She nods. “Nat’s back. I can give this one back to her if you’d prefer.” Her voice goes soft. “If it’s too painful.”
Maria might come across as a tough boss, but she’s got a heart of gold underneath the steel.
“Ed was friends with Jake,” I say carefully, testing the words out to make sure I’m not going to cry. My chest tightens, but there are no tears today.
“I want to help him, for Jake. I believe I can help him.”
It’s true. I believe I can help Ed talk again. He’s lost some of the hardness of a week ago. I’m not naive enough to think that’s all down to me, but since he’s moved into Jake’s place and started working for Joel, he seems more relaxed. At least he was when I stopped by his place last night.
And hot in his gray sweatpants and Navy hoodie, I think to myself. I lingered at his place too long feeling like the fourteen-year-old schoolgirl with a crush again.
“Okay,” Maria says. “But if it gets to be too much, speak up. You have to look after your emotional health too, Avery.”
I let out a deep breath I didn’t know I was holding. Ed is the first patient I’ve worked with on my own. I want to see this through to the end.
Twenty minutes later, the outside door buzzes and I let Ed through. His gray eyes lock on mine, and there’s a rush of heat to my chest. I look away first, trying to break this attraction between us. I need to suppress these schoolgirl crush feelings and remain professional.
“Hello.” My voice croaks, and I cough and try again. “Let’s go straight through.”
He follows me to my treatment room, and the back of my neck prickles. I get to the door and spin around, just in time to catch his gaze sliding up from my ass.
Ha! He was checking me out. I could feel it.
He eyes me unapologetically as I open the door and gesture him into the room. Too late I remember he has to brush past me because of his broad shoulders, and his arm skims mine.
I gasp as heat sparks between us in the place of contact. Ed pretends he doesn’t notice, and I’m glad at least one of us can keep this professional.
He takes a seat in the patient chair, and I sit behind my desk.
“How are you feeling?” I roll my chair out so I’m opposite him, willing my heart to stop racing. I need to keep this professional if I’m going to help him.
Ed looks at me with round eyes, and his expression tells a thousand words. He lost a career he loved, he can’t speak, and his best friend died. He feels shitty.
I reach a hand out to his but stop halfway. I can’t do anything about two of those things. I can’t get him his career back or bring back Jake, but I can help him speak again.
That’s what I’m here to do, and I need to focus on that.
“I mean your mouth and jaw. How do they feel?”
He holds a hand out with his palm flat and moves his hand pinky down, then thumb down, in the universal symbol of so-so.
His fingers are thick and stained with dirt. My skin prickles wondering what those hands would feel like running up my thigh.
I swallow hard and glance down at my notes. I need to keep it together and focus on what he’s here for. “How did you get on with the exercises?”
Ed gives a half smile and a thumbs up. He practiced them, which is more than I hoped for last week when he was a grumpy ass.
“Good. Today we’ll go over them again to see where you are.”
I run through the exercises, and this time Ed repeats them after me. At this stage, there’s a lot of deep breathing. I’m working on expanding his chest and getting all the cavities in his chest and mouth working. But it’s his tongue and jaw that are injured and where the hard work has to happen.
When we get to making sounds, he clams up again. I catch myself in the mirror, and I realize why. My mouth is contorted, and he’s probably worried about what his will look like. With the scar running from one side of his jaw, it won’t be pretty.
“Are you worried about what your mouth will look like when you try this?”
He stares at me, and I’m struck that this tough-ass SEAL is worried about how he’ll look.
“Recovery isn’t going to be easy. And while we re-train your jaw and tongue, you’ll look funny when you speak.”
