Learning to Walk, a City Hospital Novel (12 page)

“I have to -- you understand that, don’t you? You’re my patient. I’m a vital link in the chain of your recovery.” And it would break his heart a little if once Kit was no longer a patient the man’s interest waned, but Neil knew it could happen; he would not take advantage now.

“I get it, I do. And I haven’t transferred my care to another therapist because I trust you and I like how you work. But it does make me impatient and vaguely cranky. Crankier.”

“Thank you for amending that, because no way am I taking any of the blame for the cranky -- you arrived with a full quota of that all on your own.”

“Who me?” Giving him another sunny grin, Kit drained his beer. “I’m having another one of these, for the record.”

“I’m the one driving, so that works out fine.” He was only having the one. With food. And he’d have a bunch of water once he was done with it.

It was good, seeing Kit so much happier than he’d been in the first weeks of their time together.

“All right.” Kit nodded. “Have you ever had the urge to ride a motorcycle?”

“No, I can’t say I have. Those are like, organ donor machines.”

Kit raised an eyebrow. “Okay, ow. My accident was not my fault, nor my bike’s.”

Neil shook his head. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking. But you did ask. And I’m not saying that the bike or biker are ever at fault, only that accidents on motorcycles are far more fatal than in cars.”

“Can’t deny that.” Kit nodded. “Anyway, I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, if I want to ride again, given what happened to me.”

“And what conclusions have you come to?” Neil had to admit -- he wanted Kit to say he’d never ride on a motorcycle again.

“I haven’t decided. I love the way it feels. I like leaning into turns.” Kit shrugged. “I miss it, but not as much as I’d thought I would. I’m unsure, as of yet.”

“Well, I hope you decide it’s not for you. I know you don’t like hearing it, but you got really lucky this time around.”

Kit looked at the ceiling but he nodded, despite appearing exasperated. “Wasn’t the bike’s fault, though. It was the drunk driver. See?”

“Still.” Neil shrugged and started on his salad. “It’s a concern.”

“So is climbing up sheer walls and walking on a sidewalk.” Kit signaled to their waitress for his second beer. “There are many, many ways that we can get ourselves in trouble every day.”

“Of course there are, but some ways are more dangerous than others. Swimming is safer than climbing; walking is safer than riding a motorcycle. Eating a burger is safer than puffer fish.” He didn’t expect Kit to stop living, didn’t want that at all, but there were far safer modes of transportation than a motorcycle and there was no rule against hedging your bets.

“Puffer fish. Now there’s an idea. Remind me to be careful about our next few meals.” Kit grinned at him and shrugged. “I hear you. I do. And like I said, I haven’t made any decisions. I need to walk before I ride anyway, as far as I know.”

“Yeah, you do. You’re almost there, though.” He grinned. “You’re coming along even better than anyone could have predicted.” He would repeat it as many times as he needed to for Kit to believe him.

Kit nodded slowly and looked back out the window. “If all those scans and stuff I had last week show that the damage is all healed for sure, that means it’s just muscles now. Once the nerve damage gets all resolved, it’s just up to me -- well, and to you.”

“I have a feeling everything is going to look great. I think you’d be in a lot more pain than you are after our sessions if there was still significant damage.”

“Oh, I’m in pain.” Kit laughed and then nodded his thanks as his beer was delivered. “But you’re right -- not as much as it would be. But I can whine more, if you don’t think I’m hurting,” he teased.

Neil’s eyes narrowed. He should have known that Kit was downplaying the pain. “I need you to tell me when we’re pushing too hard.”

“Of course.” Kit drank and put his glass to the side. “Come on, relax. I know that. I’m not going to put myself in danger. If it hurts, if I can’t do it without agony, I tell you. When you ask me if I’m at a six or seven, I tell you. Really, I do.”

He held Kit’s gaze and then nodded. “Okay.” Neil knew getting in Kit’s pants wasn’t as important to Kit as getting better. Some days it might seem like that, but he knew Kit was just teasing those times.

“So, if the tests they did show that it’s just a matter of working the right muscles and making my legs do what my brain tells them, that means I can work on my own at the hospital physio center right? There’s always someone there to spot, even if you’re with another patient?”

“Yes.” He stretched word out, feeling cautious.

“Cool. Practice and all that. As long as I don’t overdo it, there can’t be anything wrong with extra practice. Right?”

