at him. “But it’s true. You have. I know I’ve taken a lot of painkillers for this, but I did not imagine what we did. We had sex.”
He swallowed heavily, then rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling, almost like he was offering up a prayer. After a beat, he dropped his chin and nodded. “Yes. We did. But you’re now my patient, and I am your physical therapist.”
“That doesn’t seem ethical,” I admitted. Fuck, why was I like this? All I wanted was to leap into his arms and make him kiss me until all this pain felt easier to manage. And I was bitching at him about ethics?
“We’re not currently in a relationship. There’s nothing currently unethical about it. However, if you feel uncomfortable, I’m more than happy to recommend another facility—”
“I want you to help me,” I told him.
His jaw snapped shut so hard I heard his teeth click. He breathed through his nose—a slow in and out. Then he nodded and hooked the rolling stool with his foot and sat, scooting toward the exam table. It was weird to have him so far below me.
“I’m more than happy to help you so long as it won’t make you uncomfortable. In spite of our…past”—it was almost like he was choking on the word—“we can be professional about this.”
That wasn’t a complicated idea, so I nodded. “Okay. We won’t talk about dicks or sex or anything.”
He choked on a cough, then cleared his throat and nodded. The tips of his ears were red. Was I embarrassing him?
“I should not talk about your penis, right?”
“That might be for the best,” he said. His voice was a gravelly rumble. “Now…” He looked down at the tablet he was holding, then back up at me. “A car accident?”
“I was almost hit by the trolley,” I told him.
“Oh my god.”
“I stumbled back, but there was a car going too fast, and it couldn’t stop in time. It hit me. I don’t remember much. I woke up in the hospital, and my mom was there.”
He blinked rapidly. “Ferris, I am so sorry. You must have been terrified.”
“It was mostly the pain,” I admitted. “It hurt a lot. And the medication made my skin really itchy. And I’ve never liked the idea of going under anesthesia.”
He nodded, his gaze on my face, though I wasn’t meeting his. I was staring at his injured leg, which stuck out straight instead of bent. He touched his knee absently. “It’s not as bad as this.”
“Oh.” He thought I was comparing the two of us, and I felt awful because I knew how terrible losing the NHL had been for him. “Maybe I should go to another therapist. I don’t want to make you feel bad.”
He frowned, gaze snapping back up to mine. “Ferris, no. I’m okay. But I promise we’re going to get you back on the ice. You don’t have to give up yet.”
“I wasn’t giving up,” I told him. “That’s why I’m here.”
He smiled. I could tell he still wasn’t smiling much.
His face was like the people who used so much Botox they didn’t have laugh lines.
“Good. Now, it looks like it’s a tendon in your ankle that’ll give you the most trouble.
You’re young and healthy, so the pins in your leg will only get complicated when you fly or if you ever need an MRI. ”
I grimaced. “No, thank you.”
He laughed. “Fair enough, but you are playing professional hockey now, so that might come up.” He set the tablet aside, then cracked his knuckles. “Is it okay if I take your orthotic off?”
I waved at him to go ahead, so he carefully undid the straps before standing up and pulling out a leg rest from the table. He set my heel on the edge, then turned my leg from left to right. The pain wasn’t as bad as it had been, but my toes were still burning.
“Have you been doing your exercises? They gave you a sheet at the hospital, right?”
I wrinkled my nose and tapped my fingers on my thigh. “Yes. I don’t like them, but my mom is staying with me right now, so she’s making sure I’m sticking to the schedule.”
His eyes widened. “Your mom is at a frat house?”
At that, I laughed. “No. Though the guys would probably love that. She rented an apartment for me.”
“She sounds like a good mom.”
“She is a good mom.” She was also a nosy, overbearing, exhausting mom. But there were worse ones to have. “Can we not talk about her?”
He held up his hands in surrender, then rolled his chair back with his calf and stood at the edge of the table. “This is going to hurt, but I’m going to test the current strength in your leg, okay? Tell me if you want to stop, but I want you to push through as much as you can.”
“I don’t like pain,” I whispered softly.
His hand curled around my ankle and squeezed softly. Something in me told me he didn’t do this with other patients. He wanted us to be normal. Professional.
I wasn’t sure if that was possible.
“I’m going to get you better, Ferris,” he said, his voice a soft rumble.
I took a breath, then nodded. “Okay. I trust you.”
There was a long, profound, pointed silence, and then he squeezed once and let go. “Good. Now…” He set his palm against the bottom of my foot. “Flex.”