Page 50 of The Backup Plan

“Maybe that’s not the kind of release I need, huh?”

It’s bait. Not desire. A man trying to regain control of a situation where his body won’t cooperate.

“That’s not how this works, Hale,” I say calmly.

“No?” His mouth curves but his eyes and voice lack humor. “Shame.”

I exhale evenly. It isn’t the first time I’ve worked on an athlete who’s made sly innuendos, and it definitely won’t be the last. And yet, for some reason, I didn’t expect that from him. Not from a man who held my hair back without expecting anything in return.

“You’re angry about something, I get it. And if you don’t want to tell me why, totally fine. But don’t take it out on me if you don’t want me to look closer. I won’t be your verbal punching bag. That’s not how I work, and it certainly isn’t going to help you. Got it?”

He exhales loudly. “Just give me a game-ready final clearance, and you won’t have to worry about it, now will you?”

“Your clearance is fine where it is,” I state as he bristles. “And my giving you a game-ready one doesn’t move you out of my care. It actually makes me scrutinize you more. Nice try though. How about you tell me the real reason?”

There’s a heavy pause between us. I’m certain he’s weighing his choice to be defensive, but I see the minute he realizes it won’t do him any good. His body relaxes some, and the lines in his face aren’t so harsh.

“He called me out in front of everyone,” he finally says. It takes me a second to realize he’s talking about Coach. “I’m trying to earn my damn spot, to prove I deserve to be here when everyone knows about my shoulder, and he fucking undercut me.”

I step forward again and begin to manipulate his shoulder to let his discontent settle. The muscles are a bit softer now. More pliant. “Or,” I counter gently as I work, “Coach was trying to see if you’re ready to step back into a QB1 role.”

He barks out a laugh. It’s sharp and self-deprecating, meaning he clearly sees through my attempt at mitigating his anger. “I appreciate the optimism, but I’m well aware why I’m here.”

I adjust my stance and start a new series of exercises I haven’t done with him before. Rhythmic stabilization, isometric holds, and the like. “And yet, you’re still pushing.”

“I don’t have it in me to quit,” he says quietly.

“Noted,” I murmur as I get some resistance in the abduction. “Admired.” I repeat the motion and watch his vertical rotation again. “And exactly why I’m more determined to get you out there.”

His eyes meet mine and for the first time, I think he might actually be beginning to trust me. He nods and closes his eyes as I continue to assess him, the silence settling between us.

I map his muscles, aware of how they’re working together, watching for limitations or pinching. Interesting just how I’m aware of him in a way I shouldn’t be.

The sculpted muscles of his body. The fullness of his mouth. The way his breathing changes when I tweak the angle of his arm to 120 degrees.

What are you doing, Em? You’ve never noticed shit like this with a patient before.

Being hyperaware of everything about him is a natural thing. We’re becoming a team. He’s a patient. A colleague. A problem I’m solving.

He’s a nice guy—usually. A very attractive guy—always.

And my hands have been all over him.

So it’s natural for me to notice everything about him, right?

If that’s the case though, why has this never happened before?

I step away for a second—on purpose. Because this—what my runaway thoughts are trying to sew together—cannot happen ever.

I focus on the tablet and adding notes to my assessment form rather than acknowledge that my pulse is erratic, and my cheeks are flushed.

“What did the boyfriend say about you moving out here?” Lucas asks out of the blue, almost like he can read my ridiculous thoughts.

I startle.

“My love life doesn’t have anything to do with your arm.”

“True,” he says with a nonchalance that is more adorable than annoying. “But it might distract me from the torture you feel the need to keep inflicting on me.”