by Brisa Starr
She stands up and steps next to the table I’m sitting on. “OK. So which leg is it?”
“The left.” I lie back on the table, and she examines me, testing my range of motion, gently mashing around my inner thigh. My dick wakes up. Shit. I swallow hard and shift to distract myself.
Dude.
Get a grip.
She’s just doing a physical exam.
I clear my throat, and she looks at me. And for a moment, the hellish pain I’ve carried for the past ten years disappears. It’s like being chilled to the bone and then sinking into a hot tub, and all is safe and warm.
But when her hand releases my leg, the relief disappears, the torture comes crashing back, and my breathing turns erratic.
“Are you OK, Luke? I’m sorry, did that hurt?”
“Yeah. I mean, no, it’s OK,” I mutter and look to the door, needing to leave but wanting to stay. To be near her.
She sits down on her stool. “Does it hurt to walk?”
“A little, but not terribly.”
“How about when you close your legs? Does it hurt when you bring them together?”
I close my legs to check, and nod yes.
“Well, you’re right, it’s a pulled groin. Most likely Grade Two, which means you probably damaged a significant percentage of the muscle fibers.”
She grabs her clipboard and starts writing notes. I look at her slender hands and notice she’s not wearing a ring. I’m relieved. Though I don’t know why.
“I think we can rule out a stress fracture,” she continues and stands up, her chair rolling back toward the wall. “I’ll get an ice pack for you. Be right back.”
“Thank god,” I say, and she whips her head back at me. “I mean, thank you,” I correct.
I need to chill the fuck out. So she’s a beautiful woman, and she’s my physical therapist. Big deal. I’ve been around beautiful women before. She’s the same. Right?
Then why does the sound of her voice soothe my dreaded emptiness. Why does her face calm me?
I clasp my hands behind my head and take the moment alone to get my head straight. To distract myself from Ashle… I mean, Ash — I switch gears and start planning my departure for shortly after the funeral. Getting the hell out of this nightmare of a town.
She returns a minute later, smiling, and says, “Here’s an ice pack.”
I put it on my groin area, hoping it will dull the ache. Which I just now realize has spread to my balls. What the hell?
“Keep it on for 20 minutes while you’re here, and twenty minutes every couple of hours for two or three days. After that, you can come back, and we’ll continue therapy. “When you get home, you can also take an anti-inflammatory to help with the pain if it’s too…”
“I won’t need that shit,” I cut her off.
I welcome the pain. Fuck, I deserve it. But I can’t tell her that.
She wouldn’t understand, but I won’t numb my pain.
“OK,” she shrugs, probably thinks I’m some kind of macho asshole. “You also need to avoid any moves that aggravate it.”
“Duh. How long until it’s healed?”
She flinches at me. Smooth move, dickhead. I just need to get out of here. Out of this office and out of Prescott. ASAP.
“Well, that depends on you. For starters, if you’re good about icing it, that’ll speed your recovery. Next, there’s doing the therapies here at the office, over the next week or two, plus exercises at home. And, last...” she sighs before continuing, “most patients don’t like to hear this, but if you eat an anti-inflammatory diet, you’ll accelerate the recovery.”
“Great. If I do all that, how long?”
“Could be a matter of just a couple weeks, maybe three at most, based on my initial assessment.”
“I plan on leaving next week, so let’s make this happen. What do I need to eat?”
She leans against the counter. Her scrubs aren’t flattering, but I can gauge her womanly shape underneath. My cock twitches, and I casually adjust the ice to cover it.
“It’s more about what you don’t eat than what you eat.” She smiles and lights up as she dives into telling me to avoid sugar, grains, starch — all the white stuff. And to load up on sardines, anchovies, quality meats, and salads. Her animated mood is enchanting, and a slight smile tries to tug at my mouth.
I can’t resist asking. “Are you a health nut?”
