Page 23 of After You Returned

I don’t move. “No.”

Her brow wrinkles. “Sorry, Miles. I know you’re in a hurry to get back on your surfboard, but I don’t think you’re ready for pendulum swings or pulley-assisted stretches yet.”

“I’m not in a hurry.”

“You’re not?”

“Nope.”

Because the longer I’m injured, the more time I can spend with Hazel.

“Okay.” She pats the treatment table. “Let’s get to work on those stretches then.”

“No.”

“I am not in the mood for your riddles today, Miles.”

Now we’re getting somewhere.

“You’re always in the mood for my riddles. What’s going on?”

“I’m fine and it’s none of your business.”

“You’re not fine, and we’re not starting therapy until you tell me what’s wrong.”

She fists her hands on her hips. Finally, she’s showing a bit of life. “Did you forget the part about it being none of your business?”

“Wrong.”

“Miles.” She growls. “We aren’t together anymore. We’re not even friends. My life is not your business.”

“We are friends,” I grit out. “Something’s wrong with you and I’m not letting you put your hands on my injured shoulder when you’re obviously upset.”

“I’m not upset.”

“And you don’t have that little wrinkle on your forehead you always get when you’re upset.”

She slaps her forehead. “I don’t get a wrinkle on my forehead when I’m upset.”

“Yes, you do.” I step closer until I’m crowding her. This room is small and she has nowhere to go. “When Scarlett moved off the island, you got the wrinkle. When Ian fell off the tractor and broke his leg and arm, you got the wrinkle. When—”

She holds up a hand. “Stop. I don’t need a history lesson on all the times I’ve been upset in my life.”

I grasp her hand. Electricity tingles where our skin touches but I ignore it. This moment isn’t about us. It’s about Hazel. No matter what she may think of me, I will never allow her to suffer. Not if I can help it.

“How can I help?”

“Help? You want to help me?”

“Of course. I care about you.” I massage my thumb into her wrist. Her eyes darken until they’re nearly emerald. It’s the same color they turn when I bury myself deep inside her. My cock twitches at the reminder.

She yanks her hand away. “You don’t care about me. I’m your past and you’re feeling nostalgic is all.”

I’m not arguing with her about whether I care about her or not. I know how I feel.

“Are we doing this therapy session or not?”

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”