Chapter 11 #3
Tobin felt her body tense further at Harrow’s implied judgement.
This was definitely more than a simple spasm.
She knew she needed to address it before it turned into something worse—progressive issues, medical leave, maybe even surgery.
She just didn’t want to go the route Harrow was on the verge of suggesting, the one that involved a certain gorgeous, amber-eyed chiropractor whose hands could soothe a weary soul as easily as a spasming back.
“Just get me into the bath, and we’ll see where things are after that. And, yes,” she added through clenched teeth, “I have some pills left.” Tobin ground her teeth so hard her jaw clicked.
Harrow, to her credit, didn’t press. But Tobin could feel the tension between them, the unspoken words on the tip of her sister’s tongue, taunting her. She could not call Grier. She had no right—no ground to stand on.
When they got home, Harrow helped her up the stairs and into her bedroom, depositing her on the bed before moving into the ensuite to start the large soaker tub. The sound of running water filled the silence between them, heavy and unspoken.
“How much Epsom salt do you want in here?” “The whole damn bag.”
Harrow reappeared a minute later, a glass of tap water in one hand and a pill in the other. She handed them to Tobin, who took the muscle relaxer and washed it down in one long gulp.
“I think I can manage my clothes without you,” Tobin said quietly.
“Sounds good. Text me if you need help getting out of the tub. I’ll just be in the living room.”
When the door clicked shut, Tobin sank slowly into the hot bath, coaching her muscles to relax.
The wet heat was soothing, and she could feel her muscles absorbing the relaxing magnesium from the salts.
The muscle relaxer was hard at work, too.
She numbly took notice of the effects as her mind conceded to the euphoria of the prescription drug.
Her mind began to wander, no longer in complete control of her own thoughts.
In that hazy calm, she felt phantom hands on her skin—Grier’s hands—gently caressing her low back, knowing exactly where to push, where to knead. Her body ached under the memory of it, as though her muscles craved her more than her heart dared admit.
She sank deeper under the water, continuing to imagine Grier’s hands on her body—roaming, exploring.
The desire she’d been striving so diligently to suffocate over the last week flickered to life, quickly igniting and driving a recognizable ache into Tobin’s groin.
She slipped too deep into the water and choked as it covered her face.
Grabbing for the edge of the tub, she tried to pull herself upright, but her back spasmed in protest, and she screamed in pain.
Harrow was in the room within seconds. Tobin was heaving in agony, clinging to the side of the tub, gasping for breath—and failing to drive thoughts of the doctor from her mind.
“We’re done with this masquerade of strength,” Harrow said, exasperated, crossing her arms and cocking a hip. “You can call her, or I will. But one way or another, you’re seeing Grier tonight.”
A whisper of understanding rippled through Tobin’s mind as she accepted the inevitable. Harrow would win this argument—and Tobin no longer had the will to fight.
For the second time that night, she asked for her phone.
Her heart lodged in her throat as she listened to the phone ring, certain her call would be ignored just like the text she’d sent.
“Hello?” Grier’s voice on the other end of the line was tentative and reserved—not the bubbly, assertive voice Tobin had come to recognize as synonymous with the doctor’s personality.
She loathed herself for causing that change, for deflating the spirit of this effervescent woman.
Her free hand clenched into a fist, and she couldn’t be certain if it was in anger or pain.
Tobin swallowed the lump in her throat and drew in a shaky breath.
“Grier?” she croaked, the lump failing to dislodge.
She forced a cough, then forced steadiness into her voice.
“Grier. Hey, um… I know I have a lot of explaining to do—and probably an equal amount of groveling. I’m probably the biggest ass in your life right now. ”
A soft gasp slipped through the line. Tobin pictured Grier fiddling with the pendant at the hollow of her throat—a pendant Tobin desperately wanted to catch between her teeth, to follow with a trail of kisses along Grier’s collarbones, just to hear what other sounds she could draw from her.
Music drifted faintly through the background, mingled with distant voices, like Grier had stepped out of a small house party to answer.
“Shit, you’re busy. I’m sorry. Forget I called.”
Tobin’s heart sank—and so did her body. The shift inadvertently caused her back to spasm. A curse tore from her lips, followed by a guttural, feral noise from the hollows of her gut.
“Tobin.”
Hearing her name on Grier’s lips was like the crash of waves against the lake cliffs—it was fierce and surging with power. Tobin’s heart raced. She’d do anything to hear her say it again.
“Why did you call?” Grier’s tone was measured, probing delicately. “I know you didn’t just want to remind me of your inadequacies, so cut the shit. Stop wasting my time.”
Tobin deserved that. And rightfully, she was grateful Grier wasn’t about to take her shit without a fight.
“Any chance you have a treatment table at home?” Tobin winced silently, hearing just how pathetic she sounded. She could hear her desperation. Maybe Grier would tell her no—hang up, end the call. Maybe that would be the small piece of closure she needed to fully close the door on Grier.
“Why?” The defiance in Grier’s voice was clear, but Tobin could swear she sensed something buried beneath it—a flicker of concern.
No, she told herself. She’s a doctor, and a good one based on everything people said at the gala.
Of course she’d want to know why someone’s asking if she has a treatment table. It’s her nature.
“I… uh… I slipped a couple hours ago.” “Details, Tobin. Spit it out.”
