Feels So Right

Okay, she didn’t really write the part about the blast furnace.

“I’m here.”

She looked up, still refusing to blush, and gestured Colin into the chair set in front of her desk, wishing she’d thought to move it back several feet. But at least being behind the desk gave her a feeling of safety and authority. “You’re moving easier.”

“I feel better.” He sat without as much effort as he’d used to stand, and rested his hands easily on his thighs. Demi felt as if the walls of her office had closed in a foot at least.

“You’ll want to be on anti-inflammatories the next couple of days.”

“Okay.” He held her gaze steadily, as if he expected something from her. Demi opened his file, picked up a pen, took off the cap, wrote, What the heck is he thinking? in her most professional scrawl, then put the pen down.

“Colin, maybe we should talk about why you left. Why you came back. What you want from me and this treatment and how you feel about both.”

“My feelings?” He looked disgusted. “This is physical therapy, right?”

Grrr. Demi needed to set boundaries right now or this would never end. Taking her sweet time responding, she leaned back in her chair and pretended to study his file. “You probably didn’t know this, but I’m a betting woman.”

“And …”

“And I bet I can tell you exactly how much your parents enjoyed your teenage years.”

His silence made her wonder if she’d pushed too far, if they were about to embark on Colin Russo Tantrum, Part II. But when she glanced up again, he was looking amused for the first time. The expression changed his whole demeanor, got rid of the grouchy-brows and downturned mouth, relaxed his forehead and eyes. And made him even better looking, less sulky and more vibrantly male. She could only begin to imagine his magnetism when he was operating at one hundred percent. “I was hell on wheels.”

“Not surprised.”

“I still am, I know that. This is not easy.”

“I am not suggesting it is, or that it should be.”

“But I don’t need to beat you up with it?”

She shrugged. “I think I could do you more good without that, yes.”

“Okay.”

Demi raised her eyebrows. “It’s that easy? I say ‘please play nice’ and you do?”

“I tried doing this my way, and figured out when I could barely get out of bed this morning for the fifth time this month that my way doesn’t work. My body isn’t behaving the way it has for the past thirty-four years. The rules have changed. I have to get to know a new person but it’s still me.”

“It won’t always be this bad. But yes, it’s tough for athletes. You have such intimate knowledge of bodies—your bodies.” Oh, geez. Did she have to phrase it that way? He looked mildly surprised, still amused, his deep brown eyes intently focused on her. Demi was so flustered she had to look back down at his file. “Now that has changed, you’ll have to form a different kind of intimate … relationship.”

Stop. Just stop right now. Except he wasn’t saying anything and she couldn’t stand silence.

“I know you can do it.” She closed his file, folded her hands on top of it and determinedly met his eyes again—then wished she hadn’t when she found them full of mischief. Her brain mushed on her. “Your discipline is already there. It’s just a change. You won’t be able to stay training … to keep so hard anymore. Hard on yourself.”

Okay, her face was officially on fire. All pretense at cool was gone.

“I give up.” She lifted her hands, let them smack down on her desk. “You’re hurting but it will get better. That’s all I’m trying to say.”

He was chuckling for real now, his face relaxing further. “I think it was funnier when you were telling me I’d have trouble staying hard again.”

“No, no.” She shook her head, hands up and out. “That is not my expertise. If you’d like me to help with your pain and the management of your injury, I can. But only if you are realistic about what we can accomplish and how far you can come back. That’s going to be much more difficult than the rest of it.”

His expression turned grim again. “So I’m discovering.”

“Now.” Demi composed herself, relieved they were back on familiar ground. “You’re a personal trainer and health-club manager.”

“Was.” His jaw set again. “Will be again.”

“You enjoy it?”

“When I can do it, yeah.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “The first thing we need to focus on is getting you out of this rut of only thinking about things you can’t do. To all my clients I preach the gospel trinity. Positive thinking, can-do attitudes and silver linings. These are the only ways your life can become better after a big change like this.”

“Right.”

She expected the cynical reaction. “Any hobbies?”

“Swimming, biking and running.”

“Uh-huh.” Somehow she kept from gritting her teeth. “Anything you did before you took up triathlons? Something you’d enjoy rediscovering?”

His eyes lit for a brief moment before he could resolutely shut down into misery again. Aha. There was something. Good thing, because he definitely needed a jump start back into feeling productive.

“I used to play alto sax.” He laughed without humor and shrugged. “I was pretty bad.”

“Doesn’t matter. If you still have the instrument, bring it by in a week or so when you’re standing easier. What else?”

His eyes narrowed. “Bring it here?”

She returned his gaze calmly. Was he going to fight her on everything? “How much does an alto sax weigh, about ten pounds?”

“Not quite.”

“Heavy enough. I want to watch you play to make sure you’re handling the instrument in a way that isn’t going to sabotage your progress. What else?”

His expression grew darker; clearly he thought her questions a waste of time. She had to remind herself to focus on that glimmer of mischief and good humor that had transformed him. She wanted to bring that man back, healed, whole and happy. Because if he stayed like this, she was going to have to medicate herself to be anywhere near him.

“I used to have another hobby.”

“Yes …?”

“I made knives.”

“Knives.” She wasn’t sure what to think about that. “Tell me more.”

“More?” He shrugged. “I made knives.”