1. Elliot

Another week, another physical therapy appointment.

The old guy sitting next to me is glaring at my leg, and for a second, I think he can see the mangled flesh and deteriorated muscle through my jeans. Then I realize I’ve been bouncing my good leg up and down enough to shake the flimsy, sorry excuse for a couch in the waiting room of the Veterans Affairs building.

I make a concentrated effort to keep from tap-tap-tapping my heel on the floor repeatedly, but I only last about five minutes before my anxious fidgeting finds another outlet. Instead of bouncing my foot, I begin picking at a rough patch of skin on my elbow.

I hate this. Hate sitting here, hate waiting, hate being surrounded by old men who served their country decades ago and never did anything else with their life, and hate that I”m going to be just like them. Hell, I already am. Broken, bitter, and waiting on the government to fix me just so they can forget about me again.

Jesus, that’s a depressing thought.

Checking my phone, I roll my eyes when I see it’s already ten minutes past my appointment time. I should be used to it by now, seeing how everything about coming to the VA is always a nightmare, but it puts me in a bad mood all the same.

Who am I kidding? I’ve been in a perpetual bad mood since waking up in that hospital bed six months ago.

I suppose I may be partially to blame for today’s delay. I was informed via email after my appointment last week that I would be assigned a new physical therapist. It wasn’t a surprise. The guy left the room in tears after I let out a string of expletives that may or may not have been directed at him.

The lady I worked with before him looked old enough to have come over on the Mayflower. I didn’t tell her that, of course. At least, not in so many words. I stand by the fact that she wasn’t a good fit. She could barely lift my leg enough to show me the stretches she wanted me to do.

The third time”s a charm, right? That”s how the saying goes, anyway. I”m prepared to strike out with this new physical therapist as well. Then maybe they”ll consider me too much of an effort to work with and I can disappear up into the mountains and rot in my cabin alone.

Rubbing a hand down my face, I try to wipe away the dark thoughts from my mind. So many people have told me I’m lucky to have survived the blast, but I sure as fuck don’t feel lucky. Being an Army Ranger was my single goal in life. My father was a career military man who retired with well-deserved accolades and honors. Me? Honorably discharged at thirty-eight years old. The only lucky thing about the grenade damn near blowing my leg up is that my old man died before he could witness his son become such a disappointment.

The man next to me grunts and gets up, moving to a different seat. I must have started bouncing my leg up and down again. I can’t help it. Being in this building, smelling the cleaning chemicals mixed with stale cigarettes and cigars from the last generation of vets, the buzzing fluorescent lights beating down on me… My skin is crawling and my brain feels like it’s vibrating against my skull.

I close my eyes and try to take a calming breath. This time, instead of the dank, unsettling scent I associate with all hospitals and clinics, I get a hint of sweet citrus. My eyes snap open as I search for the source, shocked to see a stunning woman standing by the receptionist”s desk. Her strawberry blonde hair is pulled back into a long braid, revealing soft, porcelain cheeks dotted with freckles. She”s looking down at something, so I can”t quite tell what color her eyes are, but I know she”s the one who smells like sunshine and oranges.

My eyes are glued to her every movement, from the way she nibbles her bottom lip to her delicate hand tucking a few strands of her hair behind her ear. The woman finally looks up, letting me get a better view of her face. Her eyes are a brilliant, sparkling blue, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. She smiles at me, making my chest squeeze up tightly, and nearly pass out from lack of oxygen.

“Elliot Erickson?” the ethereal creature asks. I nod as if in a trance. Then the ugly reality of what’s happening slaps me in the face. “I’m Brielle. Your new physical therapist.”

She holds out her hand and I stare at it. I know she wants me to shake it, but I’m afraid to touch her. This woman somehow already has power over me and she’s only spoken a handful of words.

I clear my throat and nod my head again, dismissing her outstretched hand. To her credit, Brielle doesn’t seem fazed at my rudeness. She keeps that same smile on her full lips, all the while those blue eyes of hers searching mine, trying to understand me.

Good luck, honey. I don’t even understand me.

“Right,” she says, the cheeriness never leaving her voice. “I was warned about you trying to scare me away. Too bad for you, this ain’t my first rodeo, mister.”

Brielle arches one eyebrow, the smirk on her face sending an odd feeling ricocheting throughout my body. I hardly even recognize it, it’s been so damn long. I think… I’m attracted to her.

Nope. Shit. That’s not acceptable nor is it appropriate. I gotta shut that shit down.

Brielle leans forward slightly, bending down so she’s closer to my face. I rip my gaze away from the hint of cleavage she’s showing from this angle, focusing instead on her bright blue eyes.

“Between you and me,” she whispers, “I also think Helen is as ancient as the mountains and needed to retire at least five years ago.”

I blink at this mysterious woman, watching as she straightens up and gives me a little wink. What the hell? Who is this woman? Why is she smiling at me?

