Chapter 5
Chapter Five
NAOMI
Ten days later – London, UK
Sam Reed was on my list for the day.
Which was interesting, because he wasn’t my client and I wasn’t taking on new ones.
When I’d started my physio business, shortly after I was cleared for physical activity that bore weight on my ankle, I hadn’t expected it to amount to much.
I needed something to do, and the whole reason I’d gone to uni and then qualified as a physio was so I could have a backup plan should tennis not work out.
So, I figured I might as well put it to use.
Mum had given me a treatment room at Sully & Sullivan Tennis Academy, and that was enough for me.
But within a few weeks, it became so much bigger than I expected, and now seven months later—after Wyatt had helped create a business plan to ensure we had the best chance of succeeding—we had our own building and officially became an offshoot of the tennis academy.
Sully & Sullivan Therapy. I had to hire three more physios to keep up with demand, and was in the process of also adding sports therapy to the services we offered.
And whenever someone questioned the name, I had to explain that it started as a placeholder that was abbreviated to S&S, but Mum and Dad couldn’t find another two words that fit, so now here we were, working for a business that used our surname. Twice.
I walked out of my office to the front desk, where Alisha was literally twiddling her thumbs.
“Why is Sam Reed on my list today?” I asked, waving my phone, with my schedule on screen, in her face.
Alisha had the good sense to look sheepish.
“Funny story. He was over on the courts yesterday for reasons I didn’t pay attention to, and Mum noticed that he kept rolling out his shoulder.
He said it was fine, but well, you’ve met our mother.
She insisted he should get it looked at sooner rather than later, called to see if I could get him on the schedule today, and you had a cancellation. So, here we are.”
“And you didn’t feel the need to alert me to any of this?”
Alisha’s eyebrows pinched together, and she picked up her phone, tapping the screen twice before her frown intensified.
“Okay, so another funny story. I thought I texted you last night. And I did, I just didn’t hit send.” She turned her phone around, and sure enough, there was a fully typed-out message waiting to be sent.
I sighed and slipped my phone into the pocket at the side of my leggings. “Can you send me his intake form, please? I didn’t see it.”
“This isn’t a problem, is it?” she asked as she returned her attention to her computer.
It wasn’t. Not really. I just wasn’t mentally prepared for a new client, but that was easy enough to overcome.
“No, it’s not. Can you also review the invoices I sent you, please? Kathy is doing a payment run tomorrow,” I said as I went back into my office.
Sam showed up to his appointment fifteen minutes early.
“So, this is what owns your heart right now?” Sam asked as he walked into my office.
I nodded as I closed the door and led him through to the attached treatment room. Although saying that it owned my heart wasn’t true.
Since seeing Sam play, I’d fallen headfirst into watching tennis again. Especially the women’s matches. But I wasn’t viewing them as a fan. Not solely.
No, as I watched the Women’s Final in Rome, I tried to understand how I would compete against them again. For the first time since I’d collapsed on the court, I’d thought about coming back.
I didn’t know what to do with that.
If only because we were standing in my current place of work, and I didn’t know if I could have both.
“It’s what fills my days, yeah,” I answered as I gestured for him to sit on one of the chairs. He dropped into it, and I noticed how long his legs were, spreading wide as he crossed his arms over his chest, stretching the fabric of his long-sleeve top.
I cleared my throat. “Apparently, you have a niggle. Your shoulder?”
Sam nodded slowly. “Yep. I think it might just be tired.”
A very unprofessional snort escaped me. “It’s definitely going to be tired. Is it just the shoulder?”
There was a pause. A special skill I’d acquired recently was telling when someone was about to lie to me because they were embarrassed. And I had a feeling he was about to do just that.
“No, just the shoulder,” he eventually said, his voice barely above a rumble. Not a lie, but also not what I asked.
“So, it’s pulling something in your groin or your lower back?” I questioned.
Sam’s cheeks went pink.
“Lower back, top of my glute,” he confirmed, looking at a spot on the floor.
“You hit yesterday?”
He nodded. “Nothing too intense. I was hitting shots for some of the kids while I was at your mum’s place.”
Sometimes it was the little things that did the most damage.
“Did you do it cold?”
“Is it cocky to say I didn’t think it would matter?”
I smiled. “No, I pulled a muscle in my back once when I tapped a shot over the net for a twelve-year-old. Our bodies are so used to doing the movements in one particular way that when we dare to do them differently, they get angry. Anything else I need to know?”
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“Great. Get on the table.”