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The last few times we used it, his movements werestifled, muscles hiccupping and bristling with confusion. Now, it’s just fluid.
I take a look at the screen over Nate’s shoulder to check on his heart rate. It’s normal for this amount of cardiac strain.
“What are you thinking?” His eyes dart back at me for only a moment.
“I’m just taking mental notes.” I lean on the back of the bike.
“Bad or good?”
“Good, Nate. Really good. The muscle re-education is happening a lot faster than I anticipated.”
Which is a good thing. A really good thing. For everyone.
It means I’ve done my job, means Nate will be back to his old life sooner rather than later.
But that also means I’ll have to leave. Move out and onto the next challenge.
No more family dinners with the Lyons, no more bedrooms with a view of Central Park out the window, no more black cards.
No more Nate.
None of this should have happened in the first place.
“Hey Laney, mind grabbing my headphones for me? I think I’ll be here for a while.”
“I don’t want you to overdo it.”
“I promise I won’t. Please?”
I eye Nate.
I want him to trust his body. As his therapist, I trust it too. Know that despite the trauma, it’s capable of recovering.
Half of it is kinesiology. The other is the mental fortitude to achieve.
Today, I’ll let Nate exercise that other muscle. “Fine. That’s better than me having to listen to your stoner rock anyway.”
I grab his headphones off the coffee table and hand them over.
“You don’t even give my stoner rock a chance.”
“Trust me, I’ve given it plenty of chances,” I grumble and collapse on the couch nearest Nate.
He rolls his eyes. “It’s better than–”
“Don’t you say it!”
There’s a glimmer in his blue eyes as he looks over at me, a shit-eating grin appearing on his face. “Better than Taylor–”
I cover my ears. “Lalala! I can’t hear you!”
Nate bursts into laughter, muffled by my hands over my ears.
I watch him put on the headphones and tap away on his phone, knowing he’s probably listening to some song like, “Green Leaves of California” or “Mary Jane is My One and Only”. I remove my hands.
“Swift.” Nate bursts out, not bothering to look at me.
“I hate you,” I say, in the way you do when it’s clear all the feelings you have are anything but hate.
