Nash rolled into the kitchen after maneuvering himself around the outside of the house, up the walkway to the front door and through the living room. His father’s house wasn’t exactly handicap accessible.

But thankfully, the house was empty right now, which gave him a little slice of peace. Between listening to his brother prod him with questions about Emmy and his father ridicule pretty much every decision he’d ever made in his life, his mind was a whirlwind of negativity right now.

What he wanted was a nice, cold beer and some uninterrupted time in front of the TV. He pulled on the refrigerator door with his good arm and surveyed what was available to him. Beer was on top, just enough to be out of reach.

“Damn it,” he muttered to himself as he inched his way forward on his seat and extended his good arm as far as possible. He managed to topple one of the glass bottles, but it didn’t land in his hand. Instead, it bypassed him completely, bounced off the arm rest and shattered against the cold tile floor below.

“What in the holy hell are you doing?” Brick yelled from the front door. Great, he wasn’t alone after all.

“Well, ya know, I thought busting a beer bottle all over the damn floor sounded like a fun idea today. I was a little bored,” Nash said through gritted teeth. His father pulled the back of his wheelchair away from the towering appliance and slammed the door.

“You’ve got to start therapy, Nash. You’re not getting any better.”

“I’ve decided that therapy isn’t going to help me. I just need to rest and heal, and then I’ll be our of your hair and back to Vegas where I belong.” Nash wheeled himself around the large breakfast bar and out of the way of the glass shards that were scattered across the tile floor. He watched as his father struggled to pick them up.

Brick had back problems from years in the rodeo world, and he wasn’t getting any younger. But Nash would never mention either of those issues to his father or risk an all out argument that the neighbors several acres away would hear. In Brick’s mind, he was invincible no matter his age or medical ailments.

“Back where you belong, huh?” Brick muttered as he tossed another piece of glass in the stainless steel trashcan at the end of the island, causing the sound of pinging metal to reverberate around the room.

“Vegas is my home, Dad. You know that.”

“Vegas is the home you chose, Nash. And don’t think for one second that I don’t know you chose Vegas to get away from me.” He stood and opened the refrigerator, pulling out two bottles of beer. He popped the top on one and handed it to Nash.

Brick Collier wasn’t an emotional man. He didn’t cry. He didn’t have heartfelt conversations with anyone, especially Nash. They had butted heads since he could remember. But right now, he seemed softer than Nash remembered.

“I chose to go my own way. I needed to break away from…”

“Me,” Brick said, finishing his sentence.

Nash sighed. “I needed to be my own man. Surely you of all people can understand that.”

“You know, when I was a kid, I remember my Dad wanting me to come work in his plumbing business. He talked about it all the time. ‘Boy, I’m building this business so you never have to worry about money in your life’, he would say. And I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I didn’t want to stick my hand in other people’s crap everyday for the rest of my life. When he died, I was seventeen years old. I’d apprenticed for him for two years at that point. He died thinking that I would take the reins of his company and build it even bigger. But as soon as I could sell it off, I did. And I made a profit and built my company.” Brick took a long sip of his beer. “I guess I should’ve felt guilty about not continuing the family business, but I can’t say I ever did.”

Nash had never heard that story. “So you understand that I needed to do my own thing?”

Brick sighed. “No. I don’t.”

Nash shook his head. “What? How can you not see it’s the same situation?”

“It’s not the same situation at all, Nash. My Dad wanted me to do what he loved. I only asked you to do what you already loved. And you rejected that.”

There was a weighty moment of silence between the two men before Nash’s cell phone rang. He hesitated for a moment before looking down, but when he noticed his new doctor’s phone number, he knew he had to answer it.

“Sorry. It’s Dr. Miller…”

Brick waved his hand. “Take it.”

Nash pressed the button to answer it. “Hello?”

“Nash? Dr. Miller here.”

Dr. Miller was about as gruff as any person he’d ever met. For a small town doctor, he didn’t pull any punches.

“What’s up, Doc?” Nash said without thinking about the obvious correlation to a popular cartoon character. He heard the doctor grunt under his breath.

“I understand you haven’t begun your therapy yet, Nash. Why is that?”

Nash looked up at his father for moment. Brick got the message and excused himself out to the deck, shutting the door behind him.

“Look, Dr. Miller, I just don’t think therapy is going to do a dang thing to heal me any faster. I think what I need is some rest here at my father’s house, and then I’ll be good as new to head back to Vegas. Plus, I think these anti-inflammatories and pain pills are magical…”

“I told you at your appointment what the rules were, Nash. I will not continue prescribing pain medication to a patient who won’t even do the simplest things I suggest. Therapy… early therapy… can mean the difference between a full life or one spent in a wheelchair.”

“I understand your suggestions…”

“No, I don’t think you do. You’re becoming too dependent on the medications, and you’re not doing the bare minimum to help yourself. I spoke with Dan Sheffield today.”

The name Dan Sheffield was enough to stop Nash in his tracks. For all intents and purposes, Dan was his boss. He owned the whole rodeo company that Nash competed for, so Dr. Miller had certainly caught his attention.

“You spoke to Dan?”

“Yes. He called me this morning for an update on your progress.”

“But I talked to him two days ago.”

“Yes, and he noted that you were slurring your words and hadn’t started therapy yet.”

Slurring his words? No way that was true. Dr. Miller was just being dramatic.

“I resent being made to feel like a drug addict. I’m taking these pills as prescribed.” In his heart of hearts, he knew he was in dangerous territory. With his mother’s history of alcoholism, addiction was a definite possibility for Nash.