“As long as you don’t overdo it being the caveat.” And one Neil wasn’t convinced Kit could follow.

Kit nodded. “I don’t want to be scolded any more than you want to deliver the lecture. Plus, I’ll be mad at myself it I actually cost myself time by having to take a week off to recover.”

Neil grinned suddenly. “Okay -- see, now I believe you.”

“My motives are what keeps me in line,” Kit admitted with a grin. “Costing myself time would be worse than any lecture.” He laughed and leaned forward on the table. “Can we swim again this week?”

“You’re just looking to lose another race so you can get your hands on my bod again.” Neil snapped his mouth shut. Shit, he hadn’t meant to say that.

“Maybe.” Kit gave him a long, slow smile. “Except the winning part means you’ll have your hands on me.”

“I’m still not holding back just because you’re in therapy, you know.”

“If you let me win, I’d have to beat you up.”

“Now that doesn’t sound like fun at all.” Neil chuckled, thoroughly enjoying the meal -- and the company.

“Especially the part where I’d have to chase you in my wheelchair. You running, me tearing after you, everyone staring and wondering what the hell was going on...”

That had Neil snorting with laughter, nearly passing his salad through his nose.

“And I’ll be shouting ‘Come back here, you race blower! I’ll beat you fair and square!’ and you’ll be yelling ‘Help! Help!’ because I’m really quite scary.”

“Oh God, stop, my belly’s hurting.” He held it as he continued to laugh.

“You don’t believe me? I’m fierce, trust me. But don’t worry, you can run pretty fast. Watch out for me on the downhill parts, though -- my wheels are all lubed up and you’re no match.” Kit was smiling at him, his eyes bright.

Neil had to wipe the tears from his eyes when he finally stopped laughing. “You’re a nut, you know that, right?”

Kit nodded and sat back, still smiling. “But I make you happy, so that’s a good thing.”

Kit was right, the man made him happy. He hoped to hell that when Kit could walk again and saw himself as whole, that he’d still want Neil. It was going to suck if Kit didn’t.

“And you make me happy. So, tell me we’ll go swimming this week. I don’t mind if there’s other people there, this time.”

“Then yeah, we can go swimming this week.” Hell, they went most weeks, at least twice, though Neil hadn’t succumbed to another race yet, tempting as it was.

“Good.” Kit nodded once and lifted his glass in a salute. “And then, we’ll race. Or I’ll have to chase you, and I hear the nurses get pissed at people speeding through the halls.”

Neil shook his head, but he was grinning. “And I suppose you’re going to want dessert to wash that burger and fries down.”

“Ah, how well you know me. Pie. Gotta have pie.”

He got their waitress’ attention. “He’d like some pie. What flavors have you got?”

She started listing off the choices, but as soon as she hit apple one of Kit’s hands went up. “That. Right there -- apple pie, please. Nothing better. Neil?”

“Do you still do that berry cobbler?” At her nod, he grinned. “All right. I want one of those.”

She went off to put in their orders, and Kit leaned in once more. “Berries are good. Whipped cream is better. Do they use real whip, here? I usually like my pie plain, but real whipped cream can be tempting.”

“I’m having my cobbler plain.” He actually wasn’t fond of real or fake whipped cream.

“Plain it is, then.” Kit shook his head. “No sweet tooth at all, huh? And not grease or salt.”

“It’s called eating healthy. Keeps the body fit.”

Kit gave him a long look. “And you never have the urge to indulge in the things that aren’t good for you? Ever?”

“Of course I do. But I try not to give in to urges for things that aren’t good for me.”

“Ah, progress! Tell me, Mr. Kirkpatrick, what is this secret vice that gives you urges?”

“What? I like sweets and French fries as well as the next guy. The trick is not to indulge very often.”

“When was the last time you did? I have even money on your last real indulgence being more than six months ago.” Kit looked so smug, so sure.

“You’d be dead wrong.” Neil could do smug, too. Of course it might not be the best idea to let Kit know he was an indulgence.

“More than four months, then,” Kit said with a laugh. “One of these days, I’m going to watch you go into raptures over something wonderful. And I’ll take a picture.”

“One of these days.”

Their dessert arrived, and Neil asked for a tea to go along with his. Kit shook his head and started in on his pie, his initial bite bringing a sound of pure pleasure.

Neil did enjoy his cobbler and the tea that came a few minutes later. But he wasn’t going to moan and groan over it.

