On the list of things Derrick shouldn’t do, dragging his new therapist into the water was probably one of them.

It’s her own damned fault.

Telling him she liked the look of his body. A bald-faced lie. Had to be. What woman would find a man whose legs had lost so much muscle mass, and dangled limper than noodles, sexy?

What of the scars scoring his skin? Red lines. Bold spots. Jagged lightning leaving behind ridged skin. Most of his wounds had healed nicely, except for those drawn with silver. Those took much longer to heal, and they crisscrossed his body, telling a story that he couldn’t forget.

And Janine saw them all. Saw all of his imperfections, didn’t recoil from them, called him attractive, and then, to add even more insult, she offered him a helping hand.

She thinks I am weak.

Awoo. He almost howled with the indignity of it. Instead, he didn’t think. He acted. More like yanked on the hand she dared extend.

She surfaced with a screech. “That’s freakn’ cold!”

Treading water beside her, he couldn’t help but feel a faint tug on his lips. Surely not a smile? He clamped his teeth tight together. “It’s refreshing.”

“It’s f-f-reezing,” she managed to stutter through almost blue lips.

Hmmm, perhaps the little human was more fragile than he expected. Too bad. “Next time don’t stare.”

“How about next time you don’t try and drown me?”

“You aren’t in any danger.” At this end of the pool, the water had a depth of just under five feet, and if she stood on tiptoe, she could keep her head above water.

“This is not how you are supposed to treat people,” she chastised. “Especially not those trying to help you.”

“Guess that was wildly inappropriate. Some would even say violent. I guess you’ll have no choice but to ask for reassignment.” Somewhere far away from him so he wouldn’t have to fight the urge to lick her each time he saw her.

She slogged toward the shallow part of the pool and the stairs. Despite the chatter of her teeth, he heard her clearly. “You won’t get rid of me that easily, wolf. Actually, I should thank you for this bonding experience.”

He blinked. Tried to figure out her logic, but couldn’t. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Perhaps the cold had affected her mental acuity?

“Part of building a rapport with your therapist is sharing experiences. Mind you, I think my teachers meant more of you sharing your past with me so we could work through it, but if you ask me, sharing a polar dip can also work. Just so long as you don’t expect me to share my ice cream sundaes. Some things are best savored alone.”

“Your logic is whacked.”

“Maybe. And you’re also not as crazy as you want people to think.”

“I am too unbalanced.” A weird retort and he might have said something else, except he almost lost his grip on the edge of the pool again. Her fault, of course.

He looked over as he hauled himself from the water to see she’d stripped off her blouse and wrung it out on the concrete patio. The sight of a woman in a bra shouldn’t prove shocking. Tell that to his gaping mouth.

Managing a quick twist, he sat down hard on the edge of the pool, gaze riveted by the red-headed doctor, her skin a luminous alabaster in the almost midday sunlight.

Look away. Look the fuck away.

He didn’t move a muscle.

Shirt wrung out, she laid it across the bench before stripping out of her slacks and giving them the same treatment.

Now, he would be the first to note that her bra and panties seemed of the very serviceable type, not even coming close to the skimpy bikinis he’d seen on beaches, but there was something about her standing in her undergarments, the intimacy of them, that made his mouth go dry.

His fingers twitched, aching to touch.

His watchful stare inhaled every nuance of her, sucking it in like a man starved. And in a sense, he was. When was the last time a woman disrobed in front of him?

Stop staring, you perv. He averted his gaze with the reminder that she didn’t strip for his pleasure, but to get dry.

Speaking of dry, he reached around to the back of his chair and hauled out a towel. For a moment, he was tempted to be a selfish bastard.

Don’t be nice. Don’t show her any kindness. She has to leave.

Her frame shivered in the somewhat crisp air. Chivalry raised its not oft seen head. Sigh. “Heads up.” He flung the balled fabric her way.

She caught it, not quite managing to hide her surprise. “Thank you.” No gloating words. No triumph at making him do something nice. She simply toweled her damp skin and then handed it back.

He clutched the damp fabric, fabric that had touched her skin.

Don’t be such a weird sap. He snapped out of it and dragged the towel briskly over his own flesh then folded it into a square and placed it beside him.

“You might want to look away now,” he advised.

“Why?” she asked, only to then utter a very feminine, “Oh” as his fingers tugged at the waistband of his swim shorts. While he couldn’t feel the damp fabric chafing his skin, he knew from past experience to change it lest his skin get irritated. Just because his dick didn’t work wasn’t a reason to let it rot off from an infection caused by neglect.

He tugged on his track pants quickly, the wheelchair at his back hiding his actions from those who might pass by. Bottom covered, he then grabbed hold of his chair and heaved his heavy ass back into the seat.

“You can look now,” he advised. He reached over to snag his shirt. He didn’t put it on, though. He handed it to the doctor. “Put this on.”

“Are you sure? I was going to toss my stuff back on.”

