Trent
The nerves hit harder than I expected as I sit in the white-walled exam room, waiting for the doctor to return with my X-ray results.
Eight weeks post-surgery. This is it—the one that matters. The first real check to see if I can finally put full weight on my leg.
The only other appointment was back at the two week mark, when they removed the stitches and gave me the boot for support.
Since then, I’ve been going to weekly physical therapy sessions and continuing the exercises at home like the physical therapist advised, pushing through the dull aches and frustration of crutches and limited movement.
Every step, every rep, every painful stretch has been for this moment—the chance to finally get the all-clear to weight bear.
I rub my hands together, trying to steady them, but the nerves keep slipping through. I didn’t expect to be this anxious—but now that I’m here, it’s all I can feel.
“Will you stop doing that with your hands?” Brandon snaps, cutting through the silence.
I blink, suddenly aware of the nervous habit, and force myself to stop.
“Leave him alone—he’s nervous,” Kade says, shooting Brandon a sharp look.
Brandon scoffs. “What’s there to be nervous about?”
I tighten my jaw but say nothing as I try desperately to block out the noise.
“Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed or something? You’ve been an asshole since we got in the car,” Kade says flatly.
“Try dealing with monsters under the bed all fucking night and see how happy you’d be,” Brandon says, running a hand through his hair.
Kade laughs. “Maybe stop watching horror movies before bed if you’re worried about monsters.”
“Clearly, I’m talking about Avery, you dick,” Brandon snaps.
I glance up just as Kade opens his mouth to respond.
“Will you both shut the fuck up?” I cut in sharply.
For the first time since we got in here, the room falls silent.
That is, until Kade and Brandon both say, in perfect unison, “Oooooh,” followed by laughter.
My head snaps toward them. The glare I shoot landing like a punch, stopping them in their tracks. I’m two seconds away from losing my shit when the door swings open and the doctor steps inside, cutting through the tension.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Trent,” he says as he settles into the chair across from me. “How’s the leg been since your last visit?”
I force my shoulders to relax and exhale slowly. “It’s been okay. Still aches sometimes, mostly at night, but I’ve been keeping up with the exercises. The boot’s a pain, and I’m sick of these crutches, but I’m managing.”
He nods, fingers flying over the keyboard, eyes scanning the X-rays. “I’ve reviewed your images. Everything looks good, the bone is aligned perfectly, the hardware is holding steady, and there are no complications. Healing is right on track.”
I glance at the screen then focus my attention back on Doctor Lawson as he continues.
“Based on this X-ray,” he continues, “I think it’s safe to start progressing toward full weight-bearing.
We’ll begin gradually, letting you put more weight through the leg as you tolerate it.
The physical therapist will adjust your exercises to build strength and mobility, keeping things controlled to protect the bone and hardware. ”
A small, approving smile flickers across his face. “This is a big step forward. You’ve done everything right so far.”
I exhale, tension finally loosening. “Thanks, Doc. I appreciate it.”
He gathers his tablet. “Keep listening to your body. Pain and swelling are normal, but this is the milestone you’ve been waiting for. See you back in a few weeks.”
As the door clicks shut behind him, it’s like a weight lifts off of my shoulders. Eight weeks, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I can see actual movement ahead—literally.
Kade gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “See? Nothing to worry about,” he says with a smile.
The rest of the appointment went smoothly. Jase, my physical therapist, guided me through the first tentative steps on my leg without crutches. My heart was pounding the moment I shifted my weight forward, letting my leg hold me for the first time in eight weeks.
Physical therapy has been the best part of my week.
I’ve always needed movement—runs, workouts, pushing myself—and being stuck like this was a harder kind of torture than I expected.
Some days it felt like my own body was a cage, trapping me in stillness.
But the weekly sessions, combined with the constant repetition of exercises at home, had kept my muscles strong enough to finally be ready for this milestone.
Even if it’s just a few steps, even if my leg trembles and aches, it feels like progress.
I’m moving again. I’m not trapped anymore.
Eight weeks post-surgery, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I can actually feel the first real step toward normal—and I didn’t realize how badly I needed that until now.
By the time I climb back into Brandon’s truck, I’m in the best mood I’ve been in since the injury. My leg aches more than usual, but I don’t mind it today.
As we roll back into Mayridge and cross the bridge—the same one that nearly took Liv’s life eight weeks ago —I glance into the back seat. Kade’s leaning against the window, eyes closed, jaw tight. The lake below shimmering in the afternoon light, calm and indifferent.
“Hey,” I say quietly, turning slightly. “You doing okay?”
He doesn’t open his eyes. Just nods. “Yeah.” His voice is barely audible, rough around the edges.
“You talked to anyone about it yet?”
Kade finally opens his eyes, but he doesn’t meet mine. He just stares out the window as the bridge disappears behind us.
“Every time I close my eyes, I’m back in that water. I thought—” He cuts himself off, jaw tightening. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter,” I say, softer now. “You saved her, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t cost you something.”
Brandon clears his throat, keeping his eyes on the road. “I’ve already told you, therapy is covered through the company.”
Kade lets out a humorless huff. “Liv’s been asking me to go with her.
Says it’ll help if we hear what the other went through.
” He drags a hand down his face. “But I’m not sure it’s a good idea for her to hear my side.
Therapy is really working for her. She’s actually sleeping again.
Smiling.” His voice cracks, just barely.
“I don’t want to drag her backward by admitting that when she’s not right next to me, I’m in a constant state of panic.
That seeing her lifeless—having to perform CPR on her—haunts me every damn second. I just don’t know what good it’ll do.”
My chest tightens at the strain in his voice, and it makes me want to fix it, but I know I can’t.
“It might help you both understand each other better,” I say, turning a little in my seat to catch his eye.
“I’m sure Liv’s got things she’s scared to tell you too. But it sounds like she wants to try.”
Brandon nods, tapping the steering wheel thoughtfully. “Whatever you choose, we’ve got your back. You can talk to us anytime you’re struggling. Just… don’t shut the idea of therapy down right away. Think about it. Take your time.”
For a moment, the only sound is the steady hum of the tires on asphalt. The weight of the past eight weeks hanging heavy inside the truck.
Then Kade exhales—a long, shaky breath, like he’s been holding it since the moment he dragged Liv out of the water.
“I’ll think about it,” he says.
It isn’t a promise, but it’s more than he’s given before.
He leans his head back against the seat, eyes drifting closed again. “Just get me back to my girl.”
Brandon cracks a small smile. “You got it.”
My pulse kicks up at the thought of heading back to Kade’s parents’ place—back to where Aubrey is.
I’ve been trying to give her space, trying to figure out my next move.
I’m not a complete asshole—I know she’s doing everything she can to avoid me, and Justin is the perfect excuse.
But sooner or later, I’m going to need her to hear me out.
Talking to Mom cleared up a lot of the feelings I’ve carried about relationships, about myself, about why I reacted the way I did the minute Aubrey opened up about wanting more.
I might have lost her forever, and if that’s the case… then I’ll deal with it. But I can’t fully give her up until she knows the truth. I need a moment alone with her, where she has no choice but to listen.
Maybe, with how today’s luck has been going, that day will be today.
Because I can’t keep letting her believe she meant nothing to me. She’s too important for that. And if she’s willing to let me try… then I’m not walking away without making her understand just how much she matters.
Even if, in the end, it changes nothing between us, I have to try.