Page 45 of Revive Me

“You’re right,” he sighs, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. “I’m sorry. I guess…I was riding the self-pity a little hard.”

“A little?” I ask with a snort.

“Okay, fine. I’ve been an unbearable prick with it lately.”

I sniff. “You said it, not me.”

He shakes his head, the tiniest smile peeking out that might as well be bright enough to light up the entire room with the way it hits me in the chest.

“You should tell the board about your therapy strategies,” he says. “I’ve never had a therapist talk to me the way you do, and yet I’ve made more progress in the past two months than anywhere else. Clearly, you’ve revolutionized patient care.”

“Well, in that case, I’d like to continue that progress.” I can’t help glaring at him as I add, “So, can we get back to your therapy? Please?”

He nods, seemingly just as mentally exhausted as me, but at least he’s here. At least he’s willing to move on.

“Good. Before we do anything, I’m going to check your foot to make sure you didn’t bruise or fracture anything—and FYI, you betterhopeyou didn’t.” The more I go on, the more my tone hardens to one of taking no shit. “Then we’re going to use the rest of the session for stretching and a massage so I can evaluate how much progress we’ve lost in the past week. And if you get an erection, we’re both going to ignore it,andI’m going to see you right back here on Monday night. Capisce?”

“Jesus, Lily,” Roman says with a wince, swiping a hand down his face. “Seriously? Could you not?”

But I’m not backing down from this. This last week can’t happen again.

In a move I’ve never ever used before but that feels suddenly right to break the tension of this moment, I extend my pinky to Roman. “Pinky promise right now, or I’m transferring you to a different physical therapist.”

His eyes widen before he smooths the expression. “I really hate you right now.”

I keep my pinky extended. “I hate you back, so that’s okay.”

He glares for another moment, then quickly reaches forward to roughly entwine our pinkies together. “You are certifiable,” he grumbles.

I hold on to his finger, ignoring the spark that shoots up my arm at the contact. “Whatever it takes to get you to your feet, Roman.”

16

LILIANA

To my surprise, Roman and I fall right back into our usual routine. He continues to progress, doing his PT homework on his own and showing up to every one of our sessions with a desire to get better. His consistent effort is really starting to pay off, and he’s getting noticeably stronger.

Things feel easy between us, too. He still has grumpy days, and I still give him tough love, but things are friendly. Normal.

One month after I first brought it up, I decide to ask Roman about gait training again.

“So, are you waiting to hit your pre-injury leg press PR before learning to walk again?”

He pauses his movement of increasing the weight on the machine. “Sorry, Doc, I don’t speak in code.”

I nod at his legs. “We need to start your gait training.”

Immediately, a wall shutters over his eyes. It happened the first time I brought it up, too. This part of his therapy is hard for him, which means I’ll have to tread carefully.

He opens his mouth, then quickly closes it, his throat bobbing on a swallow. I wait patiently for him to verbalize whatever is bothering him.

“This is where I gave up completely last time,” he says after a moment.

I nod. I figured as much. Taking a seat on the floor in front of him, I take a deep breath and ask, “Was it one thing, specifically? Or what is it about this phase of your therapy?”

“Specifically? Specifically, it was failing at the act of walking.”

I give him a look that saysreally?

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