Page 107 of How to Walk Away

Out of the frying pan into the fire.

But at least I wasn’t tragically, unrequitedly in love with him. At least he had never given me a life-altering kiss and then said, “You know what? Never mind.”

At least I knew I didn’t like him.

Simple.

I could just concentrate on my recovery. Or lack thereof.

Every time I went to PT now, I worried Ian would be in the gym. Usually, he was, working with someone else—which, no matter if it was an elderly bald man or a postmenopausal lady, made me jealous. I’d steal glances at him over and over, but he never looked at me or even seemed to notice I was there.

I guess that’s what happens when you push people away.

Though, to be fair, he pushed me first.

The person in the gym who did notice me was Myles.

He checked on me much more often now that Ian was across the room.

“Doing all right?” he’d say, materializing from behind a post.

“Fine, thanks,” I’d say, not making eye contact.

Sometimes he prodded me about Ian. “Didn’t work out with you two, huh?”

Was he tricking me when he did that? Was he trying to goad me into getting Ian in trouble?

“It worked out great,” I said, thinking fast.

“So well,” Myles pressed, “that you requested another PT?”

“It was Ian’s idea,” I said. Lying.

Myles tilted his head like I was the biggest liar ever. “Really?”

Here’s where my obsessive study of medical journals brought its big payoff. “Yes,” I said. “Because Rob has more experience with functional electrical stimulation, and Ian thinks I’d be a good candidate.”

Suddenly, Myles wasn’t so cocky. “You couldn’t have wanted to stay with him, though. He was so unfriendly to you. Borderline hostile—”

I started to say, “I wouldn’t call himhostile—”

But Myles went on, “When he wasn’t standing outside your room listening to you sing.”

I turned to face him. “What?”

“Oh, you didn’t know he did that?”

I shook my head.

“Yeah.” Myles lifted both his eyebrows. “Creepy, right? I had to issue him two different warning slips.”

I looked around for Ian. He was helping a very elderly lady out of her chair onto the raised mat.

“Anyway,” Myles said, pulling my attention back. “If he bothers you anymore, just let me know.” He pointed a finger gun at me, gave me a nod, and pulled the trigger.

***

MAN-BUN-ROB AND Iworked like dogs all week, both during scheduled PT and tutoring sessions, but made no progress. Ian had left atutoring spreadsheet—even though he detested spreadsheets—detailing exactly what we were supposed to do, in order, in sections, counted to the minute. Rob and I followed it diligently—but nothing changed.

---