“Ha!” she snorts. “You could say that. I’m into fitness and health. I think more people should pay attention to it when they’re younger, to look and feel good now, and to help recover from injuries,” she says, nodding toward the ice pack. “But also to prevent injuries now and down the road when you’re older. What we do today affects our health, even our brains, tomorrow, and down the line when we’re seniors.”
She realizes she went off on a soapbox and blushes. “I’m sorry, I get carried away when I talk about this stuff. I’m passionate about it.”
“I can tell,” I say and let myself smile. “Where did you go to school?”
She turns to the sink and washes her hands. I take back what I said about her unflattering scrubs… her ass looks amazing. A pair of nice, round globes. Yeah, Ashleigh — I mean, Ash — is hot. A wave of scarlet desire rolls through my veins.
“I did an accelerated program at NAU for both my undergrad and physical therapist license in six years. It wasn’t easy, but I just powered through.” She turns back to face me, drying her hands with a paper towel.
I nod with appreciation, but no words come to me. We stare at each other for a moment, and then she breaks the silence. “Anyway, I’ll show you some stretches you can do at home.” She grabs a bright orange yoga mat from behind the exam table and places it on the floor. “If — and that’s a big ‘if’ — you feel up to it, you can do these. You should feel zero pain doing these. Zero. Don’t push it, or you risk injuring it more,” she warns.
“Yes, ma’am,” I tease, saluting her, and I’m surprised at the banter I’m allowing myself to engage in. It’s unlike me.
As she sits down on the mat, she says, “We’ll start therapy in a few days, after you’ve iced and rested it enough. But if it feels better before then, you can do these to speed the recovery.”
Relieved to have some space between us, I lean up on my elbow and enjoy the show as she lies on her back and demonstrates the different exercises. I like watching her as she moves through the stretches, and a small thrill ripples through my core.
“OK, those three are enough to get you started. We’ll do rehabilitation exercises when you come back,” she says from the floor and looks up at me. “Then I’ll also give you some exercises to strengthen those areas and help prevent any further injuries. You can do those when you go back home.”
A brief relief hits my chest as she says, “go back home,” and I realize, yes, I’ll be going home soon. I can’t wait to get out of Prescott. There’s a reason I haven’t been back here for ten years, and I don’t plan to stay one moment longer than necessary.
She interrupts my thought and asks, “Where is home, anyway?”
“Long Beach,” I answer and sit up, swinging my legs over the edge of the exam table.
She stands up and brushes her hands together. “Oh. Nice. I’ve heard it’s great there. I’ve never been. Have you lived there long?”
“Yeah, after I graduated from University of Pennsylvania, I moved there to open up the wealth management office I run with a few other guys from the area.”
“Do you surf?” she asks, excitement filling her beautiful hazel eyes.
“Hell yes. It’s one of my favorite things to do. I’ve even surfed Shipstern Bluff off of Tasmania.”
She smiles and shrugs sheepishly, “Um, is that special for some reason?”
I chuckle. “Yeah, you could say that. There are massive swells and they slam into a granite ledge. If that weren’t enough, it’s cold as fuck, and there are plenty of sharks.”
“Whoa,” she says, her alluri
ng eyes wide with intrigue. “I’ve always wanted to learn how to surf. I love being in nature and exercising at the same time. It always seemed like an ideal option. I’m afraid of sharks though.”
“Me too,” I say.
She’s confused, so I add, “But I do it anyway. I love the adrenaline rush. Still, you’re a thousand times more likely to get killed driving to the beach than getting eaten by a shark.”
“Hm. Well, maybe I’ll try it someday.”
She looks at me, and we don’t say anything. I take in her beauty, her curved mouth, the wisps of hair framing her face, and a calm floats over my usual tension. I enjoy the brief separation from my shadows. The session is over too soon, and I stand up to leave.
She blinks and lets out a breath. “OK, well, Luke, that’s it for today. I’ll walk you out to the receptionist, and you can book your next appointment. I’d like to see you in three days, but if you feel you need to come in sooner, don’t hesitate.”
