Ignoring the innuendo, I went on. “You’re doing much better. At this point, our goal is to strengthen your core to take any strain from your back. Using the stability ball will help that, and the nice part is that it doesn’t have to add to your regular exercise regimen. You can sit on it when you’re working at your desk, watching television or even eating.”
“Okay.” Derek slid his hands into his front pockets. “I can do that.”
“You should be able to buy one at any sports goods store, or anywhere they carry basic exercise equipment.” I tapped a few buttons on my tablet, noting the additional instructions I’d given him today, and then clicking it off. “Other than that, I’d like you to at least try some of the yard work we discussed earlier. If the lawn is too much, start with weeding or trimming bushes. Don’t overdo, but do push yourself a little.”
“I’ll give it a shot.” He paused. “You could come by to check up on me, make sure I’m following through. It’s supposed to be a nice weekend to be outside.”
I gripped the edge of the desk. This was harder than it should have been. It wasn’t unusual for a patient to make overtures to his therapist. We often became close, and frequently, our clients looked at us as the only ones who truly understood what they were going through. In Derek’s case, he was slowly recovering both physically and emotionally, and he was finally beginning to accept the possibility that he could have his life back. As he considered making connections again, it was only natural that he’d turned to the person who was the most convenient—me.
“Hey. Tasha.” He leaned forward, until I had no choice but to look at him. “I see you over there struggling with the moral and ethical implications of this decision. Don’t. I don’t have a crush on you, and I don’t have ulterior motives here. I just ...” He trailed off. “I need the accountability. If I know there’s a chance you might stop by, I’ll be more likely to actually do this. If not, I know I’ll come up with ten different reasons I shouldn’t do it.”
Embarrassment washed over me. What had I been thinking? Of course, Captain Derek McTavis wasn’t making overtures to me, the scrawny little redhead physical therapist. I wasn’t his type at all, and I’d just made a fool of myself by even thinking anything else. He was trying. He was making a real attempt to move forward, and I needed to encourage that.
“I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try.” I put one hand on my hip. “And if I show up, and you’re not working in your yard, I’ll come up with something worse. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned, and I realized this was the first time he’d really smiled, with no sardonic undertones to the expression. He looked years younger. “Should I give you my address?”
“I can pull it from your file.” I eased my hip onto the edge of my desk. “Now get out of here. I do have other patients, you know.”
“Yeah.” He began to leave, stopping in the doorway to turn back for a moment. “Thanks, Tasha. I know I’m not easy, but when I’m here, somehow you make me believe I can get back to who I was. I haven’t had that hope for a long time.”
A lump rose in my throat, but I forced a smile. “That’s my job. And it’s your hard work that’s making the difference.”
“Still.” He rapped his knuckles against the door jamb. “Okay, then ... see you this weekend. Maybe.”
“Maybe,” I echoed as he disappeared down the hallway. I sank into my desk chair and covered my face with my hands.
Who the hell was I kidding? There was no maybe about it. Whether or not it was a good idea or crossing any professional lines, I was definitely going to be paying a visit to the home of Derek McTavis.