There it was again—her name on Grier’s lips. Exasperated, edged with defiance, but it was her name. Tobin’s stomach performed a series of Olympic-worthy flips, adrenaline coursing through her veins. It was an entirely different rush than the one the same chemicals caused after her fall.
“I volunteer for a dog rescue. We had a big transfer today, and I was unloading the last kennel when I slipped on the wet bath floor. My legs did some incomprehensible acrobatics, and I landed on my ass with searing pain down my left leg. I know I pissed off my old compression fracture. I thought muscle relaxers and an Epsom salt bath would help, but I still can’t bear weight, and the pain hasn’t improved.
I… I wouldn’t have called, but, I need…”
You. The unspoken truth sat on her tongue, heavy and immovable.
“Is the dog okay?”
Grier’s radiant concern carried clearly through the phone.
“What?” Air rushed from Tobin’s lungs—then, unexpectedly, she laughed.
A wave of relief washed over her shoulders, and she felt a featherlight reduction in her tension.
Grier’s preoccupation with the dog’s welfare was endearing, her gentle compassion a welcome distraction from the pain.
She chuckled, then audibly sucked in a sharp breath as the laughter triggered another spasm—searing pain racing down her leg. So much for comedic relief. This spasm was hell-bent on incapacitating all attempts at feelings that didn’t directly center around it.
“Never mind. Have you even been adjusted before?”
Tobin could sense the hesitance in Grier’s voice—a tug-of-war between obvious concern and reserved self-preservation.
Again, she was reminded of the fact that she was the cause of this blatant conflict of emotion.
She despised herself for causing Grier’s obvious change in character; Tobin didn’t have to guess that this was not Grier’s natural response, favoring obvious compassion when unencumbered by a hurting heart.
“No,” Tobin said, the word catching in her throat. “I just thought… well, you helped my arm so much, and I was kind of hoping you might be able to do the same for my back. I don’t even know if that’s how it works.”
She was losing what little confidence she had.
This was a stupid decision. Why had she let Harrow talk her into this?
The pain was debilitating, obviously—but she could’ve gone to the ED, or a walk-in clinic.
Hell, she could’ve found a chiropractor with weekend hours who didn’t make her heart ache every time she spoke.
Tobin sighed to herself. She had to own her actions—and she knew this call was more about who she was calling than why.
She wanted to see Grier again. The pull of attraction was constant, a low, insistent tug trying to draw them back together.
It was selfish, knowing she couldn’t offer Grier any real hope of something lasting.
She knew she wasn’t going to change her mind—she stood by her decision to not pursue a relationship when she needed to focus on a baby.
But her heart didn’t understand that. And it didn’t make it any easier to cut her out.
“This was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have called. I’ll go to urgent care. Goodni—”
“Stop.” Grier’s voice cut through, steady, but cool. “Urgent care is just going to medicate you.
Tobin could hear the wall she’d built between them. Guarding herself from her.
“I’ll drop you a pin,” Grier continued. “Can you even drive?” “I shouldn’t, not after the muscle relaxers,” Tobin admitted.
“My sister Harrow can drive me. Is that okay?” “See you soon.”
The line went dead.
“This was a bad idea,” Tobin grumbled, gripping the comforter tightly on either side of her.
“She said yes?” Harrow asked, leaning against the dresser. “Reluctantly,” Tobin reported, an edge of concern in her voice.
“I should call her back—call this off. It’s a bad idea.” “Tobin, you can’t walk on your own.”
“We both know that I could’ve gone to anyone open tomorrow. But, I called her. After hours. On a weekend. And I obviously interrupted something—I could hear people in the background. I hurt her, Harrow. And now I’m asking for favors. Who does that? I’m surprised she even took my call.”
“You called because you’re in pain, and she has history of helping you reduce pain.
” Harrow’s tone was gentle but firm. “Seeing her is more productive than getting medication at a clinic or the ED. And, she’s clearly a really good person.
Maybe you didn’t hurt her as much as you think you did. Maybe this is an opportunity to talk?”
“Talking won’t change anything. I can’t be in a relationship right now. I have more pressing things to focus on.” Tobin stiffened where she sat, her back tightening in protest. She sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth.
To her surprise, Harrow didn’t argue. “Come on, then.” She moved to help Tobin off the bed. “Let’s get moving so she can get on with her night.”
Harrow parked Tobin’s SUV along the curb beside the house.
It was a charming two-story Victorian with a turret crowned by bay windows on both floors.
The neighborhood was quiet, streetlights pooling soft amber light over manicured lawns.
Through glowing windows, the silhouettes of neighbors flicked in and out of sight, lives unfolding in parallel.
Tobin watched as Harrow came around to the passenger door without a word. Together, they followed the illuminated walkway toward the porch. Music and laughter emanated through the walls, warm and easy.
At the top of three steps, Tobin hesitated. Through the open curtains, she caught sight of Grier in the throes of laughter—eyes closed, head tilted back, dancing with Delta, Grant and a woman she didn’t recognize. A dog darted between them, barking and spinning in joyful chaos.
And Tobin hated how much she wanted to share in her joy, to be a part of her happiness.
The sound of Harrow knocking snapped her back. Tobin straightened, leaning into her sister, at a loss for words as her mind and body continued to rage war against each other. She didn’t know which was winning anymore, but she did know one thing. She was falling for Grier.
And she was moments from having Grier’s hands on her body.