Page 4 of Take Me Big Boy
Silence.
“I didn’t hire a physical therapist. You have the wrong house.”
My brows furrow in confusion, and I look around, but this is the only house for at least a couple of miles. His property is private and well secluded. There is no way I got the wrong address. “You’re not Mr. Galloway?” Is that disappointment in my voice? “You spoke to my boss, Gary Wilder. I was told that you were expecting me.”
“I don’t need a goddamned physical therapist,” he growls, moving closer and forcing me to step back. But the caretaker in me notices something for the first time—the way he favors his right side over his left, angling his right to face me. It’s not obvious, but I have a trained eye, and after taking care of people nearly half my life—even before I got my PT license—I always know when someone is in pain. Even when they’re hiding it.
No, I am not at the wrong house.
“Mr. Galloway—”
“Leave,” he demands, anchoring his left side to the door frame. His face darkens with rage when he notices what I’m staring at. I’m almost certain he’s going to walk back in and slam the door in my face when the sound of an approaching car pulls his focus from me. If possible, the rage seems to double as a vein pops on his forehead.
I turn around and follow his gaze to a red pickup coming up the road. It stops next to my old SUV, and a man steps out—a slightly older version of the man standing behind me, except thisone is tall and lanky, wearing a panicked look as he walks toward us.
“You’re early,” he tells me, extending his hand. I take it. “Ashley Cork?”
My brows furrow, shifting my gaze between the two men. “Mr. Galloway?”
“We’re both Galloways. I’m Michael Galloway, and this grump is my younger brother, Matthew Galloway. I was hoping to get here before you and mentally prepare him for your arrival.”
“Oh,” I mutter.
“It seems you got here before I could.”
“Great, the two of you can get acquainted and show yourselves out!” the grump hisses, venom dripping from his voice as he walks back inside. I flinch when the door slams closed, locking us out. Michael responds with a sigh that tells me it’s not the first time this has happened.
“I’m sorry about that,” he says, running his hand through his hair that is longer than his brother’s, and lighter too. “Matt has been through a lot, you understand, right?”
I nod slowly, unsure what it is I’m supposed to understand.
“I’ll go in and talk to my brother. Will you wait?”
I should say no. Cut my losses and run back to my boss, then ask him to assign someone else to this case. I’ve worked with patients who didn’t think they needed help, but most of them were old and frail. Their resistance came from fear and they were easily coaxed to cooperate with patience and kindness.
I doubt that will be the case with a man like Matthew Galloway.
This will not end well. I can tell. Yet, I find myself nodding because, despite my reservations, it’s not in me to abandon a person who needs help.
Penny sits down on the porch beside me and lets out a soft sigh, like she’s settling in to wait for as long as it takes, and I settle down beside her, prepared to do the same.
Chapter Two
Matt
“I don’t need help!”
I’ve said these very words so many times that I’m beginning to sound like a broken record. Yet, it doesn’t register to the person I’m telling that perhaps I mean it. In truth, it isn’t that I don’t need help. It’s that I don’t deserve it. The pain in my left side is mine. I earned it. Five men paid for it with their lives, and I’m not about to let some stranger massage and stretch it away like it’s nothing.
I don’t want to heal. How many fucking people does my brother need to send to my doorstep before he finally gets it?
I don’t need any fucking help.
“You certainly don’t want it,” Michael says from somewhere behind me. I made sure to lock the front door, but I should have known it wouldn’t keep the man out. He knows this house as well as I do—hell, maybe even better.
This house belonged to our parents, and when they passed away, it became ours. Except I barely spent time in it once I became an adult. I enlisted in the military on my eighteenth birthday and only ever came back for a few weeks at a stretch. Michael spent considerable time alone in this house, and he hated every second of it. He hated how far it was from the nearest decent-sized town and all its conveniences, but he stayed, if only to protect the memories of our parents—our childhoods. Even that wore him down, and when he mentioned selling the property, I decided to buy his half instead.
I don’t mind living out here by myself. I was never a people person, less so now. I revel in solitude and don’t need a stranger prancing around on my property and ruining my peace.
