Hating The Player

on'

she inspects my ankle. I feel the heat of her touch as certain memories I thought I had locked away resurface. As the recogni

nd shaky, but I can't stop her

fting to one of calm professionalism, but

struggling to s

es through me as I struggle to decipher which one I actually feel-shock? Confusion? Or the ache of something unresolved? Bu

l that" she says, her tone more personal, which I would have liked if only her eyes weren't clouding. As

gher than I intend. She looks up, meeting my

ike they're my only salvation. "I'll take whatever it is, Wint

a quiet sigh. "Something wasn't adding up when I read Dr. Grayheart's consultation notes, which is why I decided to

trying to disregard the p

he nerve is really affected, it could impact your abili

ve dealt with several injuries before, but this feels different. It's not just another pulled muscl

rength to stay calm. "What's the worst case?" As optimis

ys, her voice soft but unyielding. "Nerves don't heal like muscle or bone. Recovery

f us wants to face. I stare at her, trying to gauge how serious this

t back to where I was?" The question

who looked at me with open warmth, not this mask of professionalism. B

But I need to be honest

part of the plan. I've sacrificed too much to let this end here. And the fac

ay, more to myself than to her.

y, trying to push down the surge of ange

.. months of therapy

ll take it one day at a time. There are exercises we can start with to e

that night never happened, like she's determined to keep things clinical, distant. But I see the tension in her, the way her gaze wavers for

she says, her voice softening, though she doesn't mee

alone with nothing but the weight of her

-

er's

asing a shaky breath I didn't realize I was holding. My hands are trembling, so I clutch the clipboard in a desperat

nt, keep things professional, and most of all, keep the past locked away. But then he looked at me with those same piercing

Damon, whose entire life depends on his physicality, this could be life changing. I can still feel the tension in his m

ything would be fine. I wish, more than anything, that I could offer him certainty. But I can't. I can't give him the re

thoughts and put a plan together. I focus on each step, reminding myself exactly why I'm her

ir. My mind begins to drift back to that night-our surreal connection, the promises we never made but somehow felt. And the w

n't need memories or regrets hindering his recovery. He needs support, guidance, and someone who can help him see

ave to work with. A small part of me wishes I could tell him the truth, that this is more personal than he'll ever know. Bu

ring wheel, tightening until my knuckles turn white. I take

ist. Nothing more," I whisper

a single tear slips down my cheek. I quic

my heart be b

of her gaze, a

ruth, a silen

lines of his

ractures, ye

e listens, with

are high, his

ealed, in s

linger, and ni

hs of his g

rms, fragil

balm, his anc

omfort, fami

fragile, like

bond, a shi

drift, on p

ng for a tru

secrets, their

oser, though

tes, both he

nnection beg