Jewel
Chapter seventeen
Damn the man and all of his irresistible hotness.
Keeping my back to Will while he dresses is the only way to keep my emotions to myself.
I spin around and watch as he swings his legs off the table. He winces.
“Let’s see how it goes.” Despite my refusal to discuss what happened with us, I’m not ready to give up treating him. Especially when I know I can ease the pain that’s clearly visible in the creases around his mouth.
Will remains sitting on the edge of the table to catch his breath before attempting to put any weight on the leg.
“Careful, it will be a little wobbly,” I say before walking over to collect his jeans from the back of a chair that’s just out of his reach. “Do you need some help with these?”
“Please. I’m worse than a toddler at putting them on.”
“You should wear sweatpants, which are much easier to manage and won’t rub against the injury.
” I squat in front of him, focusing on his feet as I hold out each leg of the jeans for him to step into, first with the good leg, then the bad one.
As I roll them slowly up his legs, I try not to remember the last time I kneeled before him like this, but with a lot less clothing.
I reach the top of his thighs, and his cock is a prominent bulge in his briefs, the tip just visible above the waistband. “Will?” I gasp, a bolt of desire pulsing in my core.
“Sorry,” he says, but the grin spreading his mouth wide shows he doesn’t mean it. Maybe I’m not the only one remembering those moments in the shower.
Jumping up to stand, I remove my face from temptation, then take two big steps backward. “You can deal with that yourself.”
“Something I’ve become very used to doing.”
My eyes roll almost back into my head. “Not information I need to know to treat your injury.”
He finishes zipping and buttoning his jeans before grabbing the crutch that I placed within his reach. He leans heavily on it.
“You said you want to see me here at the clinic in three days. But can we meet for a drink before then?”
The word no gets stuck in my throat, but I shake my head so hard that strands of hair fly free from my ponytail. A ghost of regret clouds his gaze as he searches my face for a weakening of my resolve.
“Please. I just want to talk to you,” he begs.
I roll back my shoulders, standing as tall as my five feet, two inches allows. I’m stronger now and better able to resist Will’s persuasion. “No.” The word finally bursts from my lips. “We can talk about your injury as much as you want when you come for your next appointment.”
His face transforms into a frown, which unfortunately does nothing to reduce his attractiveness. “You know that’s not what I want to talk about.”
“Too. Bad.” The two words pop from my mouth, crisp and clear.
“Because the way I see our current arrangement, that’s all there is for us to discuss.
” I turn and walk toward the door in case he doesn’t get the hint that he needs to leave.
“I’ll see you in three days. Goodbye.” My eyes drop to the floor, the safest place for them.
Instead of shuffling past me, he stops and leans forward, pulling my gaze back up to meet his. A big mistake as I start to drown in the deep-blue depths, his familiar cologne of citrus, spice, and burnt wood wrapping around me, triggering memories of the nights he held me in his arms.
Is he going to kiss me? My heart thunders in my chest. Whether it’s trying to reach out to him or escape, I’m not sure.
“Until next week, then,” he whispers close to my ear. His breath is a soft tickle against my neck, and a shiver runs down my spine, making my toes curl. The butterflies are back. It’s been too long since I felt this fluttery feeling from my belly all the way to my core. Six months, to be exact.
My words remain stuck in my dry throat while he pulls back and leaves with a murmured, “Goodbye.”
The door closes with a click behind him, and I fill my lungs fully for the first time since he stepped into my treatment room.
Will has waltzed back into my life, and I’m not happy. Okay, to be fair, it was more of an awkward hobble that pulled at my heartstrings, but nonetheless, it has the potential to be a wrecking ball aimed at my already damaged heart.
Walking back to my desk, I give my ponytail a rough tug to remove the hair tie, then pull the released strands painfully tight in my hand before redoing it.
I’m not going to fall for his charms again.
No matter how kind and thoughtful Will was when I needed him most, I still can’t forgive him for disappearing without a word.
Poof, gone like a ghost with no explanation, and all I was left with was an electronically generated voicemail that I was continually redirected to after one ring.
Click! The sound of the door opening has me spinning back toward it, my heart rate rocketing. But this time it’s Cara who struts through the door like the boss lady that she is. I wouldn’t mind borrowing a little of her confidence, as Will has left me depleted.
“Who was the hottie?” she asks, while perching her butt on the treatment table that he vacated only a short time ago.
Words of explanation remain lodged in my throat. I’m probably still in shock, because honestly, I never thought I would see him again.
“Hello? Earth to Jewel.” Cara leans forward and clicks her fingers in front of my face.
With a shake of my head, I loosen my tongue, and sound finally comes out. “Will,” I croak.
“Will?” Her pitch is high, bordering on a screech. “You mean Southampton Will?” she asks in a more measured tone.
I blink several times like I’m waking from a dream. “Yes, that one. The sexy man from the beach, who gave me more feelings in one week than any other man ever has, promised more, and within a month had disappeared like our whole time together meant nothing to him at all.”
