Page 25 of Fractured Grief
“Yeah… that’d be fine.” I stepped forward to at least help, but Indy stopped me.
“Don’t even think about it,” he said in a stern voice that sent a shiver down my spine. “I’ll do it, and if I can’t, we can call Lyric for help. You shouldn’t be shifting heavy furniture around.”
I kind of liked this bossy, authoritative shift. My face heated.
Indy matter-of-factly lifted my heavy wooden coffee table and moved it off the area rug to the side of my extra-large L-shaped couch. He went to his equipment bag and pulled out a thin rubber mat and resistance bands. “Come on, hop to it. We’ve got to make the most of the time left.”
And with his voice still stern, I jumped into action.
Chapter 13
Indy
Ineeded to focus.
I am a professional, God damn it.
I let the rhythmic exercises and stretches soothe my frayed nerves, allowing myself to get caught up in the routine and muscle memory of our usual warm-up. My work was part of who I was, and I loved it. I needed it.
“That’s it, now three more, then switch,” I said absently while my mind raced. I’d told a client about Hazel and Lex, and that I wasessentiallysingle. Talking about Hazel with clients wasn’t new, but this felt different, bigger somehow.
I couldn’t put my finger on why.
And I’d let it slip that I liked big silent types.Like Seb.I couldn’t get involved with a client. It was too risky. Yes, Seb was attractive and apparently my type, according to the butterflies that had danced in my stomach as he’d pulled me into that hug, but I could never cross that line—no matter how nice it was to be held by him.
Lost in my own thoughts, I’d missed that Seb had finished the warmup and was watching me for further instructions.
He was smiling at me patiently, clearly waiting for me to snap out of it. “Sorry about that. I’m clearly off today. Let’s try some leg lifts with this resistance band, starting with your right leg. You’ll need to engage your core.” I got Seb in position and demonstrated what I wanted him to do. It would be difficult for him, since he still couldn’t feel his leg.
Seb did surprisingly well. He seemed more determined today. Maybe because we had less time? Or he wanted to focus on something other than our earlier conversation.
As Seb did the last few cool-down stretches, I noticed his muscle spasming in his right thigh. “Can you feel that?”
“Feel what? The stretch? No, still can’t feel anything.”
“No, your muscle. Look at your thigh. The muscle is visibly twitching.” I gestured at his leg, where his shorts had hiked up.
Seb looked flummoxed as he poked at the muscle. “That’s so weird.” His gaze snapped to mine. “What does this mean? It’s t-twitching, but I can’t feel it. Is that a good thing or another bad s-sign?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure. I’d say good because it means your brain is responding to the nerve stimulations, but the fact that you still can’t feel it is concerning,” I paused, thinking back on my training. “Since you can’t feel it, I’ll need to massage that out, or it could become problematic later, either from overstimulation or muscle fatigue, andwe don’t want to risk any of your progress. Lie down on the mat. Can you roll your shorts up farther for me?”
I averted my gaze as I retrieved the massage oil and a set of disposable gloves from my bag, along with the heating herbal oil for after the massage.
His muscles were tight and hard as I spread the oil out over his thigh. He was still stacked, even though he’d lost muscle mass and weight from his ordeal. His thighs were thick and dusted in dark hair that I couldn’t help but notice as I began to apply pressure to the still pulsating muscle.
“Can you feel any of what I’m doing?” I glanced at Seb’s face. He had his eyes closed, but his shoulders were tense, like he was on edge. I paused as I waited for his response.
He cleared his throat before croaking out, “No?” It sounded more like a question than a fully formed answer.
“Okay. Do you feel any pain or pressure from this?” I massaged from his knee up the outside of his thigh.
“No,” he responded and relaxed slightly.
“Let me know if that changes or you start to feel any sensations. We want to make sure we’re on top of your progress and make notes for the doctors.”
“Okay.” He moved his arm to lay it over his face.
I had to admit, I loved the way his forearms flexed and the intricate tattoos covering them shifted and danced with every movement. I’d always been fascinated by tattoos, but was too scared to ever get one and never had the money.How do people come up with a design to permanently affix to their skin? What meanings and stories could each one hold?
