Page 77 of The Route to You

“Well, that’s something you couldn’t do a few months ago,” Wanda said with a smirk. “Put that arm down before you hurt yourself. I’ve told you a thousand times—this isn’t the time to rush yourself. This is when people like you reinjure themselves.”

“And by people like me, you mean devastatingly charming and fascinating men who make your workday a delight?”

Wanda crossed her arms, her dark eyes sparkling with laughter as she said dryly, “Well, you got the men part right.” She winked, then crossed over to the exam table where he was seated. “Let’s take a look at how that shoulder is looking. TENS unit providing any relief?”

He pulled his T-shirt over his head so she could examine his shoulder, exposing his chest. “I guess. The pulley stretches help. And massages from the world’s greatest physical therapist, of course,” he said with a smile.

He glanced over as she examined the handful of small scars scattered over his left shoulder from the rotator cuff surgery. A pale, still-pink line along his collarbone from the surgery and a faint, puckered mark along his ribs where the chest tube had been completed the major scars. Which, all things considered, wasn’t bad.

While Wanda guided his arm through a series of slow movements to test his range of motion, he remained quiet, letting her do her thing without interrupting with jokes.

Kyle remembered nothing of being pulled from the water, but the doctors had told him later how Tomas had basically saved his life. His broken clavicle had punctured his lung, and he’d been knocked unconscious—a dangerous combination in the ocean.

The resulting concussion had been rough. Not nearly as bad as the rotator cuff surgery, though, from the full tear he’d received by dislocating his shoulder.

The accident could have been a lot worse. Or, at least, that was what he told himself and his worried family when they’d come to transport him back home.

“All right. Put your shirt back on,” Wanda said, straightening. “Meet me back out in the gym when you’re dressed, and we’ll get to work, okay? Start with your warm-up—ten minutes on the arm bike, first. I think we can try some new exercises today.”

She left him, closing the door behind her.

Kyle rubbed his eyes and stood, his mood shifting as she left. Putting on a smile in the exam room was easy enough—almost like performing for a camera, really—but the work with the PT had been grueling and frustrating. He’d pushed himself as fast and as hard as Wanda would let him, and she’d told him more than once that his recovery was going faster than most. Not only because of his age, but because he’d been in good shape before the accident.

The limitations were killing him, though.

At least he could dress himself easily now. Having to get his mom to put on a button-down shirt those first few weeks had not been his favorite.

Welp. Let’s get this over with.

The truth was, he didn’t mind the time in the gym. As he started working through the exercises, he felt himself testing the limits of his movement and weight-bearing capacity. That process caused discomfort, but rarely real pain anymore. Progress.

What sucked, though?

The aftermath.

So, as he left the PT office an hour and a half later, shoulder cold from the ice pack he’d ended the session with, he gritted his teeth, soreness already starting to radiate down his left arm.

He dug his hands in his pockets for his keys, as the late afternoon sun shone brightly in his eyes. Scanning the parking lot for his truck, he started toward it, then stopped at the sight of someone leaning against the front grille.

His brow furrowed.

A petite woman with long brown hair pulled into a ponytail was facing away from him.

“Excuse me, ma’am⁠—”

She turned, and his heart slammed to a stop.

Sloan.

“Sloan?” he bit out, before another thought could enter his brain.

She didn’t smile, but her face softened with something that looked like relief as she pulled away from his truck and straightened. “Kyle. I⁠—”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Shock threaded his voice, thankfully. He wouldn’t want her to misinterpret that line.

Though maybe he should be angry, after six months of silence, given what he’d been through because of her.

She stepped closer, almost shyly. “I came to see you.”