Mallory
Driving down the road, the sense of freedom is exhilarating. Just me, the radio, and the endless sea of asphalt as I accelerate, leaving all my worries in the proverbial dust. Sometimes, I feel as though Jason was helping me out of pity—having to take care of the poor, weak woman. He says I’m strong, but I’m not. Not even a little bit. When I look in the mirror, all that stares back is a meek, weak-willed woman who let a man beat her down mentally and physically.
Leaving him standing there in the parking lot was not what I had planned, but I can’t help but think about yesterday. I never heard him leave, his apartment was quiet instead of the subtle drone of the television or him banging around doing God knows what. But yesterday…it was eerie silence, and it bothered me, though I’m not sure why. I just felt off, skittish—anxious. All day, I kept listening for something, anything, even the click of his door shutting, and basically posted next to the window to see if his truck was there. It wasn’t. I couldn’t help wondering where he was, what he was doing...and when he didn’t come home, who he was doing.
My thoughts kept me up most of the night, and I wanted to kick my own ass for being so…clingy, and needy, even if it was mental. What he does, or who, isn’t my business, and I hate that I’m letting it cloud my head. We’re friends. That’s it. It doesn’t matter than I want him in ways I didn’t think possible, or that the urge to kiss him is overwhelming.
Shaking my head, I try to block out the crazy and focus on the here and now. I need to gain control of my life—to focus on me. Using the car’s Bluetooth, I plug in the address of the therapy place and take the next exit.
The closer I get, the more nervous I get. Butterflies swarm in my stomach—and not in a good way. The bad feeling continues to rise as I turn into the parking lot, and I pull into a space near the door. The front of the building is nearly all tinted glass, but shadows of movement are visible.
I just sit, staring at the door, self-doubt creeping in.
Can I do this? Yes, damn it, I can.
I’m not that beaten down woman anymore. I’m strong. I can do this. After a few deep breaths, I work up the courage to open the door. The heat of the sun warms my face as I lean against the car door. I can do this. One step at a time, the saying on repeat in my head, I make my way across the hot pavement toward the double doors. A blast of cool air hits me as soon as I pull open the door and move toward the reception desk. The smiling redhead sitting there reminds me of Camryn, and my heart aches at how much I miss my friends.
Trying to hide the frown tugging at the corners of my lips, I slide the paperwork from the doctor’s office across the smooth surface.
“How can I help you today?”
“Dr. Tomlin’s office made me an appointment for this afternoon.”
“What’s your name?” She turns her attention to the screen in front of her and starts typing on the keyboard.
“Mallory Stephens.”
“Yes, we have you down. Let me get you the paperwork to fill out. Daniel will be with you shortly. Also, I need your driver’s license and insurance card.”
Reaching into my bag, I scrounge around for my wallet and pull out the requested items as she pushes over an inch-thick stack of papers. My eyes go wide, wondering what the hell is in this paperwork, especially since Dr. Tomlin’s office had sent over all the information, including my insurance. I mean…seriously. I slow blink before reaching out for the clipboard and taking a seat.
In my peripheral, a pair of shoes heading in my direction catch my attention. My eyes travel from the gray sneakers, up the muscular legs encased in black scrubs, to the narrow waist, and broad shoulders until I reach a face that could be Sam Heughan’s twin. I swear, if you put this man in a kilt he would look like he stepped right out of eighteenth century Scotland. I manage, barely, to refrain from checking to make sure I’m not drooling. If the man speaks with an accent, I’ll fall straight out of this chair.
“Mallory?” My butt is safe. Not a Scottish accent to be heard. He doesn’t have much of one at all. I rise from my chair, clutching the clipboard in front of me.
“That’s me.”
“Hi. I’m Daniel. I’ll be the physical therapist overseeing your case. Come on back. We’ll get your evaluation done and see if we can get a ballpark of what you’re going to need.” He extends his hand and I place mine in his. With a firm grasp, he lets go before stepping back.
“Sounds great.” He leads the way toward the machinery in the back and has me sit on top of a padded table—basically, forcing me to leap to get up there. Short girl problems.
“Go ahead and take off your shoe and sock so I can get your ankle’s range of motion.”
As I remove the items, I send up a silent prayer that my foot doesn't stink. At least my toenails look good. Daniel rolls up to the table on a chair, placing one hand beneath the arch of my foot and the other on the back of my ankle. His hand practically dwarfs my entire foot.
“I’m going to just move this around to see where you may have any weakness or pain. Then I’ll have you push and pull your foot, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Any major pain, you let me know. You’re going to have some residual soreness, but nothing should cause significant pain.”
Gently, he moves my ankle around, left to right, flex and extend. His hand moves up the back of my leg a little, and I cringe, sending up another prayer that I shaved. Nothing like a hot guy rubbing on leg stubble to gross him out. But the callouses on his hand feel good as he softly kneads my muscle.
“All right, Mallory. I want you to push the ball of your foot as hard as you can into the palm of my hand.” Pushing into his hand, the muscle tightens.
“Good. Now pull your toes toward you while I hold you.” Flexing my foot toward me is a harder to do. He lowers my leg and lets it go.
“Not bad. You didn’t lose as much strength or mobility as I would have thought with the extent of your sprain,” he states as he writes on his tablet.
“Well, I started to do some small exercises a few times a week a couple weeks ago. Nothing too strenuous. Just making circles with my foot and trying to write the alphabet. At first, I could only make it through about half before I would wear out. But now I can do the whole thing.”
“Have you had therapy for a sprain before?”
