Part 12 (1/2)
Her pulse tripped in surprise. ”You think they won't be able to fix this?”
Hunter's pause extended into silence for a handful of heartbeats. ”Here lately, I wouldn't be surprised.”
Realization hit Emerson with all the subtlety of a Mack Truck on a downhill grade, her words flying on a nonstop trip from her heart to her mouth. ”And that's why you don't want to push them to air everything out. Because you think if whatever this is comes to a head, your brothers will shut down instead of making amends.”
Hunter stopped pedaling, his body rigid against the black vinyl seat rest of the arm bike. His face was as serious as she'd ever seen it, the tiny lines around his eyes etched deep in worry and sadness, and oh h.e.l.l, she'd said she would listen, not put a giant, s.h.i.+ning spotlight on all the stress in his life.
”You know what, forget I said anything. We don't-”
”Yeah.” His voice was just a low rumble of sound. ”I am worried Owen and Eli won't get right with each other if they have it out. If it were just me worrying, I wouldn't care so much. But my old man . . . I can tell all the arguing is wearing on him. We're already tapped out at Cross Creek with money being tight, the weather being unpredictable, and me being sidelined. If my brothers have a blowout on top of that . . .”
The rest of Hunter's sentence hung in the air unfinished. Emerson took a step forward, moving before her neurons had fully gotten the message to go. Her heart begged her to comfort him, and not just to help his body heal. But offering up a bunch of canned plat.i.tudes about how things had a way of working out and everything would be okay seemed stupid-Emerson knew firsthand that they were bulls.h.i.+t, and what's more, she knew Hunter wouldn't believe her even if she tried. So she said the only thing she could think of. The only thing that made sense.
”I'm so sorry, Hunter. I know how much you want to get back to the farm to try and get things back on track.”
”Thanks.” He lifted his eyes, his gaze holding tightly to hers. ”I haven't really aired any of this out with anyone, so, yeah. Thanks.”
”Sure.” Emerson stood fixed to the floor tiles with her eyes on Hunter's and her heart in her windpipe for another second before forcing herself into a soft smile. ”I know I promised to get you back in working order as soon as possible, but if you'd rather skip today's session, I understand. We can make it up tomorrow.”
A slow half grin spread over Hunter's face, his shoulders beginning to loosen their vise grip around his neck. ”Are you kidding? I came to work. Plus, I thought you said you weren't going to give me any preferential treatment.”
The reminder of their kiss flooded back through her, lingering in all sorts of spots, and she turned to grab a small hand weight from the rack behind her, grateful for the opportunity to hide the sudden flush of heat on her face surely translating to a blush. Working up her best game face, Emerson moved back toward Hunter, dropping the weight into his palm.
”Just remember, you asked for it. Let's start with lateral raises, since I seem to remember how much you love them.”
The rest of their session pa.s.sed with a healthy combination of hard work and casual conversation. Hunter gave her the highlights of things that had happened in Millhaven since she'd been gone-cla.s.smates who had gotten married, divorced, started local businesses, or in rare instances, moved away from town. A chill ran the length of Emerson's spine when he relayed the awful story of the car crash that had killed their cla.s.smate, Brian McAllister, and his nine-year-old daughter. Brian and his high school sweetheart, Cate, had been two years ahead of them in school, but Emerson remembered them both.
The story was thankfully Hunter's only sad piece of news. Although a few things surprised her (after thirty years of old-fas.h.i.+oned chicken farming, Pete Hitchc.o.c.k had gone into business with a high-end poultry integrator and made a mint), most didn't (Mollie Mae was on husband number three, Kelsey Lambert was on baby number three, and Amber Ca.s.sidy was on hair color number thirty-three.) By the time she and Hunter had done their last series of a.s.sisted stretches, Emerson felt as at ease as he looked.
”Okay. Let's get you two ibuprofen before your electrical stim therapy, since we stepped up your game a little today.” She threw Hunter a grin before crossing to the far side of the room, bending to grab a bottle of water from the mini fridge so he could hydrate and swallow the pills. Her muscles seized as she tried to stand, pain knifing through her lower back in a hot twist, and her free hand shot out to cover the pain before she could stop herself.
”Emerson?” Hunter was beside her in less time than it took to exhale, and how the h.e.l.l had he moved so fast? ”Are you okay?”
”I . . . of course. I'm fine.” G.o.d, the lie slid out so easily, the words well-oiled and automatic.
