I swallowed the painful lump of emotions growing in my throat. Honestly, I would have preferred if she’d just yelled. Seeing her here, in person, after missing her for so long, made it difficult to sit here and speak as though we were nothing more to each other than mere strangers.
“A burning beam pinned me,” I told her. “Shattered my knee and burned my leg.”
Peyton finally looked at me when I said this, but her eyes cast down again as quickly as she had. “Your friend out there was wearing a fire department jacket,” she said quietly. “Is that what you do also?”
“Yes. But I think you already knew that.” I stared at the lines in Peyton’s face as she rolled up my pant leg and examined my knee, lifting it so that it was propped onto another chair, giving her full access to poke and prod. I winced as her fingers touched the damaged portion of my leg, but even through the pain, all I could really focus on was the feel of her skin against mine, a touch I’d once loved and craved that felt now like taking a long drink of booze after years of sobriety. “How have you been?” I asked softly, and again, Peyton ignored this. My heart felt tight, like a thousand knives stabbing me in the chest, throat, and heart. It felt so awkward sitting here sharing this room in silence, knowing we hadn’t seen each other in years. She was acting like I was nothing more than an injured patient, someone who came in, got treated, and then left.
Like we didn’t even have a four-year relationship,I thought bitterly, and for a moment, I wanted to shake her, snap my fingers in her face and yell, demand that she acknowledge me as more than some random guy who popped in with a boo-boo. Had she thought about me since that fateful night I’d walked out? Did she still have feelings for me? Did she still occasionally think about me like I still thought about her?
“Bend your knee for me,” Peyton said softly. I pulled in a sharp breath as more searing pain burned through me. Finally, she looked into my eyes, seeing the pain on my face. “What kind of pain relief are you taking?” she asked.
“None. I don’t take anything for it.”
She scoffed—she actually scoffed—and shook her head. “Typical,” she muttered, and it was so fleeting that I almost wasn’t sure if she’d said anything.
“What did you say?” I asked as Peyton released my leg. “Did you say typical?”
For a moment, she didn’t answer, and just when I thought she’d just ignore me, she spoke up. “Yes, I said typical,” she said, straightening up in the chair. She threw her head back to roll her eyes at the ceiling, and I caught a glimpse of her neck's smooth, freckled skin, the same neck I used to kiss until she moaned with desire for me. “Typical Korbin Butler, always playing hardball, yeah? Pain killers? No way. Therapy? No way. Not Korbin Butler, the big badass of Eagle River.”
“What can I say?” I asked her with a shrug, hoping that if I kept things light, it would break the ice and the dark mood in the room. “I guess I just don’t need ‘em.”
“Well, therapy is going to hurt without them,” she said, and at this point, she didn’t hesitate to grab my gaze and hold it. She looked better than ever, and I had to focus on not getting a fucking hard on just seeing her again. She was just as beautiful as I remembered, from the light auburn hair she wore in a single braid down her back to the green and gold speckled eyes she used to intimidate with.
“I’ve been through a lot of pain in my life,” I told her. “Physical pain is nothing.”
Peyton’s eyes narrowed into tiny slits, just briefly. She opened her mouth as though to say something to this but then thought better of it and closed it again.
“What?” I asked, and she shook her head.
“Nothing.”
“You can say whatever you want, Peyton,” I said, but she shook her head again. I hated that. I wished she would say anything to dignify the fact that we’d been engaged to be married once upon a time.
“Now that I’ve seen the knee, I’ll write up a PT plan that should benefit you the most,” she said, all business again, altogether avoiding the awkward moment between us. “Just remember to keep using your crutches and stay off the leg as much as possible.”
“It’s what I’ve been doing so far,” I mumbled, and Peyton ignored this.
“Same time next week, we can do this again,” she said, turning her attention back to her computer to type up some notes. I waited for her to finish and say something more, but she didn’t. She wouldn’t even look at me again.
“So, uh, I guess that’s it?” I asked, reaching for my crutches to hobble to my feet. After another second, Peyton turned to look at me. She nodded. Her face was a perfect mask of professionalism, and she didn’t even smile.
“That’s it. See you next week.”
“You’re not going to walk me out, Peyton?” I teased, using an old nickname that she hated. When her eyes narrowed at me until she glared, I realized that maybe she still hated it just as much now.
“Don’t call me Peyton,” she said. “And no. No, I’m not going to walk you out. Goodbye, Korbin.”
I stood at the door for a moment staring at her, trying to think of something to say that would ease this awkwardness and make her smile. I could apologize, get on my knees—or my one good knee—and beg for forgiveness, but I felt it really wouldn’t matter. Not anymore. Peyton Blake had left this town after her college graduation and never looked back. She went to physical therapy school in Denver and got a good job, which is what I’d heard last from her mother about a year ago.
Who was I to come in here and fuck it all up for her?
Then again, why was she even here to begin with? Was she here for good? Had she moved home? I knew that asking her wouldn’t do any good, not right now.
“See you later, Peyton,” I said, stepping out of the room before Peyton got it into her head to turn around and smack me. Instead, she watched me go, those beautiful eyes on my back staring after me, watching me. God, I missed her. I missed the feel of her skin, the touch of her caress, and the scent of her hair. I missed the way she laughed and even the way she cried. I missed her, and I hated myself for it. She deserved more. Peyton deserved more than me, and I hoped she had found it.
Or at least, that’s what I would continue to tell myself to survive this impromptu reunion.
Hansen was still sitting in the waiting room, and I found him leafing through some celebrity magazine, only halfway paying attention. He glanced up as I came stumbling through, setting the magazine aside.
