the ice. He tore his ACL, which means I’m the one who has to put him back together, starting today. It’s the first day of therapy for him, and I’m ashamed to admit I’m nervous. I can’t see this ending well.
His injury could’ve been a lot worse, but luckily, the tear doesn’t require surgery like most ACL injuries do. I know my exact plan of action I’ll need to take to help him on his road to recovery. I just hope he lets me.
When Reeve limps in on crutches five minutes late, I have a reprimand on the tip of my tongue, but when I get a good look at him, I let it go. I drop the items from my bag and run to his side to help.
He jerks away from me. “I don’t need your help. Let’s just get this shit over with.”
I raise my hands in surrender and let him get situated. Once he’s on the table, I roll up his sweatpants, warming his skin between my hands as I prepare for a massage. I try to ignore the way my hands vibrate on his skin. It feels so weird to be touching him like this again after so many years. I try to ignore the way fire slithers through my veins at such a small, innocent touch. He lets out a few hisses of pain, but for the most part, he seems to be handling it pretty well.
“Lie back for me.”
He does as I say, surprisingly, and I get to work, stretching his leg just enough to keep his muscles trained but not enough to push him past his limits. At one point, I glance up at him to discern his level of discomfort only to have my eyes widen when I realize he’s been watching me this whole time. At being caught, his face sours. Thick, silky, lustrous dark hair falls over blue eyes that are so cold; it feels like shards of ice are piercing my heart.
“This is your fault, Camila.” He says my name with such venom; it slides inside my blood and burns. I try to refrain from flinching away from the truth that’s there to be read in his eyes like the pages of a frayed book.
My eyes narrow with disbelief. “My fault? How is this hockey injury my fault?”
“Nothing like this ever happened to me before you got here. The second you walked through those doors, you’ve been screwing shit up.”
“And what would you have me do, Reeve? Quit my well-paying job and be homeless?”
He rolls his eyes. “Always so fucking dramatic. You and I both know your brother would never let that happen.”
“Crew has his own life to live. He’s not responsible for me.”
“Obviously.”
I drop his leg a little too harshly than intended. I prop my hands on my hips and glare down at him. “That’s it. Just get it out. All the anger you have, whatever it is you have against me being here, get it out now. Because guess what? I’m not quitting this job. We’ll be seeing each other very frequently, so just deal with it.”
“You know what I think, Camila? I think this is all just a part of your plan to ruin my fucking life. You still haven’t forgiven me. You never have. I moved on—why can’t you?”
I scoff. “You’re damn right, I haven’t forgiven you, Reeve. I was in love with you, and you cheated on me. What did you expect, I’d go running back into your arms at the first sight of you? And who says I haven’t moved on? You’re not on my radar anymore.”
He frowns. I’m not sure what part of my rant has him making the face. “No, I expected you to want to stay far away from me. Why else would you take a job here where I am?”
“Crew said you were fine with it. That you were over the past. I didn’t think coming here would be a big deal for you.”
He pauses at the mention of my brother. We share a look, and he heaves a deep sigh. “Fucking Crew. The bastard never knows when to mind his own fucking business.”
My stomach knots. “So I take it you had no idea I was considering a job here, and you are not, in fact, okay with it.”
Reeve’s lips press together in a grim line. “That’s putting it mildly.”
“I’m not quitting,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “Let’s just get you better and back on the