But at the sound of them, he narrowed his stormy blue stare. ”You don't look okay.” His eyes dropped pointedly to the hand she'd splayed over her lower back, and dammit. How had she been so sloppy?
Emerson steeled both her resolve and her body. While she might be okay sharing her stilted family dynamic and even a few sizzling kisses with Hunter, a full-on personal reveal wasn't going to happen. It wasn't as if she could subtly come out with, oh, don't mind me and my inability to stay properly upright. What's a little MS-induced nerve damage among friends?
The truth was, they weren't just friends. She was his physical therapist. Charged with his care and his healing.
How could he expect her to be good enough to manage his pain if she couldn't even handle her own?
”Oh, this?” Emerson sent the briefest of glances over her shoulder, removing her fingers and offering up the bottle of water in her opposite hand. ”It's nothing. Silly, actually. I was unpacking the last of the boxes in my apartment last night and I must've strained a muscle.”
Although Hunter took the bottle of water, he kept his eyes locked on hers. ”You look like you're in pain.”
This is your new normal. Get used to it. ”Just a little bit achy. That's all.”
”Did you put any heat on it?”
”No,” she admitted. ”But really, it's not a big deal.”
Between the frown bracketing his mouth and the crease in his forehead, Hunter's expression broadcast his disagreement in HD. ”You're always telling me heat helps, right? Improved circulation to the site of the injury and all that?”
”Well, yes.” Dammit. How come none of her other patients ever remembered their standards of care so well? ”But this doesn't even qualify as an injury, and anyway, I didn't have any heat packs at home.” Dammit again, why was she still talking about this?
”So why don't you take a bath to relax your muscles?” At the shock bursting over her face and parting her lips, Hunter added, ”It's on one of those checklist sheets you gave me-you know, with all the suggestions for things you can try for alternative pain relief.”
Emerson couldn't tell if she should be irritated or impressed. ”Wow. You really are taking your therapy seriously.”
”I promised you I would.”
His lifted brows told her in no uncertain terms that she hadn't dodged the subject, and screw it. Just because she'd already copped to being a little sore didn't mean she had to go full disclosure over why. Plus, Hunter clearly wasn't going to let her off the hook until she a.s.sured him she was fine.
”I suppose a bath might help alleviate my soreness, but I don't have a tub at my place.” Her stall shower was as fun sized as the rest of her apartment.
”I do,” Hunter said, as easily as if he'd been remarking about a stick of gum and not a place where people typically got very, very naked.
Heat sparked, hard and insistent, between Emerson's legs, and great, she'd bypa.s.sed being a little hot and bothered and landed smack in the lap of stark raving h.o.r.n.y. ”You do?”
”Mmhmm. It's one of those big claw-footed, cast-iron deals. When we were building my cottage, the contractor said the tub would add 'rustic charm' to the place, whatever that means. I'll be honest-I've never used the thing, myself. But you're more than welcome to give it a test run if you want.”
Her laugh came out in a shocked chirp. ”You want to loan me your bathtub?”
”Why not?” he asked. ”You don't have one of your own, and a soak would make you feel better, right?”
”Yes.” Emerson cursed her malfunctioning brain-to-mouth filter the second the word crossed her lips. Spending time with Hunter here at the PT center was one thing-h.e.l.l, even the time they'd shared at the Watermelon Festival was okay. But going to his house, to take a bath, of all things? That had no place in her new normal, no matter how much she wanted it.
Oh G.o.d, part of her really. Really. Wanted it.
”But I really couldn't,” she said, her resolve waning even as the words slipped out.
”Sure you could.” The corners of Hunter's mouth lifted in the slightest suggestion of a smile. ”You just don't want to.”
”I don't want to intrude,” Emerson argued, but dammit, his laughter was contagious.
”Uh-huh. Whatever you say, Em.”
Hunter's personal nickname for her-and the way it dropped so easily from his lips-sent a shot of something she couldn't quite name through her blood. ”Oh, come on. Would you really be okay with me cras.h.i.+ng your bathtub?”
He gave up half a shrug, the lift and release of his shoulder outlining his muscles beneath the snug navy-blue cotton of his T-s.h.i.+rt. ”Why not? We're smart, sensible adults. I'd give you all the privacy you wanted, of course.”
For a hot, dark second, Emerson was tempted to tell him she didn't want any privacy at all. That what she really wanted was him, wet and soap slicked and no holds barred.
But instead, she said, ”I'll think about it,” and he stepped in to meet the words.