“No, but the internet is a wonderful thing.” The corner of his mouth raises into a half smile and I want to swoon.
“Sometimes. And sometimes, it’s the worst thing invented.”
“That’s true too. We have people come in the ER self-diagnosing off WebMD and thinking they’re dying when it’s usually something simple.”
“Which ER do you work in?”
“Nowhere right now. I moved back to Dallas a few weeks ago. I don’t start my new job until after the first of the year. I wanted to make sure I would be able to handle a full twelve-hour shift on that ankle.”
“With the proper therapy, I don’t think that’ll be a problem. Let’s move over there. We can work on some more exercises and get you a treatment plan.”
He may be cute, but he’s a task master. We move from exercise to exercise, and sweating is dripping off me by the time we’re done. The last thing he has me do is work on my balance, standing on my bad ankle with my arms out to my sides. I last about twenty seconds before I list to the side—right into the hot ass therapist. He catches me by the arms, but it’s Todd’s hands I feel. My chest tightens. My vision pinpoints on his hands. And it all goes black.
Slowly blinking, my eyes open. Blinding lights sear my retinas causing me to jerk my arm up to cover my face. Movement to my right has me jolting away.
“Mallory. It’s okay. It’s me, Daniel. You fainted. Can you hear me?” he asks, concern apparent in his voice.
“Yes. I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me,” I lie, feeling along the smooth surface of the…floor. My eyes snap shut as I will the embarrassment away.
“I’m just glad I was here so you didn’t hit the floor straight on. Do you want to try to sit up?”
At my nod, he runs his arms behind my shoulders and helps me into a sitting position.
“Take it easy. No rush. Let your body adjust. Would you like some water?” Again, I nod, and the girl from the receptionist desk hurries over with a bottle of water. Removing the cap, Daniel hands it to me. I take a small swallow, then another.
“I think I’m all right. I’m more embarrassed than anything right now. Can you help me up off the floor?” Taking the bottle from me, he twists the cap on and places it on the floor before standing and extending his hand toward me. I place my hand in his, allowing him to help pull me up.
“This is a first. Never had a girl faint on me before,” he chuckles. I give him a small smile, and he leads me to a chair.
“Have a seat. I’ll go grab your stuff from the table so you can put it back on.” He walks away, and my eyes drift over his back and down… He looks just as good from the back as the front. Damn, I never thought of scrubs as sexy, but he can fill a pair out.
“Give me just a second to get you the list of exercise that you need to do and you’ll be free to go,” he says, snapping me out of my reverie. I take my sock and shoe from him before he goes about doing just as he said.
My phone vibrates in my purse, and I lift it up, finding a message from Jason wanting to know if everything went well and if I was still going with him on Wednesday to his sister’s house. As annoying as it is to have him checking up on me, it makes my heart lighter knowing he cares enough to bother. I send him a quick yes to both questions as Daniel walks back toward me.
“The phone has made an appearance,” he announces, then laughs.
“Sorry, just a quick text,” I say, dropping the phone back in my purse.
“Boyfriend?”
“No, he’s just a friend wanting to make sure I made it through today.”
“Was he worried?’
“Probably. He’s kinda protective of me.”
“Good friend. Okay, here’s the list of exercises I want you to do along with how many reps of each.” He holds out a little spiral bound book for me to take. “For the balance ones, stand in a doorway or beside a chair for extra stability. We’re closed on Thursday and Friday for Thanksgiving. Can you come on Wednesday?”
“If it’s early, I probably can. I’m supposed to head to Houston that day.”
“I think we can do that. Around eight-thirty?”
“That should work just fine. If not, I’ll give you a call.”
“I’ll get you on the schedule. Make sure to wear your brace. Try to avoid any strenuous cardio until that ankle gets stronger. No running or jumping. Biking and swimming are fine. But if anything causes you extreme pain, don’t push it. If you’re ready, I’m going to walk you to your car.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“No, I don’t, but I’m still going to. My mother raised me with manners,” he says as he opens the glass door for me. As soon as I walk outside, a chill from the cooling air wraps around me. Shivering, I rub my hands up and down my arms to warm them as I step off the curb toward my car.
“Nice car,” he says, running his hand along the trunk.
“Thanks. I just picked it up today. Haven’t gotten to drive it much yet.”
“Be careful on the way home, Mallory. I’ll see you Wednesday morning.”
“See ya Wednesday.”
On the way home, sadness wells up as my mind wanders to Kristen and Camryn. A wave of loss and nostalgia flow through me at not being able to call them to dish about my hottie therapist and how I embarrassed the hell out of myself in front of him. Then, remembering why the hell I became embarrassed in the first place, thoughts of my friends dim as regret and a healthy dose of guilt roll through me.
These girls are my best friends, and with all my heart, I know they would have my back, so why am I not confiding in them? Hell, they would have driven to Colorado and dragged my butt back to Texas after the first time he hit me. My heart clenches at how lonely I feel—how isolated I’ve made myself.
Pulling into the complex, my gaze automatically hones in on Jason’s normal parking spot, but it’s empty, and another wave of emotion washes through me, though I’m not sure whether I’m relieved he’s gone, or anxious because I don’t know where he is. Not that it’s my business. It’s not like we’re in a relationship. Hell, we aren’t even dating. God, you are such an idiot, I think as I gather my things and head into my apartment. Relaxation is my priority. After pouring a glass of wine, I fill the bathtub with hot water, turn on my iPod to some Ed Sheeran, and soak my worries away.