Page 11 of The Promises We Broke
The room fell silent except for the soft sounds of the house around us, voices from downstairs, the distant sound of a door closing. Gage was looking at me like he was seeing me for the first time, and I wondered if he was remembering the girl who used to let him get away with everything.
That girl was gone.
"What do you need me to do?" he asked finally.
"Take your medication as prescribed. Don't try to do more than your body can handle. And trust that your family wants to help you, even if you can't understand why."
I spent the next thirty minutes walking him through gentle exercises he could do while seated. Ankle pumps to improve circulation, breathing exercises to prevent pneumonia, careful range of motion work for his uninjured arm. All the while, I maintained perfect professional distance, even as my body remained hyperaware of his proximity, even as memories threatened to break through my carefully constructed walls.
This was harder than I'd thought it would be.
I'd convinced myself that seeing him again had given me clarity, that realizing he'd been too much of a coward to fight for us had somehow immunized me against whatever hold he'd once had over me. I'd walked away from that first dinner believing I'd finally understood my worth, finally recognized that I deserved better than someone who would disappear rather than stay and work through problems.
But being this close to him, touching him in the name of medical necessity, watching the way he tried so hard to be strong when he was clearly in pain, it was stirring up feelings I'd thought I'd buried. The ghost of the girl who'd once believed he was her whole world was whispering that maybe, just maybe, the man he'd become was worth a second chance.
Stop it, I told myself firmly. You know better now.
He'd had eleven years to come back, eleven years to fight for what we'd had. Eleven years to prove that love was stronger than whatever had driven him away. And he'd chosen to stay gone. He'd chosen to let me wonder what if, to let me build a life without him.
That choice said everything I needed to know about what I'd really meant to him.
"I want to see you again in three days," I said as I packed up my equipment, using the familiar routine to ground myself. "Same time. By then, I want you to have taken your medication consistently and practiced the exercises I've shown you."
"Yes, ma'am," he said, and there was something almost like a smile in his voice.
"I'm serious, Gage. If you don't follow the treatment plan, I'll transfer your care to someone else."
The threat was real. I couldn't afford to let personal history interfere with my professional judgment. But more than that, I needed him to understand that this version of me, this Billie Schulster, wasn't someone he could charm or manipulate.
"I'll behave," he said quietly. "I promise."
I stood, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "Your recovery is going to be slow, and it's going to be frustrating. But if you let your body heal properly, if you do the work, you'll come back stronger than before."
"And if I don't?"
I met his eyes directly, letting him see the seriousness of my expression. "Then you'll spend the rest of your life dealing with the consequences. Some damage can't be fixed, Gage."
The words hung in the air between us, loaded with meaning that went far beyond his physical injuries. For a moment, I saw that flicker of something in his expression that I'd seen before. Understanding, maybe, or recognition of the deeper truth in what I'd said.
Some things couldn't be fixed. Some hearts couldn't be broken and mended again. Some chances, once lost, never came back.
"I'll see you Friday," I said, turning toward the door.
"Billie," he called softly, and I paused without turning around. "Thank you. For taking me on as a patient. I know it can't be easy."
For a moment, I was tempted to turn around, to let him see that it was destroying me to be this close to him while maintaining professional distance. To tell him that every casual touch during the examination had sent electricity racing throughmy system. To admit that walking away from him right now was one of the hardest things I'd ever done.
Instead, I kept my back to him and my voice steady.
"Like I said, you're hurt and I'm a physical therapist. It's what I do."
I walked out of that room with my head high and my professional composure intact. But as I made my way down the hall, I couldn't ignore the truth that was becoming harder to deny with each encounter.
Some loves never really died.
They just learned to masquerade as professional duty.
Chapter 4