“And drinking a few beers along with them, I’d bet,” Dr. Miller said. Nash looked down at the bottle in his hand and then surveyed the room, wondering if there were nanny cams watching him or something.

“That’s my business,” Nash said under his breath.

“Well, you’re about to be out of business. The rodeo business anyway.”

“Excuse me?”

“Let me lay it out for you, my boy. If you don’t show up at therapy tomorrow and every other day scheduled for you, Dan is not going to renew your contract.”

“I’m his biggest draw, Doc. No way that’s true,” Nash said, his stomach starting to lurch.

“Well, Mr. Rodeo Celebrity, you’re in your thirties, injured and more than a little cocky, so it’s quite possible that some young buck is going to take your place while you’re ‘recuperating’ in your father’s house.”

Nash hated being wrong. He hated being told what to do. But he loved a challenge, and this was starting to feel like one. He’d show them. He’d go to every therapy appointment and work overtime to get back to his prime. He’d come back better than ever no matter what anybody thought.

“Doc, I’ll be there bright and early tomorrow.”

* * *

Emmy liked feeling useful again. It got her mind off her troubles, at least somewhat. Her cell phone was off and in her purse, keeping the collectors at bay. Debbie had offered to sit with Pauline for a few hours, which gave Emmy comfort that her mother wasn’t setting the house on fire or something.

“How’re you feeling, Mrs. Riley?” Emmy asked the older woman who was her first therapy patient of the day. She had a bad back and mostly just needed some trigger point massage and heat packs.

“Oh, I’m good, dear,” she said, though her voice was muffled as she lay face down on the table.

“Good. My next patient is due in soon, but Hillary will help you once your timer goes off, okay?” Hillary was Emmy’s assistant, a young college student studying physical therapy. She was good and did what Emmy asked of her, although she was a bit shy so they needed to work on that.

“Ms. Moore?” Hillary said as she walked into the therapy area.

“Again, please call me Emmy. Okay?” She smiled through semi-gritted teeth. Emmy wasn’t one who liked repeating herself. And being called “Ms” made her feel ancient.

“Sorry. Um, your next patient is here. Should I bring him back?”

“Yes, please. I need to run to the restroom, so just put him in the evaluation area and I’ll be there shortly. And be sure to ask if he’d like some water or coffee.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ma’am. Ugh.

Emmy stood in the small bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. It was barely past nine in the morning and she already looked haggard. She was mentally exhausted between living with her mother and worrying about money. Maybe she could afford some new makeup to hide the dark circles under her eyes.

She walked back out into the therapy area and saw Hillary working with Mrs. Riley. The older woman waved at her as she stood and stretched her back.

“If that stiffens up, try an ice pack for twenty minutes followed by a heating pad for twenty minutes, okay?” Emmy called to her.

She turned to go into the evaluation room, a small area off the large therapy room. She wasn’t expecting to see Nash sitting there, a scowl on his face.

“Good morning,” she said. He looked up and stalled for a moment before speaking.

“Hey. I mean good morning. What’re you doing here?”

Emmy laughed. “I work here. I’m a physical therapist.”

“Oh my gosh…”

“You didn’t know that?”

“Of course not. I would’ve requested…” he said, before stopping himself.

“Someone else? Nice vote of confidence.” She turned toward the desk and picked up an iPad that had all of her patient files and notes in it.

“I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that this is stressful enough…”

Emmy sat down and looked at him with her best poker face. “I’m a professional, Nash. I’ve worked in physical therapy for a long time. And I assure you that our past… issues… won’t hamper my ability to treat you. Are we clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a sly smile.

“Don’t call me ma’am.”

“So how long is this going to take?” he asked, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

“About an hour, I would think.”

“No. I mean this whole therapy thing. I need to get back to Vegas.”

“Ah, yes, Vegas. Your holy land. Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you any longer than necessary.” She looked down at the iPad, her vision blurry from irritation.

“Hey, I thought you said we wouldn’t have any issues relating to our past?”

“Fine. Sorry. Small slip-up. Won’t happen again.”

“You still didn’t answer me.”

“That’s because I don’t know, Nash. Everyone responds differently to treatment. You’re young, so that’s in your favor.”

“You think I’m young?” he asked with a smile.

“We’re almost the same age, Nash.”

He sighed. “Ballpark? How long are we looking at?”

She looked at his chart. “Dr. Miller wasn’t overly optimistic in his notes.”

“He hates me.”

“Regardless, he noted that you’re taking painkillers and anti-inflammatory medications?”

“Yes. When a bull steps on you, it tends to hurt.”

She looked up and smiled slightly. “I’m sure it does.”

“Is there anyone else? Literally, anyone?”

“Anyone else for what?”

“To be my therapist.”

Emmy had to admit that his words hurt. Either he didn’t trust her or he hated her, and both options bothered her more than she’d like to admit.

“No. I’m all you’ve got around here, Nash.” She turned off the tablet and looked at him. “But I will promise you this - If you’ll do what I ask and show up to therapy, I will give you one hundred percent of my knowledge. I will study case histories and try to find even more information to help you. I will do everything I can to get you back on your feet and back to the job you love as soon as possible. I’ll work with you and not let our past interfere at all. Deal?”

Nash looked up, his eyes softening a bit. He smiled. “Deal. And thank you, Emmy. I really do appreciate it.”

She sucked in a ragged, but thankfully quiet, breath. “It’s no problem. It’s what I do for all of my patients.”

She couldn’t be sure, but his face seemed to fall a bit at the thought that he wasn’t special. He was just another patient that she would tend to as best she could.

The only problem was, he was special.