My spring break is this week, so I plan on getting at least another chapter up during the week. Here's hoping I can stick to that promise.
Thank you all for reviews! This is going to be a good chapter, I feel. It is the first meeting of John and Evan. Excited? I know I am. Might be a little slow in the beginning but I think it will catch up a little later into it.
Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I own only the plot and OCs. No profit gained or harm meant by the creation of this story.
I took a deep breath as I looked out the window, watching the cars pass with a glimpse of the sunrise in the distance. It was early, ten minutes before 7 o'clock. I was fine with mornings. Sure, I loved my sleep, but an early morning wouldn't ruin my mood. Michelle on the other hand was ranting in the driver's seat.
"I mean, really. Who is going to be up and tanning at 7 a.m.? It is ridiculous!"
"Maybe some people like to get up early and tan before work." I suggest, catching the sideways glance of disbelief she throws in my direction.
"That makes no sense to me. No sense at all." She scoffs. I can't help but laugh a little. After accepting the job at the tanning salon, she was told her shift would be the earliest. 7 a.m. until noon, five hours in total. She was being paid rather generously, so she took the job despite the early hours. Now, it would seem she was regretting her decision. She shifted in the seat, her new uniform consisting of a green tank and black shorts standing out against her tan skin. She had thrown her hair up in a bun at the last minute, fed up with the whole process of getting ready in the wee hours of the morning.
I was thoroughly amused by her rants. She hadn't let up on the absurdity of the situation since we left my house. I was expecting an ear-full of complaints by the time I left for the Therapy Center.
My scheduled appointment was 10 a.m., and California Physical Therapy was just down the road and in walking distance. I figured I'd tag along to her work so she wouldn't have to drive back to my house to get me. It was the least I could do since she was taking this job for me. I wouldn't be able to work for about 2 more weeks, or so my doctor says. I had applied at jobs all around the Physical Therapist Center, including the tanning salon. My personal preference was the smoothie place just down the block. I had already alerted Michelle to the job, but she felt to quit the tanning salon so soon would make her look bad to potential employers, no matter how much she hated it. It's already been one week since my surgery and in that week I have done nothing but sat around and sulked. I literally could not do anything. I couldn't take a shower for the first five days. I could only make short distances on crutches up until yesterday (which I was beyond ecstatic about. Michelle allowed me to go with her to the grocery store, and I crutched circles around the aisles until it was time to go.) and now that I was feeling more comfortable with them, I was getting faster. But it was still too slow for my liking.
Not to mention my mood had dropped significantly. When you're injured you have a lot of time to sit and think. Over thinking has always been a bad habit of mine. Despite the conversation Michelle and I had the night Justin left and I hurt my knee, I have slowly been backsliding into a more cynical state of mind. I was tired, and fed up, and ultimately slightly depressed, though I did my best not to show it when Michelle was around. I just could not stop hoping Justin would come back into my life, no matter how many times I told myself it wasn't going to happen. He was gone. But he left memories. Memories I used to love recalling now plagued my mind and heart, to where I had a constant ache in my chest. It was still so fresh in my head. I could remember every word from that night, having gone through it on so many occasions and picking apart anything that I felt could signal something bigger than what I already knew. The analytical side of me was fighting to get out every last detail, as if interrogating my heart. My poor heart couldn't take it a lot of the time, and I'd end up getting emotional, only to repeat the process later. It was a horrible cycle, but I couldn't escape from it. As a result, I've become quieter, less cheerful, and certainly more irritable. The injury was slowly turning into the biggest irritant in my life. But at least I had something to fix. Therapy would hopefully keep me busy and take my mind off of everything.
