Page 29 of The Long Way Home
She shrugs. “Busy. Same stuff, different shift. It’s not bad. I’m just really busy, and sometimes I feel like the patients are never satisfied with the pace of healing. And I get it, recovery takes time. But sometimes I wish I could remind them what the alternative could have been.”
“People forget that slow progress is still progress,” I say. “They only see what’s missing.”
“It can be infuriating.”
“You know, I was doing some light reading the other day, and came across an article about brain-wave patterns in patients who’ve lost limb function. It said recovery is influenced by the emotional tone of the therapist. When the therapist stays positive, it actually boosts the patient’s brain function and optimism. So you’re probably helping more than you even realize.”
She narrows her eyes. “Why are you reading physical therapy articles?”
“I just happened to come across it. Thought of you,” I say, a little too quickly.
She stares, unimpressed.
“I guess, I read it to see if there was anything interesting you’d want to know,” I add.
I can’t believe I just admitted that out loud to her. I’m not sure she knows what to do with that answer. At least that is what her face is telling me. Her expression is somewhere between amused and uncertain, and I instantly feel the panic set in.
Maybe I’ve lost a little of my charm over the years.
“Well, I’ll keep that in mind when they’re being extra stubborn and grouchy,” Rachel finally says, but her voice is soft, teasing even. I feel some relief creep in.
I grin and nudge her gently with my foot. “Some people can be stubborn when it comes to letting others help. Your patients, for sure. You,” I pause, chuckling. “… might know a thing or two about that.”
She raises an eyebrow at me, a smirk playing on her lips. “Oh? Are you speaking from professional experience or just projecting?”
I laugh. “Clearly, from a professional experience. I would never project.”
“Mmm. Sounds like something someone stubborn would say.”
“Please. I’m a delight.”
Rachel lets out a real laugh. It is quick and unfiltered. One I haven’t heard in person for years. “You are many things, Rhett Hayes, but I hate to break it to you, ‘delightful’ does not crack the top ten.”
I press a hand to my chest in feigning offense. “Ouch. Brutal, Rach.”
She shrugs, not even a little sorry. “I said what I said.”
“Then I’m all ears.” I turn toward her, giving her my full attention. “Whatdoesmake the top three? I feel like I deserveto know how I’m perceived. I mean, if I’ve been walking around thinking ‘delightful’ was in the mix and you’ve got a completely different list…” I gesture between us. “That’s a full-blown identity crisis waiting to happen.”
She lifts her brows and laughs. “You sure you’re ready for that kind of honesty?”
“From you, absolutely,” I say, leaning closer, dropping my voice. “Put me out of my misery, Rach.”
I mentally brace myself for whatever she’s about to say. Sure, we have history—a good one, mostly—but the past four years haven’t exactly been kind to us. If she decides to use this moment to let me have it, I wouldn’t blame her.
Rachel pretends to think, eyes narrowing to line up her shot. “Alright. Top three things about Rhett Hayes…”
She holds up a finger. “Number one: annoyingly confident. You think you’re always right, even when you’re definitely not.”
“That one’s obvious,” I say with a grin, though her tone cuts a little closer to the bone than I expected.
“Number two,” she continues, sharper now. “Funny. You can make me laugh even when I really, really don’t want to. Which is infuriating, by the way. Clearly still works even after all this time.”
That one hits lower. I keep my smile in place anyway.
“No idea what you’re talking about.”
Her voice softens, but it cuts deeper than all the rest. “And three, annoyingly hard to shake. I can’t seem to pretend you don’t matter, no matter how much I try.”
