Page 22 of Through the Water

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I snapped with a forced chuckle, before taking off for the elevators as fast as my crutches would allow.

Theo and I were going to have words.

Strong ones.

* * *

“You’re phoning it in, Killian,” my trainer, Rocky, noted from his crouched position beside me. “Do it again, but this time, hold for five seconds, okay? That brace is locked in position, it’s not going anywhere.”

I stared daggers at the ceiling above me before raising my injured leg off the mat a couple of inches. This trainer didn’t know a ball from a strike, yet was somehow my best bet for getting back onto the field.

Just keep your mouth shut, Killian, Theo’s voice warned from inside my head. Do as you’re told.

Two weeks in and I was starting to realize my goal of being back on the field next season was nothing more than a pipe dream. Non-weight bearing for six weeks meant I was stuck performing basic range of motion exercises for Rocky until cleared by a doctor.

I would have preferred any one of the team’s athletic trainers to him. Even grumpy old Takahashi, whose idea of rehab involved copious amounts of pain, and strangely enough, acupuncture needles. At least he knew me. He would have understood what was at stake and pushed my body to its limits.

He damn sure wouldn’t have me lying on a mat, raising my leg up and down like a trained monkey in the circus.

“That’s great! Now, hit it back to me!”

I lifted my head to watch the spectacle. Two of the other physical therapists were taking turns batting a balloon to the woman who’d accosted me for an autograph a week ago. As no one had approached me since, I could only assume Theo had done his job.

Rocky looked down to enter something on his tablet, and I took the opportunity to scrutinize the girl. For rehab—or classes, as we were instructed to call them, most everyone wore t-shirts and shorts.

Not her.

She always looked like she was heading off to Sunday service, and the green floral dress she wore today was no exception. The fabric fell to her knees with long sleeves that ended just above her wrists.

As if sensing someone watching her, she looked up and met my gaze. An intense blush stained her cheeks red and she immediately turned away as if she knew she’d been caught.

I’d seen all I needed to when she showed up outside my door. She was like so many women before her—on the hunt for a knight in shining armor to swoop in and rescue them from the monotony of their everyday lives.

Why else would she dress up for therapy?

Poor thing had probably been told she was a princess her entire life, to the point she actually believed it. She wasn’t looking for a husband—not really. No, this girl was after the large bank account and children who could be carted around like the latest accessory, while she mindlessly wandered the aisles at the local grocery store.

Unfortunately for her and every other Stepford wife in the making, I was nobody’s knight. And it was going to take more than a dress to distract me from my goal.

That wasn’t to say I hadn’t noticed her. With her auburn hair, she was a little hard to miss, as was the way her eyes seemed to follow me when I entered a room.

Like she was a puppy in a pet store window.

Not that it mattered.

I had more important things to focus on.

The girl nodded when the physical therapist leaned in to say something but kept her eyes trained on the floor. I couldn’t pinpoint what it was about the gesture that bothered me, but something in it left me wishing I could take it all back—the words spoken in frustration… every mean thought.

Guilt.

The feeling was almost foreign. Reed men didn’t spend time focusing on their list of regrets.

Why dwell on the past when you’re on top?

Every mistake had led me to where I wanted to be. Only now, my future wasn’t quite as certain, forcing me to consider that maybe I wasn’t the man I thought I was.

Are you good?

---