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Dr. Marshall’s mouth curves down. “You did not suffer lasting or permanent effects from your recent head injury or the seizures.”
“You didn’t answer my question.” I fiddle with the hem of the threadbare cloth gown they made me wear for my post-hospitalization follow-up visit with my neurologist.
The kind doctor leans against the cabinet that holds a sink and other medical supplies and crosses his arms over his chest. “Because okay is not a word that will ever describe you, Miss Reeves. You suffered a severe brain injury. Yes, time has passed and you haven’t had any further complications, but you won’t ever be back to the way you were before the incident.”
“The incident”—even my doctors use that term to describe the day that took so much from so many people.
“I know that, Dr. Marshall. I’m asking if I’m the same as I was before the recent seizures.”
“Then yes. I see no evidence of any progression or changes in the electrical output of your brain.” I exhale in relief, but it’s short-lived. “However, it is even more imperative that you take extra precautions to avoid any further head injuries. Especially after having proof that a blow to the head can and will bring on very serious seizures. Take your medications exactly as prescribed and be very, very careful.”
I nod, swallowing down the knot of anxiety that blossoms in my throat. “Okay. I will.”
He smiles. “Great. I’ll see you in three months for a repeat EEG and MRI.”
“Thanks.” Dr. Marshall leaves the room. As I get dressed, the worry comes back. I can’t tell anyone at work about this, about how I have to be cautious not to bump my head again. I’ll just have to be extra vigilant on my own. Just the thought of everyone at the gym tiptoeing around me like I’m made of glass makes me nauseous.
And Keller. I can’t lose what I have with him. I need him, his strength, the safety of his arms, the way he makes me feel. Without it, the memories straining to burst free from my mind will take me down in no time, reducing me to an anxious, cowering mess.
No. Just like everything else in my life, I’ll handle this on my own.
* * *
“You’re going to need to go easy for a day or two. Ice and rest, no sparring, light stretching and workouts only.”
I pat the fighter’s ankle and tell him he can go. He grimaces, but manages to give me a weak smile before sliding off the exam table. Sawyer North is one of my favorite fighters. Always calm, always polite, he’s unflappable under stress.
“Thanks, Britt.”
“Anytime, Sawyer. I’ll see you around.”
He nods and leaves my office. When the door opens, the sounds of the gym permeate the small room, grunts, talking, the sounds of gloves hitting flesh or punching bags, trainers shouting over the din so their fighters can hear them. It’s been the daily backdrop of my life for several years. Usually, I take comfort in it, the sounds of men, of their incredible displays of strength. The last few days, however, I’ve kept to my office as much as possible. The anniversary of “the incident” is getting closer, the dreams getting more frequent, the memories becoming more clear with each passing day.
My only respite is the time I spend with Keller. I sit behind my desk and grin at the discomfort that reminds me of last night, of Keller’s large hand coming down, raining blows across the tender skin of my backside as he pounded into me until I nearly passed out. I nearly giggle I’m so giddy. Keller gets me. Like really gets me and what I need, and he’s more than happy to be the one to provide it. Keller is pure alpha domination, both in the ring and in the bedroom, and I love every minute of it. No one makes me feel safe or quiets my mind like Keller Bishop.
Done typing notes into Sawyer’s file, I stand up and go to close the door for privacy. As I reach for the knob, a hand smacks against the outside of the door, shoving it open and nearly knocking the thick wood into my head. I stumble back, my heart flying in my chest.
“Max! You almost hit me with the door!”
My god, does he purposely try to hurt me? Is that what’s been going on?
His face falls and his eyes go wide. “Oh my god, Britt. I’m so sorry.” Max extends a hand to keep me steady and instinctually, I leap back out of his reach. I do not want his hands on me. Something about his touch creeps me out. Max’s brow lowers and his eyes narrow at my reaction, the dark color piercing right through me like a shard of ice.
Pissed off, I hold up my hands. “Stop barging in here, Max. You need to start knocking.”
“Whoa, Britt. Relax.”
That’s it. This guy has almost given me a seizure more than once and I have to relax?
“No, Max. I’m tired of you sneaking up on me. Either knock before you enter, or stay away!” Before I can slam the door in his face, he slides inside my office. I frown at his refusal to respect my request. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Why can’t you just accept my apology, Britt? What’s with you lately?” Max comes toward me, forcing me to take another step back. His face crumples into a deep scowl. “It’s that asshole, Killer, isn’t it? You’re fucking him so now you can’t be my friend. What, he won’t let you?”
“He has—”
“Everything to do with it.”
Max and I spin around simultaneously to face the source of the deep, scary growl. Keller is standing in the doorway, filling the entire frame with his enormous body.