I follow her out of the exam room, walking behind her. I tilt my head to the side as I notice a tingling at the base of my neck. Hm. I want to stay here with her. Just then, she trips on the toe of her running shoe, and she stumbles forward but corrects herself. She turns around to see if I saw, and her face flushes pink like a cherry blossom.
I can’t help but laugh a little and smile. “Are you OK?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.
She laughs too, and a smile replaces the embarrassment on her face. “If you only knew... I mean, yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”
My remaining steps to the receptionist are lighter, and I wish the session wasn’t over because I’m enjoying Ash’s spunky energy. It’s a stark contrast to the ominous, dark clouds I dwell in all day long.
As I’m talking with the receptionist about payment and my next appointment, Ash pops her head out, a radiant smile on her face. “Oh, and Luke? Make sure you sleep on your side with a pillow between your knees to avoid excessive hip flexion.”
“Will do,” I reply and a smile tugs at my mouth. Damn, she’s sexy and smart. For the first time in a while, I’m not totally hating life. Too bad I’m leaving Prescott.
I want to see her again soon, so I make the appointment for two days, instead of three. As I walk out to my car, I feel much better than I did when I walked into the place… my groin and my mind. Maybe it’s the ice, or maybe it was Ashleigh. Correction, I mean... Ash.
It felt damn good being near her.
I’m looking forward to seeing her again. Soon.
4
Luke
The brief serenity I felt in the clinic evaporates, as I pull into my parents’ driveway and see my sister’s new red mini-van, complete with a suction-cupped baby-on-board sign on the inside of the back window.
I get out of my car, and I look across the street to take in the sight of Ash’s house. Yeah, I remember her. I chuckle.
She used to play naked in her blue, plastic kiddie pool out front when she was... I don’t know, three or four years old? Growing up, she was a lot younger than me, so I never paid much attention to her, but my family would see her family at neighborhood block parties. Well, we saw Ash with her dad. Her mom was never around. I think she left when Ash was a baby.
I turn back to face my parents’ house, and black winds blow through me. I sigh. I can’t believe I’m back here. In fucking Prescott.
I walk into the house, and my younger sister calls out from the kitchen, “Luke? Is that you?”
“Yeah,” I grumble.
“Good, can you come in here, please?” she hollers back.
I drop my keys on the wood table by the front door and head to the kitchen. “Hi, Maggie. What’s up?”
“Not much, but, well... we need to talk.” She gestures to the chair across the table where she’s sitting, eight months pregnant, folding laundry. My sister and I look nothing like each other. I take after my dad’s Polish side, and she takes after Mom’s Italian side, with brown hair and brown eyes.
“If I’d known you were doing laundry here, I’d have given you mine,” I say, ignoring her “We have to talk” comment, and getting a cup of coffee for myself.
“Don’t even think about it. I have to use Mom’s washer until mine gets fixed. I bought all these baby clothes, and I want to wash them before the baby is born.” She holds up a tiny, green T-shirt with yellow stars and coos, “Isn’t this adorable?”
“Yeah,” I say, taking in my sister. She’s piled her wavy hair on top of her head, and she’s wearing a purple maternity top with blue paisleys. I’ve missed her all these years with my staying away, but we’ve stayed in touch on a monthly basis, checking in with each other.
She has that pregnant glow you hear about, but also dark circles hanging under her eyes. I draw my eyebrows closer together as I study her face. She had a difficult time getting pregnant and went through numerous IUI attempts at the fertility clinic. She and her husband, Brent, were just about to pull the trigger on the much more expensive IVF, when she ended up getting pregnant, all on their own. They were ecstatic, but I know the difficulties have made her extra cautious.
She puts the T-shirt down with the others. “Luke, can we talk?”
“Sure,” I sigh. “What do you want to talk about?” I sit down at the table across from her and narrow my eyes in her direction.
“Don’t look at me like that. We have to talk, and you know it.”
I rub my face and look up at her between my spread fingers. “Fine,” I say and put my elbows on the table.
