Lowering his leg back to the resting position, he looked up at me as though I’d babbled in tongues. “What did you say?”
I flipped over one hand, crossing my legs and leaning back a little in my rolling chair. “Fun. You know ... that thing you do when you’re not working. The thing that makes you smile, because you enjoy doing it.”
“I don’t need you to define the word. I just don’t understand why you’re asking that.” He blew out a quick breath and wiped his head with the back of one hand. “If that’s really what fun is, then my whole life is one fucking funhouse right now. I don’t work at all, ergo, all is fun.”
“You know what I mean. When you’re not here with me, or doing your required exercises at home ...” I fastened him with the look my other patients referred to as the laser eye. I’d threatened to require witnesses for his home training, if I didn’t see steady results that let me know he was making the effort, but he seemed to be complying so far. “When you’re not doing any of that, what do you do?”
He smirked, the dimple in his chin deepening. Something deep in my belly tightened, and as I did with alarming regularity lately, I studiously ignored it. “Aw, honey, is this your way of asking me out on a date? If that’s what you wanted, all you had to do was let me know.”
“Nice try on the distract, Captain, but no dice. Answer the question.”
Slowly, he used his free hand to push himself into a sitting position. I noted the slight wince, but I also realized his movement was easier than it had been two weeks before—and much better than it had been when he’d first come to the clinic. Whether or not he wanted to acknowledge it, he was progressing.
“When I’m not here, or doing the crap you’re making me do at home, I’m sleeping or I’m sitting on my couch, flipping the television stations. When one of my friends comes over, sometimes we watch a ballgame and have beers.”
I carefully schooled my face to avoid looking critical. “Okay. Now tell me what you did for fun before you were injured.”
This time the pain was impossible to miss, although I knew it wasn’t physical. “I had a life back then. Now I just have an existence.”
“Bullshit.” I’d learned fast that Captain McTavis responded better to hard truths than to sympathy. “You have what you’re choosing now. It’s time to change this idea that wallowing in your own self-pity is necessary. It isn’t.”
He stared at me, his blue eyes boring into mine. I held his gaze, refusing to back down, and in the end, he was the one who glanced away. “Fine. Back ... before, I worked hard. My job means long hours. And when I wasn’t working, on the weekends, I went out with my friends. We hit the bars or the clubs up in Richmond, and we—we had fun. We drank, and we hooked up. With women.”
Why this information irked me was something I didn’t want to examine too closely. “Hmmm. All right ... anything else? When you weren’t polluting your body with alcohol and indulging in meaningless sexual encounters, what did you do?”
One of his eyebrows rose, and the side of his mouth twisted. “I didn’t say they were meaningless. They meant a lot to me. At least, during the time I was having them, they did.”
“I’m sure.” My tone was dry. “I don’t need to hear about that, though. Unless sexual function is something that’s a concern to you right now?”
It was a low blow, but I wasn’t going to let this guy goad me without volleying something back. His face went deep red, and his mouth tightened.
“No, there’s nothing wrong in that area of my life. Jesus.” He shifted so that he faced a little more away from me, and I recognized it as the escape tactic it was.
“You’re the one who brought it up.” I shrugged. “I just figured maybe this was something you needed to address. There are medicines, you know, if—”
“I said I’m fine. Believe me, lady, I can get it up any day of the week.” The crude words were snarled out bitterly. “Not that it matters.”
We were skirting territory that made me more than a little uncomfortable. I decided it was time to get us back on track. “Outside of your evening extracurricular activities, did you play team sports? Or run? Woodworking? Golf?”
“No.” He wrapped his arms around his knees. “I liked to work around the house after work and on weekends. I did my own landscaping, and I enjoyed keeping my lawn nice.”
Aha.Now we were getting somewhere. “But you’re not working on your yard now? Why not?”
He lifted one shoulder. “At first, I couldn’t get out there. And then ... it just didn’t seem to be worth the effort.”
“Huh.” I nodded. “Well, then, you’ve got your assignment for this weekend. I expect you out there, mowing the lawn, pulling weeds, trimming bushes ... whatever needs doing, you do it. Time for you to take responsibility for that part of your life again.”
His brows drew together. “Are you crazy? Mow the lawn? When I can barely walk across the floor?”
“Again, I call bullshit. You might not realize it, Captain McTavis, but you’ve been walking across the room much faster and smoother lately. You can do this.”
For a few seconds, he didn’t respond. I figured he was trying to come up with a better argument. But when he did speak, it was a single word.
“Derek.”
I cocked my head, although I was pretty sure I knew what he was saying. “I’m sorry?”
“I said, Derek. That’s my name. Only my soldiers and sometimes my commander call me Captain McTavis. It creeps me out when you do it.”
