Page 13 of Wyatt the Military Veteran

Then my GP noticed how uneven my shoulders were, sent me to get some X-rays done, and what do you know? I have a fucking degenerative muscle disease. Would exercising more have helped? Sure, but would it have solved all of my issues?

Nope.

A silver lining amidst the storm of medical jargon.

“I wish you would have said something,” Wyatt says as my apartment comes into view. “I could’ve helped more.”

“How? You were already doing as much as possible. I’m not an invalid. Small spurts of manual work are doable, but I can’t always predict how my body will respond. Don’t blame yourself for not doing more. It’s my problem, not yours.”

Wyatt grumbles under his breath, and I bite my lip to hide a grin.

Let him disagree.

All that matters to me is how much he cares. Which, judging by his constant checking in and his desire to ease my pain, is a lot.

After parking, he rounds the car and opens the door, offering a hand to help me stand.

“Fair warning, this might take a minute.” Mentally preparing myself for the lightning strike of debilitating pain, I carefully maneuver my legs to drape sideways over the seat, then after accepting Wyatt’s hand, I push upward, biting my tongue to hold in a groan.

“Lean on me. I’ve got you.”

Did I say there was a silver lining?

Because any positives are eclipsed by my current situation. Wyatt is a strong and capable military veteran, while I’m the woman with extra fluff and a bad back.

This has dark storm clouds written all over it.

“Thanks,” I murmur, directing my eyes to the ground, self-conscious about needing his help to walk to my own apartment.

It’s slow and torturous, but finally, we get inside, and a breath of relief deflates my lungs.

“Does laying down help? I can massage the area if you want.”

Wyatt’s hands on me? A thrill of nervous excitement bubbles to life. It doesn’t matter if his touch will be more professional than romantic.

Wyatt’s large callused hands will be onme.

“Let me take some medicine, then we can try a massage. I’ve wondered if it would help while I’m in this state, but booking an impromptu appointment with a therapist seemed like too much work.”

“Well, I’m here now,” he states matter of factly. Like he’s not going anywhere.

But he means until Christmas, right?

Not forever?

CHAPTER NINE

WYATT

While massaging Kennedy’s back isn’t how I imagined my first time touching her, it doesn’t detract from the pleasure I feel by making her feel better. I just wish she'd felt comfortable enough to share about her health issues before today.

Finding Kennedy braced by that tree in the woods—her body tense and pale despite the chill in the air—had kicked my protective instincts into overdrive.What was wrong? How could I help?Every inch of me vibrated with the need to relieve her pain.

A soft hiss pierces the quiet, and immediately, I pause my ministrations. “Is this helping at all?”

We decided that it might be better if she sat backward in a dining chair, so she could rest her arms on the headrest while I massaged her tense muscles. That way she wasn't alone in her bedroom with essentially a stranger.

I'd like to get there eventually, but this makes more sense when we only met a few hours ago.

---