Page 29 of Revive Me

Shaking my head, I finally let my smile come through. “You are certifiable.”

“And Ialsojust got you to do eight reps of an exercise you’ve been pouting over for two weeks, so you can’t say my methods don’t work,” she quips.

The reminder of my therapy is sobering. I drop my head back with a sigh.

In her spot across from me, Lily leans back against the wall and wraps her arms around her waist. Her grin has also disappeared when she asks hesitantly, “What were you like when you first started PT?”

Right. My admission.

I can’t meet her eyes. It’s easier to be honest this way.

“Determined. They told me the most recovery happens in the first year, so I went into it fully prepared to work my ass off. And I did—for a while. Even the hard days weren’t enough to make me quit. It wasn’t until—” I swallow thickly.

“Until what?” Lily asks gently.

I take a deep breath and admit the rest. “It wasn’t until the UFC officially cut me from their roster and released me from my contract six months later that I realized none of it mattered. I don’t know why it never occurred to me that I wouldn’t fight again. God knows the doctors told me enough times. I just never heard it. But when that call came through…” I shake my head, clearing the memories. “I don’t know. It just kind of hit me that none of it mattered. Why was I killing myself when my end goal was unreachable anyway?”

“And you didn’t think changing your end goal towalkingwas worthwhile?”

I can hear the frown in Lily’s voice before I even look at her. Sure enough, her expression is one of disbelief.

“I know it’s not logical,” I admit. “But that felt like changing my dream from shooting for the stars, to shooting for the top of the tree in the backyard. It felt meaningless and stupid. And then, by the time I realizedthatwas stupid, a year had passed, and it had gotten harder to progress and…easier to fail.”

Saying this out loud is…a relief. I’ve always held on to the anger and stayed quiet in rebellion. I’ve never felt the desire to unburden myself like this.

“You can, you know.” When I give Lily a confused look, she explains, “You can still walk. Even though it’s been two years. They say your spinal cord experiences a heightened state of neuroplasticity in the six months after an injury, but that doesn’t mean youcan’tregain function. It’s harder, sure, but it’s still possible.”

I want to tell her that it’s been a long time since I’ve let myself believe that. That I’ve become so used to giving up, I don’t remember what it’s like to fight anymore.

That I don’t want to disappoint her.

I don’t know if she reads any of that in my face. But I watch as she straightens from her stance and picks up the resistance band, then walks over to stand before me.

“I know you don’t want to let yourself hope for it,” she says, eyes searching mine, “and that’s okay. I’ll carry the hope for a little while. I just need you to put your trust in me. Because Iswear to you, Roman—” Determination blazes in her eyes. “I will get you on your feet.”

I want to believe her. But she’s right, I’m not ready to let that hope in.

So, I don’t answer. I just reach for the band in her hand.

“Other leg now, right?”

11

LILIANA

For the next two weeks, I watch Roman make progress.

It’s not linear. And that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have bad days. But watching him rep until failure is a special kind of victory as a physical therapist. Not just that, but I can also tell he’s doing his exercises at home. He’s getting stronger and more fluid in his movements, and his confidence is growing. Even on the tougher days, he’s pushing through and leaving with his head up high.

Today has been more of a rollercoaster, though. Since Roman still favors his right side over his left, we’ve been working the left side hard today, and his frustration has mounted. We’re one failed rep away from the resistance band being thrown across the room.

“Come on, give me one more set,” I beg. Half the time, the victory is just getting Roman to do the exercise after he’s already failed. Once he can talk himself into trying again, the reps go a lot easier.

“Remember, even trying the exercise is helping to rewire your brain,” I tell him. “As long as you’re giving effort, you’re getting better.”

Roman releases a heavy breath. I know I’m pushing him to his limit.

“I’m going to burn this goddamn band one day,” he growls. But he re-positions it and goes for the extra reps anyway.

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