Page 11 of Mission: Merry Christmas
Why did I even ask?He was pretty sure he wasn’t ready to hear the answer.
ChapterSix
Drewwatched Avery drag out her laptop, and open the D. Martin folder she’d already setup. She flipped through pie charts and bar graphs showing all the data she had put together for his rehabilitation schedule, while she explained her recommendations.
Her battle plan would make any Army general proud. Somewhere between his failing glutes, weakened thighs, loss of flexibility, and needing to improve his side-to-side asymmetry, he’d quit listening.
“English?” he asked as politely as he could, but the sarcasm hung in the air.
“You’re compensating for the injury rather than strengthening the muscles that will help you heal. We can’t just focus on the knee. The ankle, knee, thighs, hips, even those glutes—they all have to work together.”
It painfully made sense.
“Look. I’ve been doing all these measurements so we can monitor your progress daily. I’ll build long-term plans customized to you to reduce the probability of re-injury, which is even more important than the initial rehabilitation.”
“I’ve been doing all the exercises they gave me. I don’t need a physical therapist, and I have a perfectly good gym right here.”
“Well, according to these reports, you’re not making the expected progress, and lucky for you, I’m a sports therapist. I have a degree in sports medicine and my job isn’t just to restore mobility. It’s getting you back to optimum levels of functional, occupational, andsports-specific fitness.” She slapped the cover closed on her laptop. “So, are you ready to do this, or not?” Her hair bounced behind her shoulder with the head nod.
He snorted. He hadn’t meant for his reaction to be heard, but he’d been through hurricanes on this island that had less bluster.
Avery rose to her feet. “Now you look. I’m getting paid whether you improve or not. I’m good at what I do. One of the best. I’ve got references. I’ve helped professional athletes make strides doctors didn’t even think were possible. I’m at your disposal. Let me help, or I’ll just read a book. It’s your dime.”
They stared at one another for a long moment. If he had to guess, she’d stand there all day if that’s what it took. He wasn’t sure why he was fighting her except he was tired and aggravated. Aggravated that one slip of his foot was putting his whole career at risk, and that they’d had to cancel the family ski trip because of it.
He’d promised to teach his nephew, Nico, how to ski and build a snowman. It would’ve been Nico’s first white Christmas. How did you make that up to a kid? There were only fourteen shopping days left, and Drew still hadn’t figured how to compensate for the giant let down.
He sucked in a long breath. “Fine,” he said. “Ms. Avery Troupe, or doctor, or whatever it is I’m supposed to call you. You have a deal, but I’m not kidding around when I say absolutely no one can know about this. Not about you being here. Not about this plan. I will not give you a reference, no matter what miracle we pull off. Do you understand?”
“Completely. I’m bound by HIPPA. This is how I make my living, I’m not about to compromise my reputation for gossip. Believe me, we have the same goal.”
“Well, then, I’m all yours.”
He watched something pass over her expression at his unintended double entendre.
She cleared her throat before she spoke. “Great. You can call me Avery.” Like a switch had been flipped, an enthusiastic smile spread across her face. How had he not noticed the sparkle in her brilliant blue eyes before now?
Wearing black yoga pants and a stretchy shirt that hugged every toned curve of her body, she carried an interesting aura of beauty and ability that intrigued him. He wasn’t entirely sure if that was good or bad at this point.
She extended her hand. Something light and flowery teased his nose.
He stood and accepted the handshake, embarrassed for the first time in weeks for the disarray in the place. “Excuse the mess.”
Her eyes held his, a wrinkle pulling in her forehead. She nodded toward the huge fern tipped over in the middle of the room. “Traffic accident?”
She didn’t need to know he’d thrown it in aggravation after he’d fired the last woman. “It looks like it’ll live, don’t you think? I’ve never been that good with plants.”
Avery walked over and righted the palm, then lifted the heavy pot and plunked it in the corner. “I don’t know. Looks like it needs life support to me. How long has it been sitting there?”
“A while.”
“Okay, well you’re the priority. So, let’s get some measurements.” She turned on the lamp, but dissatisfaction etched her face. She marched across the room and swept back the heavy curtains. “That’s better.”
“Whoa.” He squinted. “Just whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Whoa-whoa.”
“What’s wrong, Batman? You allergic to light?”
Did she seriously just call me Batman?His eyes watered as they adjusted to the bright mid-day sun. All he could see was her silhouette against the wall of glass windows overlooking the pool and outdoor kitchen.