Very sure because there was no way he was letting her walk back to the main building in sopping-wet clothes, and even less chance he’d let her roam about in only her bra and panties. “Wear it.”

“Can I borrow the towel too?” she asked after donning the shirt. It covered her from neck to mid-thigh.

“Sure.” He handed it over, and she wrapped it sarong-style around her hips, giving her an ankle-length terry skirt.

Scooping up her belongings, she slid her feet into her shoes. “Shall we go back to the residence? It will only take me a few minutes to run to my room to change so we can continue our session.”

“I’m hungry.” Not something he said often. The needs of his body didn’t hold as much importance these days. However, that didn’t mean he neglected his frame. Sustenance at regular intervals. Exercise too. He relied on certain basic structures daily to give him a purpose to keep going.

But how long can I use mealtimes and lifting weight to fill the emptiness in my life?

“We could have lunch together.”

“No.”

“Then we’ll meet afterwards.”

“I have physio after lunch.”

Undaunted, she beamed. “Excellent. I will see you in the gym then. I’d like to meet your physical therapist.”

“Why? If you read the reports, then you already know what he’ll say. He’ll tell you I’ve been a good boy who does his exercises.”

She cast him a look. “I don’t need to know what the report says. It’s obvious from what I’ve seen so far that you’ve been working hard. Those kinds of muscles don’t grow overnight.”

She’d noticed? Sitting in a wheelchair didn’t stop a man from pushing out his chest. “I’ve always been fit.”

“And obviously motivated judging by your initiative this morning in going for a swim. You’re doing great.”

“If I’m doing so great, then why are you here?”

“Because rumor has it you want to hide it from the rest of the world. According to what I’ve heard, you refuse to see anybody other than the staff and patients here.”

“I don’t need visitors to come gawk at me.”

“Your family wants to know how you’re doing.”

“Anyone who is interested can read one of my progress reports.”

“Somehow I doubt knowing how many pushups and pullups you did and what you ate for breakfast is the same as knowing how you’re really doing.”

“I’m fine. That’s all anyone needs to know.”

“Don’t your parents deserve more than that?”

That accusation slapped him, especially since he’d struggled with his choice to close himself off, but in the end, it was for the best. He stopped moving his chair, and she immediately noticed, her step halting. Spinning around, she fixed him with a quizzical stare.

“The guilt trip isn’t going to work,” he stated. She couldn’t know he’d already argued with himself over this many, many nights. A part of him longed to pick up a phone and call his family, especially his mother. To talk to her and have that feeling she always managed to convey when he was a boy that everything would be all right.

But his mother couldn’t fix things this time.

I’m truly and royally fucked. His mother would cry to see him so damaged. How could he bear to see the pity in his father’s eyes for a son who was no longer a whole man? His brothers wouldn’t know how to deal with him. They were all so healthy. What use would they have for a broken older sibling? As for his sister? Since she’d gotten involved with those dudes and had babies, Naomi had become a lot more girly. Still tough as nails and stubborn, but also emotional, and if there was one thing Derrick wouldn’t tolerate, it was seeing his baby sister cry. If she cries, then I might cry, then traumatize them all by wheeling my chair into traffic.

Because, seriously, grown men shouldn’t fucking cry. In public. Ever.

Best to stay away from them. All of them.

“You think I’m trying to guilt you into contacting them?” She shook her head. “Not if you’re going to be a rude jerk. That wouldn’t help you or them. No, when you do see them, it will be because you’re ready to.”

“That will never happen.”

Never say never. He no sooner thought it than she said it.

“Oh, it will happen. Eventually. We just need to get your head back in the right place again.”

How about hidden between her thighs? Now there was a place he wouldn’t mind visiting.

For a moment, he had a phantom recollection of an erection. The heightened awareness of his body, skin prickling as interest zipped across all his nerve endings. Then the thickening of his cock, inflating and awakening to show its appreciation. He could feel it. Wanted it. Wanted her…

For a moment, it felt so real. So fucking real! Alas, it was but a mirage. A fist in his lap showed the phantom erection as nothing but optimism, the flesh still soft. Dead.

And yet, the rest of him was not. The rest of him still tingled with that awareness. Even though his cock couldn’t play, he wanted her.

I can’t have her.

Never her, or anyone else.

Never to stroke the skin of a woman again.

Never to hear the soft sigh as her body arched from the pleasure he gave.

Never again would he bury himself in a warm, welcoming sheath. Her sheath.

Unable to look at her, or talk, because who the fuck knew what shit might pour out due to his suddenly pitifully whining, emasculated state, he took off, hands gripping the rims of the wheels, welcoming the hard bite as he grabbed and pulled and turned. A lot of exertion compared to the ease of motorized versions, but he didn’t mind it. He preferred it. He needed an outlet when things got to be too much, and the constant exercise kept him strong. Strong enough to flee, but not fast enough to outrun his demons. Those found him, even in his dreams.