Chapter 14 Chapter 14
Emily's POV
The morning sunlight poured through the lounge windows, turning the hardwood floors warm and golden. It should feel peaceful, but it felt like a battlefield. Noah was standing in the middle of the lounge in a sleeveless workout shirt and sweatpants, staring at the resistance band in his hands like it personally offended him.
“This thing looks like it could snap,” he said.
“It won’t.”
“You sound very confident.”
“I am.”
He pulled the band experimentally and watched it stretch.
“If this launches me through the wall,” he muttered, “I’m suing.”
I crossed my arms below my breasts. “You signed a waiver.”
“Of course I did.” He rolled his eyes.
“You also agreed to follow my rehab schedule.”
“That part feels negotiable.”
“It isn’t.”
He sighed dramatically. “You are very strict in the morning.”
“It’s 7 AM.”
“Exactly.”
I tried not to smile. The argument that we had last night still lingered in the air between us. That energy was just present, but not in an unpleasant way. It felt like we crossed some invisible line between strangers and reluctant roommates. Now we are somewhere in the middle.
I stepped closer. “Okay,” I said, slipping into professional mode. “We are starting with shoulder stabilization.”
He groaned. “We did that yesterday.”
“Yes.”
“It hurt yesterday.”
“It will hurt today, too.”
“You’re very honest about the suffering.”
“Lift your arm,” I demanded. He lifted his arm halfway before his shoulder tightened. “Stop compensating,” I said.
“I’m not compensating.”
“You are.”
He exhaled and tried again. This time, I moved behind him. “Relax your shoulder,” I said.
“I am relaxed.”
“No, you’re tense.”
“That’s because you’re judging me.”
“I’m assessing you.”
“It feels like judgment.”
I placed my hands lightly on his shoulders to adjust his posture. His muscles were warm beneath my fingers, way too strong in some places and underdeveloped in others. “Pull your shoulder blades together,” I instructed. He did what I instructed, but the way he did it was wrong. “No. You’re forcing it.”
“I thought that was the point.”
“The point is controlled movement.”
“Sounds boring.”
“Boring prevents reinjury.”
He muttered something under his breath.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing, Dr. Pink.”
I closed my eyes briefly. “Don’t call me that.”
“You wear a lot of pink.”
“That doesn’t make me Dr. Pink.”
“It absolutely does.”
I moved around in front of him. “Again.” He raised his arm slowly. The movement was smoother this time. “Better,” I said.
He smirked slightly. “Praise from the rehab tyrant.”
“Focus.” He lifted again. Halfway through the motion, his jaw tightened, it was pain, but subtle. “You’re guarding again,” I said.
“I’m fine.”
“You are not fine.”
“I said I’m fine.”
I stepped closer and pressed gently along the muscle just beneath his shoulder blade. He inhaled sharply. “There,” I said softly. “That muscle is doing twice the work it should.”
“No kidding.” He said with sarcasm.
“You have been compensating for months.”
“Apparently, I’m very talented at that.”
I moved my fingers slightly higher along the muscle. The tension was worse than yesterday. “Noah.”
“What?”
“You’re hiding pain.”
“I’m managing pain.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
He didn't answer, he just stared at the floor like it had suddenly become fascinating. I grabbed a small massage ball from the table. “This will release the trigger point.”
“That sounds painful.”
“It will be.”
“Fantastic.” He said, sighing.
I positioned the ball between his shoulder blade and the wall. “Lean back slowly.”
He did what I instructed and then he froze. “Oh-”
“Breathe.”
“That’s not breathing pain.”
“It is.”
“It’s betrayal pain.”
I almost laughed. “Roll your shoulder slowly.”
He followed the instruction reluctantly. The muscle began loosening.
“You’re very mean,” he muttered.
“I’m very effective.”
“Debatable.”
I moved closer again to guide the motion. “Your scapula needs to stabilize before you lift again.”
“Scapula,” he repeated. “Medical words are scary.”
“You’re a grown man.”
“I’m a wounded athlete.”
“Drama queen.” I teased.
He grinned slightly and then I pressed my fingers into another tight muscle along the back of his shoulder. This one was worse. The knot felt like stone beneath my fingertips. “Noah,” I said quietly. “This one might hurt.”
“Everything hurts.”
“Brace yourself.”
I pressed, and he winced sharply. “Ah!” Before I could pull my hand away, his hand closed around my wrist. It wasn't rough, though but it was on instinct.
We both froze as the room went silent. My hand was still pressed against his shoulder. His hand was wrapped around my wrist. All too suddenly, we were standing very close. I could feel the heat from his skin. I could hear his breathing. For a moment, neither of us moved, like we were just stuck in time, and then his grip loosened slowly.
“Sorry,” he said quietly.
“It’s okay.” I swallowed, but my heart was beating too fast.
Be professional, Emily.
I took a small step back and cleared my throat. “Try the movement again.”
He raised his arm. This time, the motion was smoother, and there was less tension.
“Better,” I said softly. He nodded once.
As I continued guiding the exercises, I noticed things I hadn’t seen before. There were small scars along his forearm. Thin white lines across his knuckles. They were years of old injuries.
His jaw tightened whenever he reached a certain angle in the movement. He never complained. Never asked for a break. He just pushed through. The realization hit quietly. Noah didn't just tolerate pain, he was still hiding it constantly. I watched him carefully as he completed another set.
“Take a break,” I said.
“I’m fine.”
“That wasn’t a suggestion.” He sat down on the edge of the sofa. His breathing was slightly heavier now. For the first time this morning, he was quiet. “You push yourself too hard,” I said.
“That’s kind of the job.”
“There is a difference between pushing and ignoring damage.”
He shrugged. “Damage builds character.”
“Damage builds surgery bills.”
He snorted. “Fair point.”
We sat in silence for a moment. The sunlight shifted across the floor and then he stood up again.
“Next exercise?” He asked.
I blinked in confusion not expecting him to keep going. “You’re ready already?”
He rolled his shoulder carefully. “It feels better.”
I nodded slowly. “Okay.”
The rest of the session went more smoothly. His movements became more controlled and balanced. By the end of the final set, sweat darkened the collar of his shirt.
“Done,” I said.
He stretched his arm carefully. “That wasn’t terrible.”
“That’s high praise.”
He grabbed a towel and wiped the back of his neck, before he looked at me. Something about his expression had changed. “Thanks,” he said quietly.
The word catched me off guard. He wasn't teasing me and he wasn't being sarcastic, he was genuinely being sincere.
“You’re welcome,” I said softly.
He nodded once before he headed towards the kitchen. I remained where I was for a moment, staring at the empty space where he stood. That simple 'thank you' lingered in the the lounge like an echo. It felt more real than anything he had said before. My cheeks actualled heated up.
Ugh, get a grip Emily.
I took my things back to my bedroom, trying to get away from Noah and that genuine moment.