“Anyway,” Briell continues, “You’re about as chatty as everyone says you are. How about we go back to my office and I’ll take a look at your recovery plan and discuss some improvements.”

I nod and start to stand up, glaring at Brielle when she offers her hand again. “I’m not a cripple,” I growl at her.

”I”m not sure that”s a politically correct statement, but I”ll give you a pass since it”s your first day with me. Another rude or disparaging comment and I”ll… Well, I don”t know what I”ll do just yet, but it won”t be pleasant.”

She turns on her heel and takes off in the direction of what I’m assuming is her office. The curvy spitfire is walking rather briskly, which I assume is part of her punishment for my behavior. I follow my new physical therapist, down the hall and to the right, trying to keep from grinning at her cute little threat. If she thought that was rude, Brielle is in for a world of surprise.

Once we’re both seated in her office, Brielle opens my file and reads a few lines to herself. I swear I try looking away from her, but my eyes won’t obey my command. Instead, I’m left staring at her rounded cheeks, her button nose, and full, pouty lips that I notice she nibbles on from time to time. I get the insane urge to devour her lips as well, but I shove that thought way down deep. I won’t be acting on that, of course, and not just because I’m certain Brielle would punch me in the dick if I tried to make a move.

“...So how does that sound? A few additional stretches throughout the day instead of all at night. I’m not sure what Jared was thinking when he told you that. Probably knew morning stretches would suck and didn’t want to make you mad.” She says the last part to herself, but I hear it loud and clear. She’s not wrong. I yelled at Jared for making me do painful stretches in the morning, so he switched it to before bed.

I grunt, causing Brielle to look up from the file and lock eyes with me. She gives me a stern look, and I give her one right back.

“I’m going to assume that grunt meant yes, I understand, Brielle, and I will stick to the stretch schedule you made for me so that I can heal instead of being a grumpy butt with a sore leg my whole life.”

Once again, I”m caught off-guard by this surprising woman. Did she just call me a grumpy butt?

“I, uh…” I stammer out before closing my mouth. The self-satisfied smirk spreading across her face has no business being as sexy and seductive as it is.

“Great. Now that we have that covered, go ahead and take off your pants.”

This causes me to choke out a cough, my eyes bugging out of my head. “Excuse me?” I rasp.

“Aw, the first polite thing you’ve said all day!” Brielle says, her voice somehow equal parts playful and sarcastic. After continuing to stare at her, she narrows her eyes at me. “This is my job, remember? Don’t make it weird. I just need to see your leg and how the muscle is doing. If you want, we can also discuss scar creams or even skin grafts if that’s the direction you want to go. Of course, all that is just aesthetics. The good news is, your leg will heal, the muscle will regenerate, and with the help of some all-natural supplements, we can build your bone and muscle strength.”

“The good news?” I snarl. “What part of this is good? What part of this is fair?”

Brielle doesn’t say anything for a moment, and I wonder if I finally crossed a line. I look up at her, those blue eyes reaching down into the depths of whatever is left of my soul. I don’t see hurt or anger in her gaze, nor do I see pity. I can’t quite place the emotion swimming in her sparkling eyes, but I know I’ve never seen it before.

The gorgeous, confusing, and off-limits woman stands from her desk and walks toward me slowly as if I”m a feral animal. I suppose I feel like one in this moment. She sits on the couch next to me, close enough for me to smell her sweet, citrusy scent.

Slowly, so damn slowly, Brielle reaches out, hovering her hand over my busted-up thigh and knee. Part of me wants to jerk away, to storm out of this office, this building, head straight up the mountain to my fellow ex-Army Rangers, and never leave again. Another part, however, wants to stay. I”m frozen in place, watching this woman I barely know handle me with such care.

When her hand makes contact with my leg, a shiver runs down my spine. Even through the denim fabric of my jeans, I can feel that one touch everywhere. It doesn’t hurt, it’s… I feel… calmer. The racing thoughts and hammering self-hatred cease, and for one incredible moment, I can breathe again.

“None of this is fair,” Brielle whispers, answering my earlier question. “And you’re right, it must sound like an oxymoron for me to talk about good news when this injury took so much from you.”

I clear my throat and blink back what couldn”t possibly be tears. Why is she doing this? Is this some kind of play on my emotions so I”ll let her see my leg? I don”t trust it, yet her words sink into my soul.

“I was going to be a career military man,” I say for some reason. “Like my father. But now what do I have?”

“Another chance to do something with your life. A change of plans. A new direction.”

“Easy for you to say,” I mumble under my breath. I’ve been an ass to everyone in my life who has tried to sympathize or help me since the incident. For the first time, however, I regret snapping at someone. Especially Brielle.

Her hand is still resting on my leg, but she removes it after a moment, leaving me bereft of her touch. The heaviness in my heart grows, the familiar feeling of a vice squeezing my lungs taking over once she’s not touching me anymore.

“I’d say we made a lot of progress today, don’t you?” Brielle asks as she stands from the couch. I stare at her blankly, not wanting to show any of the confusing emotions echoing in my head. “We can work up to showing me your leg. For now, stretches three times a day will help keep the muscles from cramping.”