“Luke,” she says, her voice soft, “I love you so much. You know that.” She reaches her hand across the table to grasp mine. Here it comes. “But.” She pauses, and then continues, “It’s been ten years. It’s time to move on.”
I pull my hand back like she burned me, and waves of anxiety crash around me. “Maggie, don’t go there,” I warn. “You have no idea what I’ve been through!”
“I know, Luke, but I know what I’ve been through since the accident, too. You never think about that,” she snaps, shaking her head at me, a frown on her face. “So, I will go there today, because I have to now. Dad’s dead. It’s time for you to cut your bullshit and move on.”
“Bullshit?” I ask, horrified.
She grunts. “Sorry!” She knows she went too far. “We have to talk though,” she says delicately, and I twist my neck like it’s sore.
I don’t want to hear this right now.
But I’m resigned to get this over with, so I sit back in my chair, take a sip of my coffee, and give Maggie my full attention. Where is she going with this?
“Maggie, Dad just died. Between that, and all the other shit of having to come back here, I really don’t want to listen to you complaining.”
She huffs and tries to stand up, but the weight of being in her third trimester forces her to sit down again, and her breathing intensifies from the effort.
Shit. It’s a punch to my gut, and I immediately stand and ask, “Maggie, what can I get for you? Are you OK?”
“You’re raising my blood pressure, Luke, and I need some water. Can you please get me some?” she grits through her teeth.
I grab a small glass from the cupboard. I fill it with cold water and bring it back to her. I sit down again, and the wood chair is already getting uncomfortable.
“Thanks,” she says, taking a sip, her brown eyes slowly warming again. I look over to the counter and see various wrapped cakes and breads adorning it. Neighbors have started bringing over food for the family in mourning.
“Luke, let me say my piece.” She sets her glass on the table and focuses her eyes onto mine, “You haven’t been here in ten years. I know we’ve seen you when you fly us out for holidays — so you could avoid coming back to Prescott. But I don’t think anybody has sat you down and given you a straight talk.” She purses her lips and says, “Well, it’s time.”
My neck prickles in annoyance, and I look down at my hands, but I say nothing, so she can get whatever she needs to off her chest.
“What do you mean?” I had no idea.
She waves her hand at me to relax. “The baby is just riding a bit lower in my body than normal, and the doctor wants to make sure I don’t go into labor too soon.” She shakes her head and sighs. “I need to stay in bed as much as I can. And that’s why I want to talk to you.”
“Of course. How can I help?” I sigh and scrape my teeth along my upper lip. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“I know you didn’t, but you do now.” She clasps her hands together and rests them on the pile of tiny baby clothes. “Well, it’s not just what you can do for me. It’s what you can do for Mom, and frankly, for yourself.” Her eyes bore into mine like she’s gearing up for a big announcement. “I need you to stay in Prescott for a couple of months.”
I jump out of my chair, my heart racing. “No fucking way, Maggie! There is no way I’m staying here that long.”
“Luke, please,” she says with steely calm.
I exhale and fear grips my voice. “Maggie, I can’t.”
“You can, Luke, and I need you to. Please. And Mom needs you, too. Dad just died. She doesn’t know what to do with herself. You know how close they were, how she depended on him. She’ll need help transitioning to a life without him. I can’t... I can’t be here to do that.” She rubs her enormous, round belly. “I’ve got to be on bed rest, and when my baby is born, I’ll have a newborn.” She takes a deep breath, and I can see this conversation is wearing on her.
She continues, “I can’t do it all anymore. You weren’t here the past ten years helping Mom and Dad with stuff. I was!” Her voice rises. “And now I need you to pick up the slack, because I can’t do it all!”
Fuck. The realization envelops me, and pain hits the back of my throat. It’s now that I notice how dark the circles really are under her eyes, and I can only imagine the weight on her shoulders of everything she’s got to deal with. Hell, everything she’s done for ten whole years to help my parents.
