You never mean to.
She’s not talking about my shoulder.
Tuesday is hell.
I can’t train, can’t focus, can’t stop thinking about the way she looked at me before going inside. Like she was offering something I was too chickenshit to take.
Wednesday morning I’m at the facility at 5:30.
Her car pulls in at 5:50 and she looks destroyed. Dark circles under her eyes, hair pulled back in a hasty bun, moving like every step costs her something.
“You’re early,” she says.
“You’re here.”
She unlocks the PT room without responding. Inside, she gestures to the table.
“Shirt.”
I pull it off and notice her hands shake slightly as she examines the damage.
“Dammit, Roman. This is going to add three weeks minimum. You’ll miss opening night.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Because you did this to yourself. With the extra weight and the weekend sets and the—” She stops, pressing her palms against her eyes.
“My mom coded yesterday.”
“What?”
“Her heart stopped. They got her back, but she coded.” Her voice is eerily calm, the kind of calm that comes from being too exhausted to feel anything anymore. “While I was filling out insurance forms in the hallway, her heart stopped beating.”
I’m off the table before I realize I’m moving.
“Marnie—”
“And all I could think about was how you kissed me and then walked away like it meant nothing.”
The words slam through me and I can’t breathe.
“It didn’t mean nothing?—”
“Then why did you leave?”
The question hangs between us, demanding an answer I’m not sure I can give.
I could lie. Make up something about respect or professionalism. Tell her I was being noble.
“Because if I followed you inside, I wouldn’t have left until morning.”The words come out rough, honest. “And then what? You still have to be my PT. You still have to touch me without thinking about how it feels when I make you come. You still have to?—”
“That’s my choice to make. Not yours.”
“Your job?—”
“My mom is dying. Actually dying. Present tense.” Her voice cracks on the last word. “My job is the least of my problems.” She steps back, putting distance between us. “But you decided for both of us. What was appropriate. What was safe.”
“I was trying to protect?—”