“That’s it?” I question, even though I should just let it go. She wants to send me away, that’s fine. It’s what I wanted, right? “You don’t want me to take my pants off?”

“Mr. Erickson, that’s indecent of you!” She clutches her proverbial pearls, her face so convincingly shocked that I think for a moment I made up the part where she said I had to strip down. A second later, the room fills with a magical melody… Brielle’s laughter. “Kidding, kidding,” she says after getting her giggling under control. I want to bottle up that sound and carry it around with me.

What the hell are these thoughts? These urges? I’ve never felt this intensely about anyone or anything, short of the Army Rangers.

“Not today,” Brielle confirms. “We made some emotional progress, which is on par with physical progress as far as I’m concerned. Especially in traumatic events.” Again, I’m left speechless, though that’s not usually a problem for me. The fewer words I have to speak, the better.

“Great,” I manage to rasp out as I stand from my seat. “So, I’m done here?”

Brielle rolls her eyes but keeps that smile on her face. “Yes, Elliot. I’ll see you next week, where I hope to make more progress.”

I open my mouth, then close it again, not sure what to say. Brielle simply nods and opens the door of her office, ushering me out. When the door closes behind me with a click, I finally snap out of whatever trance I was in.

When I get out to my truck, I lean over the steering wheel and take a few breaths. While that was the least physically exhausting appointment I’ve been to, I somehow still feel like I was hit by a bus.

Shaking my head of those thoughts, I pull out my phone and give Cassian a call. He, along with Huxley and Wilder were all there that fateful day the grenade nearly took our lives. The three of them have been up here in the Smoky Mountains for months now, working on rebuilding an old mining town that was abandoned years ago. They’ve made quite a bit of progress, and I must say I’m impressed. I only wish I were in better physical condition so I could help out more.

“Elliot, aren’t you supposed to be in PT right now?” my friend asks as soon as he answers my call.

“Already done. New girl today. Didn’t make me do much.”

Cassian sighs. “I hope this one sticks,” he says, though his tone is filled with doubt.

“Just calling to see if we need any supplies while I’m here in town.”

“Ah. Um...” There’s a pause, and I know what he’s going to say before he even says it. “You should probably call Wilder and ask. He’d have a better idea of what we need.”

My stomach twists and then drops like a rock to the floor of my truck. Wilder.

“You can’t keep up the silent act forever,” Cassian says after a bit. “Okay, fine. Maybe you could. But then what’s the point of moving up here? You have to talk to him eventually. Why not now?”

I grunt, knowing he”s right but not wanting to admit it. I guess today is a big day of firsts for me. First time being captivated by a woman, however off-limits and inappropriate it is, and the first time talking with Walker since everything went down.

“Fine,” I growl, hanging up the phone. I know my friend understands.

I hover my thumb over Wilder’s phone number, debating on whether to call him or not. “Stop being so weak,” I tell myself. Taking a deep breath, I press down on the phone screen and lift the phone to my ear, hoping he’s busy and doesn’t pick up.

“Elliot?” Wilder asks, trying to mask his surprise. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say before clearing my throat and trying again. “Just in town at the VA.”

Silence stretches between us as I try to think of anything to say. I know Wilder thinks I’m mad at him or that I blame him for the trap we all walked into on that fateful day. I don’t. Not at all. None of us could have guessed the enemy would sacrifice their own civilians to take out one of our units. We were on what we thought was a rescue mission when…

“You there?” Wilder asks, making me wince. I don’t know what to say to him. I don’t know how to talk to Wilder without having flashbacks of that day. It’s hard seeing my friends move on and live their best lives when I’m still picking up the pieces of my shattered dreams. I’d never tell them that, of course.

Still, I’m now the odd man out in more ways than one. Not only did I return stateside with more damage than my friends, but all three of them also went and found women. I suppose that’s what I get for being a bitter asshole. Or, as Brielle put it, a grumpy butt.

“Yeah, sorry. I, uh, got done early with…” I trail off, not knowing if talking about my physical therapy will upset Wilder. “Well, anyway, I’m in town and getting ready to head up the mountain and wondered if we need any supplies while I’m here.”

“Oh. Uh, no, we’re good,” he replies, stuttering out his words. “Thanks, though,” he adds.

“Yup,” I acknowledge with a nod even though he can’t see me. “So, guess I’ll see you when I get up there.”

“Sure. Yeah. Sounds good.” Neither one of us says anything for a few seconds, then finally Wilder tells me goodbye.

Jesus, that was awkward.

As I lean back against the headrest and grip the steering wheel until my knuckles are numb, I can’t help but think this is going to be a long-ass healing process, both physically, and with the relationships I’ve let go in the last few months.

Even though I have at least a hundred other things to worry about and obsess over, my mind wanders back to one bright and bubbly Brielle. Lord, how am I going to get through this?