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"Yeah. Doesn't matter where he goes, women flock to him. I would be shocked if that man spends a night alone. And he eats that shit up, always flirting."
"Right. He is charming." Why does that make me sad? He's a grown man. He can do whomever he pleases. There's nothing wrong with embracing your sexuality. Maybe I should take a page out of his book and invite someone to my bed.
Cara snorts. "Charming. Yep." She shakes her head, and picks her purse up. "I'll be checking in with him today. Can't wait." Her voice is gleeful. She's going to give him shit today, guaranteed.
I smile until the door closes, giving myself a minute to absorb the swirl of feelings in my chest. What Nick does in his private time is none of my business. Just stop it. I take another sip of my coffee, wincing, then pour the rest of it down the sink. I hate coffee. I don't know why I keep trying to like it. Maybe I'll treat myself to a Chai on the way to work instead. My first case this morning is a tough one, so I'll need it.
"Gabe, I know you're uncomfortable, but your leg won't fail you. You can trust it, I promise. Let go of the bars."
He scowls at me, shoulders tightening up even more than they already were. "It's not strong enough. You're pushing too fast." His grip on the parallel bars tightens, holding most of his weight.
"You've been seeing me for a couple of weeks. You're putting in the work. This isn't fast, it's the next right step."
"I can't even balance on my good leg, and you want me to do it on this fucking thing? You're crazy."
I can't help it. The look on his face is priceless. I laugh.
His scowl is thunderous. "Am I a fucking joke to you?"
His challenge makes my smile grow. "No actually. But you are funny."
He pushes away from the parallel bars, heading back to my curtained table. I step into his path, forcing him to stop or run me over. His eyes are blazing, a little tick in his jaw showing me just how mad he is.
"You've shared a little about your life. You've pushed yourself in every area of your life. But when it comes to this, to using the prosthetic, you want to take it easy. That exact attitude is why you're still in the position you're in today. Why won't you fight for yourself?"
"Because I don't fucking know what I'm doing," he yells, leaning down to get right in my face. There are eyes on us, other patients, and several staff members. I wave them off and lean into Gabe, our noses nearly touching.
"No shit Sherlock," I say sweetly. His eyes widen and he eases back as I continue. "You were in the Marines, right?" I don't wait for his nod. "Did you walk onto base on day one, and know exactly what the fuck you were doing? Were you excellent at everything?"
"No," he says grudgingly.
"Of course not. But you had drill sergeants or instructors who pushed you, who helped you become a badass. They saw the potential and brought it out of you. So let me give you a little dose of reality. I've worked with people in far worse shape than you and still gotten them to better mobility than you have right now. The physical stuff is not your problem. Your body can do anything I ask it to. Your shit is all mental. I'm doing everything I can to help you past it, but ultimately, it's up to you. You have to want it, and right now, I don't think you do."
He crosses his arms over his chest and glares at my forehead. "I want it."
"I call bullshit."
He growls, stepping around me to the table. He drops onto it, tightly gripping the edge, muscles in his shoulders and arms bunching and twisting. I roll my stool in front of him and sit, letting the silence between us grow. I'm okay with silence. I always have been. I'm confident I can wait him out.
"I'm never going to be the same, so what's the fucking point?" he mutters, glaring at his prosthetic.
I heave out a breath. This sounds damned familiar. Wasn't this me just a night ago? I had a giant scarred Yoda set me straight. Maybe I can do the same for Gabe.
"Was the old you that great?" I ask lightly.
One of Gabe's brows arch up, and a hint of mischief glitters in his eyes. "All the ladies said so."
I snort and lean in. "If your old life was so great, then go back to living it. Build your strength back up, and go do all the crazy stuff you used to. If a double amputee can climb Mount Everest, then you can do whatever the hell you want to. But you don't have to go back to the old you. You've been through something life altering. But someone kinda wise told me just because you went through something awful doesn't mean it has to destroy your life. You have a chance to consciously decide what you want to do with your life. Think about it? Do you want to bicycle around the world? Then do it. Do you want to climb a mountain? Then do it. That leg isn't going to hold you back unless you let it."
"Just like that?"
"Nah. You have to put in the work. You have to apply all that mental toughness to it. But if you do, I promise you, you'll get there."
I wish he had an ah-ha like I did last night, but he just nods. "I think I'm done for the day."
I step out letting him change, wishing I could have found the right words to convince him. My confidence in my abilities as a physiotherapist is unwavering. I know I could help him feel powerful, if only he'd let me. But it's not up to me, that much is obvious. If wishing someone better were enough, Cara would have had me back to one hundred percent healed on day one. But here I am, half a year later, still struggling.
Gabe tips his head at me as he exits, and I wonder if I'll ever see him again. I hope I do. I hope I get the chance to help him.