“It’s not good?” Kit asked, his plate nearly clean.

“It’s delicious -- I ate the whole thing.”

Kit peered at him. “You’re very reserved. Just as an observation. Have you always been?”

“Just because I don’t rapturize over food, doesn’t mean I’m reserved. You did hear me whoop up on the wall, didn’t you?”

“I thought I was hearing things.” Kit grinned. “Food is worth a whoop or two, you know.”

“In my experience, there’s been some really great food, but nothing really whoop-worthy.”

“Oh, man.” Kit honestly looked shocked. “Soon, you and I are going out for dinner. I know just the place. You will whoop, because the food earns it. Trust me. I’ll get you whoop-worthy food.”

Neil laughed. “If you still want to see me after our professional relationship is over, I’m in your hands.” He made a “check, please” hand gesture at their waitress.

Kit tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean if you still want to go out with me, you can take me anywhere you want.” He pulled his wallet out of his pocket.

Kit had gone still. “What’s all this ‘if’ stuff, is what I mean. I’m confused.”

Neil sighed. The waitress was there before he could explain, and he held a finger up to Kit in the universal just-a-minute way and handed over his card. It was swiped and the machine handed back to him to key in his pin number. Kit sat through it, not looking away and no longer smiling at him. At least he didn’t look mad. Kit mad was very tiring to deal with.

“Okay, so here’s the thing. At the moment, I’m really necessary to your recovery.”

“Yeah, I know. And because of that you won’t date me for real. We have to wait.”

“Right. And one of the reasons why we have to wait is because you might not feel the same way about me after I’m not longer integral to your recovery.”

“What kind of crap is that?” One of Kit’s eyebrows went up. “That’s bullshit.”

“No, it’s not. I’ve seen it happen more than once.” He’d seen people burned by it, too.

“You think I’d do that.”

“Not on purpose!” Damn it, he hadn’t wanted to upset Kit with this.

“You think I’m not self-aware enough to know what I want, then?”

“That’s not what this is about, Kit.” Neil rubbed his hands over his face. Shit, they’d been having such a good day.

“Nope. It’s not.” Kit wheeled back from the table. “It’s about you being insecure and putting it on me, as far as I can tell. I know my mind.”

“No. I don’t want to get hurt, I’ll admit that. But I’ve seen more than one person fall for their therapist, for their doctor or nurse, and in the end it turns out it’s not something you can build a relationship on once the person is better. Wouldn’t you rather we proceed cautiously now than find out a year down the line that you’re with the wrong person?”

Kit stared at Neil and slowly shook his head. “Wow. How about you try living your life as it comes, rather taking every single precaution you can? You won’t eat unhealthy food, you won’t ride motorbikes, you do everything you can to make your life as calm and safe as possible. It must be very quiet in your world. I’m all alone, but I’m not going to stop living.”

“Hey, I don’t judge how you live your life, how about you don’t judge me? I like quiet and calm. I like being Zen and knowing I’m not going to be up half the night with gas. I don’t have to nearly kill myself to feel alive.”

“How about you trust me to say what I mean, then, and don’t assume I’m going to hare off after my therapy is done? How about a little bit of credit for not being an utter asshole?”

“I never accused you of being an asshole! I have experience with this kind of thing, though, and you don’t. So give me a little credit for that.” Neil shook his head. “Come on. I’m going to take you home.” This was just the kind of thing that made him all the more determined not to get involved with a patient.

“I’ll call my father. Thanks for dinner.” Kit looked out the window, looking exactly as he had the very first day they’d met. Closed off and angry at the world.

Damn it. Neil had just managed to compromise Kit’s recovery, which was exactly what he’d tried not to do. He should never have let things get as far as they had. Strictly professional -- he knew that. He knew it. He shouldn’t have done the climbing and definitely not dinner afterward; this had been a mistake on his part. “I won’t leave you here alone, so I might as well just drive you.”

“No. I’ll phone my father. See you at therapy.” Kit didn’t even look at him.

“If that’s really what you want to do. I’m not going until he’s come to get you, though.”

Kit took out his cell phone and pressed a few buttons. “Hey, it’s me. Can you come get me?” Kit picked up the nearest table card and read off the address. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.” He ended the call and put his phone away. “He’ll be at least fifteen minutes. I don’t need a babysitter. I’m not helpless.”