Page 19 of Reeves

Pediatric Therapy Solutions

I read it once more before clicking send. The whoosh is strangely comforting in the quiet room. It lets me check off my list instead of wallowing in my own head.

Closing the laptop, darkness reclaims the space. The refrigerator hums in the kitchen, a steady, dependable sound that's become the background noise of my life.

I drink the last of my wine and set the empty glass beside the laptop.

When I first opened the email earlier, the offer looked like an escape. Someone else handling the paperwork and the billing while I kept doing the work I actually trained for sounded like a dream.

Now it looks like something else. It's not a solution, but a trade.

The thing about control is that once you give it away, getting it back isn’t always an option.

I turn off the kitchen light and head for bed, still not sure which side of that trade I’m standing on.

FIVE

Reeves

The Bass Drum:Sets the tempo for everyone behind it. The procession adjusts its pace without being told.

The engine screamsbetween my thighs as I push the dirt bike harder. My back tire catches the edge of a rut, spitting gravel behind me. I lean into the curve and twist the throttle, letting the bike move like it's part of my body.

Rhodes is fifty yards ahead, his green helmet bobbing as he navigates the narrow trail. I close the gap, the scent of gasoline and warm Louisiana soil filling my lungs.

I could pass him. My thumb hovers over the throttle.

Instead, I ease back and let him keep the lead.

Sunlight filters through the pine trees in broken patches. The trail narrows, then opens to a clearing, and we skid to matching stops, engines growling before we kill them.

The sudden quiet is jarring. My body still shudders, my heart pounding in my ears.

We lift our visors at the same time, and Rhodes grins. "That was fucking epic."

I pull my helmet off, running a hand through my sweat-damp hair. "You know I let you win. Right, little bro?"

"Bullshit." Rhodes yanks off his own helmet. "I've been riding these trails for months. You're the one who forgot what Louisiana dirt feels like."

"Some things you don't forget." I grab the water bottle from my bike and take a long pull. "That marsh cut is fucking badass. When did you carve that out?"

Rhodes shrugs, but pride leaks through. "Last summer. Ridge doesn't know. Says it ruins the ecosystem or some shit."

"Speaking of ruining things, don't you have classes?"

"Don't you have a war?" he shoots back, still smiling. "How long you staying this time?"

I shrug. "About a week. Then back out."

"That barely counts as visiting." Rhodes kicks at the dirt.

"Staying anywhere too long makes me restless." I half smile.

Rhodes nods like he gets it, but he doesn't.

We stand there for a moment, just breathing. The engines tick as they cool, wind moving through the trees.

For once, I don't feel the need to fill the silence or plan my exit. The adrenaline still buzzes under my skin, but it's not the desperate kind.