None of this is news to my friend, but I say it anyway as reinforcement of my determination to not get involved personally with Will again.
“Wow, you never mentioned that he was gorgeous.”
“Cara.” My brows drop into a thunderous scowl. “That is not helping.”
“Sorry. I’m a bad friend.”
My shoulders slump like the bones have turned to liquid.
“It’s okay. He is gorgeous, and I wish he wasn’t because that, along with his alpha, protective vibes and kindness, is damn hard to resist.” I plop down onto the chair behind me and place my elbows on the desk, dropping my head into my hands.
“What am I going to do?” I mumble through my fingers.
“I’m going to need a bit more information if you want my advice.”
I lift my head and turn to face her. “He was my new patient,” I say before giving her a quick rundown on Will’s knife wound. She nods along until I finish.
“He was stabbed.” Cara’s face mirrors the same horror I feel at hearing it put so brutally. My gut churns with thoughts of what could have happened if it had been one inch over, and I swallow down the bile rising in my throat.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
A sharp nod is all I’m capable of before I pick up my bottle of water from my desk and take a few long gulps.
Her gaze narrows, not convinced. “Has he booked another appointment?”
“I know what you’re going to say. I shouldn’t be treating him.”
“Yes, that’s my boss response, but now as your friend … how do you feel about seeing him again?”
“Shocked. Confused. Worried. And not sure of what to do next.” Even more so now that it’s fully sunk in how serious his injury could have been.
“That’s a lot to unpack.”
“And he wants to meet me for a drink to talk. I said no.”
Cara’s brows rise. “That’s a wise move until you’ve had time to process seeing him again.” She jumps down off the table. “Come on, this conversation needs alcohol.”
“And chocolate?”
“Of course. See you in reception in five minutes.”
She rushes from the room before I’ve even had a chance to reply, and I drag myself out of the chair and begin to pack up.
Hopefully, a cocktail and chocolate will give me the boost I need to put some steel back in my spine because all Will’s visit has highlighted is the emptiness that his leaving left behind.
Will came into my life when I was at my most vulnerable. At a time when I needed someone to lean on, and he became that person. I let him see my soul, and I thought he’d shown me his. But I was wrong, even though none of that matters now.
My grip tightens around the handles of my bag. I don’t know what Will was expecting today, but it can’t be the same lonely woman he first met in Southampton.
“Will?” It’s no less shocking seeing him today than it was three days ago.
My heart thumps erratically in my chest cavity as he stands and limps toward me. The crutch is still taking most of the weight from his injured leg. The lines of pain are etched around his mouth.
“You’re still in a lot of pain?”
He shrugs like it’s nothing. His stubborn, alpha-male streak is not allowing him to admit any form of weakness.
Will is unique among my clients. Not only because I’ve never slept with one of them before.
Or that his injury is unusual—we don’t get a lot of stab wounds.
But Will has a way of shutting himself off like he’s on his own island.
He’s tough, both physically and mentally, and anything that challenges that mindset, he refuses to acknowledge.
Pain obviously sits in the “ignore” column, probably like I did for six long months. The thought coils in my chest, making it tighter. It’s hard to move on when the reason I need to stands right in front of me.
When we’re in the privacy of the treatment room, I turn my mind back to the topic of pain. He can pretend he’s handling it, but my job is to help him whether he likes it or not. And my personal feelings, both good and bad, have to be put aside.
“It’s not a weakness to accept pain relief.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Stubborn man,” I mumble under my breath, but loud enough for him to hear. “Now hop on the bed and remove your sweatpants.” At least he was willing to listen to that piece of advice, even if Will in gray sweatpants is almost as devastatingly sexy as him in his compression running joggers.
Over the next thirty minutes, we don’t speak much as I treat Will’s thigh with dry needling, a proven technique in relieving pain and improving mobility.
The few words that do pass between us are only for me to explain what I’m doing as I insert the tiny needles into the myofascial trigger points to alleviate tension within the muscle.
The tiny needles stay in for fifteen minutes and are then removed.
“All done,” I announce, stepping back from the table after removing the final needle.
“Thanks.” He sits up, swinging his legs to the floor. The movement is smoother, and satisfaction blooms in my chest.
I return to my desk to update my notes, not wanting a repeat of our last session when I helped him dress.
But it’s hard not to listen to his movements behind me, and what I’m typing probably doesn’t even make sense.
It’s all part of the professional facade I’m clinging to like a protective shield—one I’m using to defend myself against a threat.
“Have you read any good books lately?” he asks.
My hands freeze on the keyboard as memories of us at my father’s house stab me in the chest as deeply as the knife that penetrated Will’s thigh.
I blink several times before forcing myself back into this moment.
I don’t want to remember his kindness or the way he filled all the lonely, empty spaces in my heart.
He was the connection I needed to feel when I had cut myself off from the world.
“No time for reading,” I say gruffly before changing the subject. “Your next appointment should be early next week.”