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“I don’t care if you’re fine. It’s better to be safe than sorry,” I huff and climb out of the car too, hurrying to get the crutches from the back seat so he won’t be without them for too long.
Nate stretches tall, lifting his arms into the air. He breathes in. “You smell that? Fresh air.”
Once I have the crutches in hand, I follow suit, inhaling the air to max capacity.
He’s right. The air is sweeter up here. It goes right to my brain, opens it up, encourages a smile on my lips. “Smells good.”
When I turn back to Nate, he’s shirtless.
My brain takes two seconds to restart.“What are you doing?”
“Taking a dip!” He reaches for the button on his jeans.
I turn away, blood rushing through my ears.
Is he crazy?
I’m pulled to turn back both out of curiosity and to give Nate the damn crutches. “Nate! You can’t go out there.”
“Relax, I’ll wear my briefs.”
I turn back, knowing he’s somewhat clothed. My eyes snap right to the bulge in his boxer briefs.
Dear god, this trip will be the death of me.“The p-problem isn’t whether you’re clothed or not, the problem is you don’t want to put strain on your body and you needtheseto–”
I go to him with the crutches outstretched, but he backs away from me. Still grinning.
“Nate…”
“Come on, Laney. Don’t be a party pooper.”
I thrust the crutches toward him again.
He dodges, light on his feet.
I can’t believe how lithe he is, how in control of his walking and leg muscles.
“If something happens to you, everyone will blame me and–”
“Nothing is going to happen. Trust me.” He waggles his eyebrows.
I place the feet of the crutches on the ground.
Part of my job is encouraging my patients to trust their own bodies. Their own strength.
I can’t take that away from Nate. Not when he’s so confident. It’s not reckless, not when he’s so strong with every step.
It scares me, though. Because when Nate hurts, I hurt. Not just physically. But his heart.
He’s grown into a piece of me through all these months. And the last thing I want is for him to be broken again, to lose out on more time when he could be his old adventurous self.
Without waiting for a reply, Nate takes off in the direction of the dock, bare feet thrumming against thedirt and grass.
“Nate!” I follow in his footsteps, tossing the crutches down as I go.
I wish I was wearing my scrubs. They’re good for almost all activities, including chasing after a wily patient.
Nate reaches the dock, sprints down its length.
