Page 43 of Sweet Twins For My Brother's Best Friend

Even a dog. Maybe especially a dog.

Chapter Eighteen

Christopher

At the gym, I help a client with some physical therapy for his weak knee ligaments, an issue that involves mostly retraining his body to use those ligaments in order to strengthen them.

The man isn’t much younger than I am, in his early thirties, and the weakness has left him unable to pick up his children, walk up stairs, or even put on shoes without debilitating pain.

It just about broke my heart to hear he couldn’t pick up his kids. He’d been grateful, though, to hear that he likely wouldn’t need any kind of surgery.

He’d been hypermobile his whole life without even realizing or understanding it, and the looseness of his joints had caused his body to compensate by forcing him to put weight on his hips instead.

“How does that feel, Nick?” I ask the guy, a thin lanky brunette with wire frame glasses currently fogging up as he breathes heavily, watching him do grapevine exercises, the silicon bands cutting into his thigh meat as he moves to the right and then to the left.

“I’m not gonna lie to you, Chris, it doesn’t feel great,” he tells me through a grim smile that almost looks more like a grimace with teeth bared.

“Well, you look great, so no one can tell,” I lie to him, standing to the side and watching his form, “You keep doing what you’re doing. Just five more reps on each side and then you’re done, okay? Do you need any water or anything?”

Nick can barely look at me, his face contorted into one of extreme focus. He shakes his head in response, and I take the hint and shut up, letting him do his exercises.

After a few minutes, he extricates his legs from the band and hands it to me. “Here you go, you medieval torturer.”

I chuckle at him as I hang them up on the wall. “I wear it like a badge of honor. Why don’t you go up to the front and make another appointment, and I’ll see you next week?”

“Fine. How many more sessions do you think I need?”

“Well, I can’t tell you for sure. Your insurance covers nine more sessions. I can tell you that based on your reaction to the band,it’ll take a few more. Okay, dude?” I slap him on the back, the worldwide known manly gesture for rallying.

“Okay. Yeah. I mean, it still really hurts, I’ll be honest.”

“I know it does, man.”

“And you’re sure it’s not a surgical issue? That I don’t need surgery?” Worry passes his face, obvious in his knit eyebrows and twisted lips.

“I know for a fact that you don’t, at least not before we try the non-invasive physical therapy techniques first. You know Dr. Jackson and I agree on this point. You’ve had every possible test done. Just trust me. We’ll get you through this and get you back to picking your kids up in no time, okay?”

I offer him a smile, trying to show him that I mean it, that I wouldn’t steer him wrong.

“Okay. Well, thank you for everythingng.”

“Of course, man. Go make an appointment. I want you to do those reps every day for the next week.”

“Is there risk of overdoing it? I’m scared. Sometimes it feels like it hurts more afterward.” I can feel the fear coming off him.

“It’s going to hurt. It’s hard work. You’re basically feeling the very normal pain of a workout but isolated to one spot. But there is absolutely no risk of overuse right now. Absolutely not. Youare in pain because ofunderuse. Trust me. Do you trust me, Nick?”

“I trust you.” Nick sighs, gathering his things, stuffing his pockets with his phone and his keys. He takes a swig of water. “Bye, Chris.”

“Bye, Nick!” I call out to him. I write down my notes in the little notebook I keep during physical therapy sessions. I write down the reps he did, my recommendations, and the pain that he’s describing feeling afterward.

With my pen in my hand, I feel the vibrating of my phone in my pocket. I pull it out of my shorts and answer without looking. “Hello?”

“Hey, Chris, it’s me.”

Julie. Even after five years, I would have recognized her voice, but it helps that I saw her at the grocery store just…God, when was that? It feels like a lifetime ago.

My breath catches in my throat as I answer, “Um, who is this?” I don’t know why I insist on playing it cool, but I don’t want her to know that I know her voice like the back of my hand.

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