Evin's Fight (Southern Charmers 3)

“Got my weapons ready,” I whisper, sliding the crutches between us, and wrapping my arms around his neck. “Let’s go, Chris.”

He jostles me playfully, squeezing my waist. The hallway is clear, but six of Ryanne’s co-workers huddle around the reception desk as we pass. Bess flashes an enormous smile, calling her goodbye as the others ogle Evin. My smile turns sickening sweet when I wave to them.

When we get on the road, he hands me back his phone. “Click-through Darby’s message.”

I find videos from the last few days. Devin is the star of each one, clearly loving the camera. The lump in my throat gets tighter when Maya sashays through the room. She picks up Devin and he reaches for the flowers in her hair. Darby spans over, her body reflecting before it ends. She was beaming with one hand resting on her stomach.

My earlier trepidation returns, but for a different reason. I view them again, this time grinning. “You think Darby will kill us if we submit Devin’s picture for one of those baby contests? He needs to be a model. All of those kids should be models.”

“I think Darby would laugh, but Pierce may kill us, considering he’s in denial about Maya.”

Evin turns into the office complex and our conversation stops because Dr. Rexwell is outside with a nurse watching us pull in. We open our doors and Dr. Rexwell instructs Evin to let me maneuver on my own. His face goes hard, but he stands by.

I successfully get out and turn to face them. “Tada!”

Rexwell’s mouth twitches, but he shows no other emotion. “Lower your right foot and see if you can take a step.”

My heart races at the pressure of his observation. I do what he asks, making it two steps before wincing. Evin closes in, giving me support to find my balance.

“She just got the boot today,” he sneers.

“I’m well aware, the therapist sent over his report. She’s strong.” That’s all he says before turning and motioning for us to follow him into the building.

“Asshole,” Evin grouses.

“Heard that. Call Jay Lowe if you don’t trust my methods,” Dr. Rexwell yells over his shoulder.

Jay Lowe is one of the success stories Marco sent over. “Maybe we shouldn’t piss him off,” I say softly. “We knew his techniques are aggressive.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to agree with it.” He places his hand on my lower back and stays in step as we pass through the offices and go directly to a room.

The exam is what I expected. After a quick run-down of questions, Dr. Rexwell presses, pokes, and studies my leg from thigh to ankle. He calls out rapid-fire terms and measurements while the nurse frantically takes notes. When he’s done, she leaves and I’m half-terrified, half-fascinated. Without having a clue what he spouted, I’m pretty sure he’s a super genius.

“Your calf is better?”

I nod. “The sprained muscles had plenty of rest.”

“Your incisions are healing exceptionally well.”

At this news, I point to Evin. “I have an obsessed wound care expert.”

“Because of the extent of the injuries, there is some swelling, which is expected. Yours is minimal, but keep up the elevation and icing routine.”

I nod, disappointed at the simplicity of his instructions.

“Does that bother you?”

“No, but it’s very basic. Icing, elevating, resting, wound care—that’s a no-brainer. It’s been three weeks since my surgery and doesn’t sound like we’ve advanced far.”

He glances at Evin and back to me, his eyes twinkling with hilarity. “You mean we should discuss something more aggressive?”

The nurse presses her lips together, trying to hide her amusement. Evin coughs, poorly disguising his chuckle. A flush warms my throat and cheeks knowing he overheard me, but I try to act unaffected.

“That is your reputation. Don’t go soft on me. I’m expecting the full, brutal, pain-staking, and push my limits treatment.”

His lips split into a wide grin. “Not sure I’ll be putting that description on my website, but glad to hear you’re willing to put in the effort.”

“Have you ever worked with a professional dancer before?”

“I have advised, but you’re my first.”

I sit straighter, flip my hair over my shoulders, and give him my sharpest glare. “Well then, know we’re a different breed of athlete. No offense to any other athletics, because gymnastics is ruthless. You’ve only dealt with the emotionally shocked, and later coming-out-of-surgery Poppy, but I assure you putting in effort isn’t a problem. Lay out a plan and you’ll get a thousand percent from me.”

Evin shuffles uncomfortably. “Baby, maybe you should give yourself some time to heal before you kick it up an octave.”

I open my mouth to say something about him treating me like crystal, but Dr. Rexwell speaks first.

“You both are right. I like the tenacity, but there has to be a balance.” He reaches for the folder on the counter and pulls out a sheet of paper. “Meeting you out front was my way of getting my assessment of where you are. These are the therapist’s notes from this morning. In your case, we have the unique challenge of the Achilles and knee. Two different types of rehabilitative plans.”