Chapter 9
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Lucas Vance was not an easy patient, but he was exactly the kind of distraction I needed. He was a man accustomed to being in total control of his environment, a trait common among successful architects. The sudden, violent loss of his physical independence had left him angry, impatient, and deeply sarcastic.
"I don't understand why I can't just push through the pain," Lucas grumbled during our third session together. He was lying on the treatment table, sweating profusely as I carefully manually manipulated his stiff knee joint, pushing it just to the edge of his current range of motion.
"Because, Lucas, healing isn't a construction project," I explained calmly, keeping my hands steady and applying firm, consistent pressure. "You can't just pour more concrete and force it to set faster. Your body has experienced trauma. If you try to bully your ligaments into submission, they will snap, and we will be right back at square one. Breathe through it. Deep breath in."
Lucas inhaled sharply, his jaw clenching tightly as I stretched the scarred tissue.
"You are relentless, Sophia," he groaned, though there was a hint of genuine respect in his raspy voice.
"I am thorough," I corrected with a slight smile, finally releasing the tension and letting him rest his leg flat. "And you are incredibly stubborn. But your extension has improved by five degrees since last week, so your stubbornness is partially paying off."
Lucas sat up slowly, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a towel. For the first time since we met, the intense, frustrated glare in his hazel eyes softened. He looked at my hands, noticing the small, faded callouses on my palms.
"You don't just do physical therapy, do you?" Lucas asked, gesturing toward my hands. "Those look like builder's hands. Sandpaper, maybe?"
I looked down at my palms, surprised by his sharp observation. "I recently completely renovated my kitchen. Built the cabinets, sanded the butcher block, painted the walls. It was my weekend therapy."
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"A DIY renovator," Lucas smiled, a genuine, warm expression that completely transformed his face, making him strikingly handsome. "That explains why you don't take any of my crap. You know exactly what it takes to tear something broken down to the studs and rebuild it from scratch."
"Exactly," I said, holding his gaze, feeling a sudden, unexpected spark of mutual understanding pass between us. "It takes time, patience, and a lot of painful work. Which is why you are going to do your home stretches exactly as I prescribed them."
