Page 106 of Reeves

“That’s the official diagnosis?”

His mouth twitches. “Pretty much.”

I tilt my head toward his shoulder. “Does it bother you all the time or just when you move a certain way?”

He shifts his arm slightly, rolling the joint once before letting it drop again.

“Certain movements. Overhead stuff mostly.”

“Lifting?”

“Pulling. Reaching.”

That tracks with what I’ve been seeing. The way he compensated when he helped me up at the beach, or the subtle shift when he was reaching up in the tree house.

“Rotator cuff?” I ask.

He glances at me again, more curious this time. “You’re good.”

“I work with injuries all day. Typically, mine are for babies, but I understand a little how the body moves and responds.”

He leans one hip against the counter across from me.

“Helicopter fast-rope training a few years back,” he says. “Line snapped loose, and I caught the weight wrong.”

My stomach tightens before I can stop it. “That sounds… bad.”

“It’s been worse.”

“Do you still have full range?”

“Mostly.”

“Mostly isn’t the same as yes.”

His mouth tilts again.

“You always this persistent with your patients?”

“Only when they’re pretending there isn’t a problem.”

That gets a real laugh out of him before he puts back on his serious face. I can tell this injury bothers him.

“It’s manageable,” he says. “Just likes to remind me it’s there.”

“I imagine in your line of work, if you never healed properly, you keep re-injuring it.”

He hesitates just long enough that I know I guessed right.

“Occupational hazard.”

I fold my arms across my chest.

“You know the human body isn’t designed to just power through damage forever.”

“Funny,” he says. “That’s usually been the job description.”

I study the way he holds that shoulder again.