“Well, yeah. Life changed.”

“Emma.” His voice was quiet, concerned. “Doesn’t have to be that way. You can get back there.”

She looked away, not sure how to tell him she no longer coveted her old life. Problem was, she didn’t know what her new life looked like. “Maybe I don’t need to be the same as before.”

He was quiet a moment, watching her stretch the way he wanted, occasionally adjusting her posture to suit himself. “Here,” he said.

“What?”

“My happy place is here. Helping people.”

That gave her a warm fuzzy, something she didn’t often feel here in the torture chamber. “Thanks,” she whispered.

He nodded and she kept working. Sweating. And occasionally swearing. “It never gets easier,” she gasped.

He was quiet a moment. “We’ve been working this program, facilitating your healing, rebuilding muscle mass for months and you’ve come so far. But there’s still a lot of work ahead.”

She blew out a breath, not sure she was up for it. “Awesome.”

Ignoring her sarcasm, he adjusted her again. His hands warm and firm, pressing her into place, holding her there a beat, signaling how he wanted her.

“What work?” she finally caved and asked.

“We’ve been working on your body, but not your spirit.”

“Not your job,” she managed, breathless from holding the position. And maybe a little bit from having his hands on her.

“It is my job, Emma. And I’m good at it. When you let me be.”

She couldn’t see his face. Probably for the best. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You already know.”

She flopped over onto her back to look up at him. “Humor me.”

“It’s whatever’s in your head telling you that you don’t deserve to be all the way healed.”

Their gazes locked and her heart started pounding. “Why would I feel that way?”

“Because you lived. When someone else didn’t.”

Her throat closed. Just shut off both her air and her ability to speak. She sat up, curled her legs beneath her, and dropped her head to the tops of her knees. How did he know? Was she that transparent?

“Emma.” Simon gentled his voice. “I know how much you loved running. And I know what the doctors told you about not expecting to ever get that back. But I’ve told you that I believe otherwise. I still believe it.”

She lifted her head. “You do?”

“Yes. You’ve been working on the weight machine. You’ve even been on the treadmill—”

“At a crawl.”

“Which is faster than you were last month. You’ve been climbing stairs to get in and out of your apartment the past few days. It’s all working. I’ll have to check with your doctor, but we can try pushing harder now that you’re weight bearing. How does that sound?”

She chewed on her lower lip, not sure. “I don’t know.”

He studied her for a moment. “You do realize you’re in the driver’s seat here, right? No one can dictate the path of your life except you.”

“Not true. A car dictated my life. Detonated it, actually.”

His eyes went very serious. “Yeah, okay, and that was bad. But you’re standing on your own two legs. You’re doing better every day.”

Maybe. Emma slipped off the table, winced at her aches, and made her way to the mats in front of the windows with a beautiful view of the water in its glorious summer glory. She sat down, exhausted and distressed over how quickly she tired. She looked down at her body, which she sometimes didn’t recognize. Once, she’d been all lean, toned muscles. Now there was no tone, no muscles. “It’s hard.” Fighting for every inch of mobility all the time. Fighting through the brain fog. Dealing with her new reality.

Simon dropped to his knees at her side. “Life is hard.”

He wasn’t going to let her feel sorry for herself. Which, she supposed, she should be grateful for. She thought about apologizing for her bad attitude, but knew he didn’t want an apology. He wanted her to try harder, to get full recovery.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “You’re off today.”

She shrugged, but he knew her. He understood her. Which currently made him the only one in her life who did. “I’m . . . feeling things,” she admitted.

“Pain?”

“No.”

His eyes held hers and she had the feeling that maybe he could read her mind, which was a bit horrifying, so she closed hers.

“Emma—”

“We about done here?” she asked.

“Nope.” He pointed to . . . She sighed. The lat pulldown machine.

“Goodie.”

He smiled but didn’t back down. He did adjust it to no resistance. Just movement for today. She’d take it. She watched him counting her lifts. He was right. She’d gained strength, more and more each day. Her body had been wasting away when he’d come into her life. She was still limited by internal healing and her own mental health, but she really was doing better.

“It’s Friday,” he said. “I imagine you’ve got somewhere to get to.”

Did Netflix count? “Sure,” she said instead of admitting her social life meant sharing a bowl of popcorn with Hog. “You?”

Kelly, the owner of the rehab facility, had just walked into the room and laughed. “Simon the workaholic? Doubtful.”

“There’s nothing wrong with working hard,” Simon said.

“Even when it gets you dumped by your last girlfriend because your life’s too crazy for a relationship?”

The two of them exchanged a long look, then Kelly laughed and turned to a machine.

Simon looked at Emma. “Five more.”

“You put work before a relationship?”

“Make it ten.”

“You did,” she said, finding a smile at his bullshit blank face. He wanted her to move on, but no way. He knew everything about her. It was her turn. “Why?”

“Because he thinks he’s too busy to have a life,” Kelly said.

Simon ignored this, but Emma was fascinated and needed more. Still, she started moving before he changed the count to fifteen. “Ouch.”

“What kind of ouch?” he asked. “The ‘I don’t want to do PT today’ ouch? Or ‘I need a nap’ ouch?”