“What’s up, sweets? Why the heavy sighs? Wedding planning got you down?”
Focusing down on their hands that now rested together on his once-shattered knee, she flinched, and pulled away fast—too fast.
“Sorry. Awkward.” He tucked his arm behind his head and trained his gaze toward the ceiling. Her face flamed hot all over again.
“It’s all right.” She got to work putting him through the therapy paces, admonishing him for continuing to play basketball and run on the leg that had been broken on national television during his rookie season in the NBA. They had history—plenty of it—but it remained firmly in their mutual past. Especially now that they were both engaged to other people.
“Ow, easy there, sweetheart,” he muttered, dragging her from the zone-out she entered every time she treated Kieran Love mainly to distract herself from the fact that she got to touch him three times a week. His face, so close to hers as she manipulated his leg, bringing his knee toward his chest, made her a little dizzy. “I’m not made of rubber. My hammies are tight.”
“Because you played again yesterday,” she said, blushing to the roots of her hair at his wide, wicked grin. “Dumbass.” She smacked his shoulder and got out of his away so he could head over to the treadmill.
“What can I say? The Love family traditions will not be hampered by me and my bum leg.”
“Yeah, well you ought to think before you worry about your stupid traditions. You’re never gonna fully heal if you don’t.”
After programming the treadmill for a light jog, she observed his footfalls and hips while he ran, knowing she’d see the same thing she saw every time—that he favored his left knee so much he’d thrown off his cadence and risked injuring his other leg, the stubborn so-and-so. But she had to admit, seeing him again had lifted her saggy spirits.
They bantered while he ran. When she had the nerve-stimulation machine running along the ugly scar, he got quiet. Unusual, since the man could and would talk the birds right out of the trees.
She watched his face for a few seconds, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from asking about his wedding plans. It was a real downside of moving home after she’d gotten her sports med certification in Michigan—knowing more than she cared to about her first boyfriend and his future wife.
“Cara.” Her colleague’s voice interrupted her rising, irrational jealousy. “Kent’s on the phone. Says it’s urgent. I can take this one.” The woman pointed to Kieran’s leg.
“Oh, um, okay.” Cara headed for the desk in their shared office.
“Hi, hon.” Her fiancé’s voice made her wince. The man had no volume control sometimes. “Whatcha doing?”
“Working. You know that. What’s so urgent?” She clenched her jaw against the urge to apologize for snapping at him.
“Well, the boys want to meet up and I know we still have to do the caterer thing and settle on the menu and all.” He trailed off, unwilling to impart the obvious news—that he would be leaving her to make the final decisions on some important aspect of their looming, giant, over-the-top wedding. She counted to ten. “Honey?” her successful husband-to-be pleaded, waiting for her to relieve him of the burden of saying you’re on your own, kid.
“That’s fine. I’ll pick the menu, but you’re not allowed to complain about any aspect of it.”
“Deal. You’re such a sweetheart.”
“Glad you think so, considering I’m about to marry you and all.”
She caught sight of her former boyfriend flirting mercilessly with the younger, cuter-than-her girl running the machine over his knee. Pausing to issue another mental reminder that she’d caught a live one in Kent Lowery, Jr., she forced thoughts of her stupid, high school obsession with the funny, lanky, redheaded man lying on the treatment table across from her out of her head. The irony that both she and Kieran were about to marry attorneys did not escape her. Never mind that his soon-to-be spouse was a high-powered corporate somebody and her future husband a classic ambulance chaser with billboards blaring out Call Kent 1800lawsuit all over Interstate 64 between here and Louisville.
“Dinner still on tonight?”
She blinked and refocused on the voice in her ear.
“Sure,” she said, leaning against the edge of the cluttered desk. “I found out I’m not getting that raise, though. So we should....”
“I told you that doesn’t matter.” An ugly edge crept into his voice. One she’d only heard a few times and did not care for in the slightest. “My wife won’t have to work.”