Page 49 of Spring Tide

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It’s already beenover a month since Luca first tore his MCL. Over the last few weeks, we’ve been slowly building his tolerance for resistive exercises. He’s worked his way up to the heaviest black TheraBand that our department carries, and tonight, I’ve moved him on to weighted tubes.

I can tell he’s been consistent with his home program, following through with his nightly stretching and massage routine. The thought makes me unbelievably proud. It’s pretty rewarding to see all our hard work pay off like this.

“You’re doing so well with the added resistance,” I tell him, my smile stretching from ear to ear. “I think you’d be clear to go back to a full weighted routine soon.”

He answers me with a noncommittal grunt. My head cocks to the side as he loops the red tube over his foot, grimacing while he pushes through his heel.

“What?” I ask, eyes playfully narrowed. “Aren’t you excited?”

“Uh, yeah.” With a flick of his wrist, he waves away the question. “That’s great news.”

I plop onto the mattress beside him. “Okay, what’s your deal?”

“What deal?”

“That’s great news,” I mock, lowering my voice to match his gruff cadence. “Please, I can so easily tell when you’re fibbing.”

“I, uh, I may have already been doing my full weighted routine,” he sheepishly admits, shoulders tense.

“You’re joking.”

“I have to, Harper.” He pushes out a harsh breath, tensing as he flexes his ankle. “Coach has like ... fucking eagle eyes or something. I have to pretend everything’s normal for strength and conditioning days. But I’ve been squatting and deadlifting like half my weight otherwise. I just pick up the pace when he glances over.”

“No wonder you keep tweaking your injury.”

His gaze angles toward me. “You just said that I’m doing better.”

“Yeah, but you could’ve been fully healed by now!” I shoot him a half-assed glare. “It’s been five weeks since your initial injury, and you still haven’t even hit fifty percent functional capacity.”

“I’m functional enough,” he says gruffly.

“Yeah, when you’re not limping around on the pier or numbing yourself to death with ice after a game. I’d still say you need another three weeks of solid recovery training.”

“Great, that’s still a good month before the championship game.” He carries on with his exercise, indifferent to my criticism. “I’ll be back to one hundred percent by then.”

“If you actually manage to listen to me in the meantime.”

He reaches out, the sides of his fingertips brushing against my knee. “I listen to you.”

“Partially,” I murmur, unexpected heat staining my cheeks.

He tosses me a lopsided grin. “Are you ... do you still have time to do this with me? I know you’ve got baseball training and work and—”

“I have time. Don’t worry about that.”

“It’s just, I wouldn’t rat you out or anything.” His face falls the slightest bit, brows knit into a frown. “To the baseball guys. I’m not ... I don’t want you to feel like I’m still blackmailing you into helping me.”

“No, I want to help you,” I reassure him. “I like helping you.”

“Okay. And I mean, now that you’re not pursuing things with Nate anymore, there’s not really a secret to tell anyway.”

My eyes squeeze shut. “Yeah, about that ...”

“You’re not, are you?” His leg stops moving, an awkward stillness saturating the air between us. “Considering him still?”

I worry at my lower lip, unsure of the best way to respond in this situation. Luca barely knows Nate, yet he already despises him. If I spill the full details of our conversation, it might only add unnecessary fuel to the fire.

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