Page 130 of I Knead You Tonight

“I would expect nothing less.”

She rests her head against my chest, smiling. I hold her tight.

“I still hate you, Winston, just so we’re clear.”

“I know, Drew. I still hate you too.”

A Slice of the Future

Winston

“Come on, Daniels, just one more. You got this.”

I raise the bar over my head with less effort than I’ve had to use in years. I love the way my muscles stretch, because for the first time in a long damn time, it’s not a bad stretch.

My doctor was right. I screwed my shoulder enough to require another surgery to repair my obliterated rotator cuff, all because I was a whiny asshole who didn’t want to follow through with my original plan for recovery.

If I could go back and slap past me, I would.

But, live and learn…and go thousands of dollars into debt, I guess.

I try not to think about it, though, pushing for a bonus rep.

“Showoff.” My physical therapist, Carlos, grabs the bar, helping me set it on the rack. “Proud of ya, buddy. That was your last set. You are officially done with PT.”

A sense of relief washes over me. Even though I’m fully aware I’m not done healing yet, I’m already on a better track than I was, and that’s enough for me.

“Thanks.” I shake his hand. “Really appreciate everything you’ve done, man. Thanks for not letting me give up.”

“It was dicey there for a minute, but I’m glad we made it to the end.”

I almost quit again.

I was at the same point I was at after my first surgery and everything felt like such bullshit. I wasn’t getting better. I was stuck.

Or at least that was what it felt like.

Luckily, this time around I had a therapist—and of course Drew—who wouldn’t let me bitch out, and I’m grateful for him.

“Me too. No offense, though, Carlos—I really hope I never see you again.”

He laughs. “Feeling’s mutual.”

We shake hands again and I hit the front desk, checking out for the last time.

I walk back to my station wagon—she’s still running like the magnificent beast she is—with a smile on my face, feeling like I’m on top of the world.

I check the time on my dashboard and—

“Fuck! I’m gonna be late.”

Throwing the car into reverse, I hightail it out of the parking lot toward home.

I have just thirty minutes to get across town, shower, and get all three of us out the door on time.

My PT days are always intense, and I should have paid more attention to the time. I have a strict schedule I’m on and knew better than to linger at the front desk chatting with Susan.

Drew’s depending on me to be there for her. I haven’t let her down in the last five or so months we’ve been together, and I don’t plan to start now.

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