Michelle pulled up to the tanning salon and my eyes widened happily at the sign in the window that announced there was also a Starbucks inside. Michelle mimicked my surprise, both her and I being pretty fond of the delicious coffee drinks. Maybe waiting around for therapy wouldn't be so bad after all.
xxxx
(John's POV)
My truck was first to pull into the California Physical Therapy Center parking lot at 8 a.m. and I parked in my usual spot at the end of the lot. Ste always teased me about my strict time schedules. "First to arrive and last to leave" he would mock, always rolling into work at the last possible minute to insure maximum sleep intake. I didn't work that way though. I couldn't help myself. I loved being here early. It felt wrong to not be here early. And then leaving late just became a habit as well. I didn't enjoy leaving the Center when I felt I still had work to do, or if someone else was still working. It wasn't a competition, but it made me feel as if I could do something more, as if I would be slacking if I left before everyone else. Call it a character flaw, but I saw it as dedication.
I pulled out the key to the front doors, something a few of the early bird employees had been given so they could open the Center if they were first to arrive, and managed to slip it into the lock and turn the latch without any effort. The cool metal of the door was refreshing as I pushed against it and let myself inside.
The training room stood in silent anticipation for the day's patients and I found the early morning light that fell through the windows to only add to the feeling of potential. This was a space where things happened, good things, and I could almost feel that energy rush through my veins at the very thought of it. I was ready for this work day to begin.
I took the steps up to the second floor in twos, making my way down the sparsely decorated hallway and walking into my office. The stacks of paperwork sat ready to be delved into on the top of my desk and I made a mental note to get started on it if my work load was low today. As my eyes scanned the dark mahogany wood, they landed on a new object. A crisp new black folder was laid on the edge of the desk, the logo of the Center branded on the front. A new patient.
Pulling my swivel chair forward and leaning back into the plush seat, I plucked the folder from the desk and opened it, reading the name printed at the top.
Evangeline Parker
Female, 23
Professional Athlete-Beach Volleyball
Right knee-ACL Reconstruction and Meniscus repair
So Ste was right, I thought to myself. A beach volleyball player, just like he said at the bar. My mind worked quickly on creating an exercise plan. Depending on how the knee and the muscles around the knee looked we could get started with some strengthening while the range of motion would be something to progress with. I gently rotated the chair from side to side with the tip of my shoe, jotting down exercises on a notepad.
As I worked on formulating plan I could hear people beginning to mill into the Center. A quick glance at the window that allowed my office to overlook the floor alerted me to a handful of other employees setting up stations for the fast approaching appointments. Glancing at the clock, I stood and stretched, suddenly aware of the tension in my back from sitting so long. What I though took two minutes actually took about an hour and a half. The clock now read 9:30. The file said Ms. Parker was scheduled for 10. I had 30 minutes to prepare. Taking the notepad and file with me, I head back down to the training floor, intending to claim a work station before the appointments started.
xxxx
(Evangeline's Point of View)
At 9:30 I was ready to leave. The Center was barely a ten minute walk, but I wanted to make sure I had plenty of time. Paperwork could end up pushing that start time back, so I wanted to go ahead and get it out of the way. I pulled myself up on the crutches without too much trouble, tugging my black tee shirt down over the loose pair of gym shorts that hung low on my hips. Michelle watched me out of the corner of her eye as she spoke with a customer, setting up which bed the woman could use. As I made my way over to her, she glanced at the clock above the door. She knew I'd have to leave soon.
"I want to walk you there." She stated as the lady went back to her assigned room. She wrote down the woman's name and time in the appointment book before sticking the pen behind her ear. Leaning back against the counter, she looked up to meet my eyes while awaiting my response.
"You seem pretty busy here."
"I can take a break to walk you." She insists.
"Is that really a good idea when you've just started working here?" I question.
"You are my best friend, practically blood-related. You are on crutches and going to have walk to the Therapy Center down the street. You are not going by yourself." She countered, her protectiveness shining through.
I sighed. With that tone, I didn't stand a chance.
"Well go on and tell your boss. I'm ready to get going."
"Back in a flash." She says in triumph, smirking from her victory as she vanished to the back of the building to find her manager. In less than a minute, we were outside of the salon and heading towards the Center.
"You nervous?" Michelle asked as we moved down the sidewalk towards our destination.
"Not really. Just anxious. I'm ready to get started." I answer truthfully. I wasn't afraid. I wanted to start recovering. The process was going to take forever as it is. Once I started, I would be progressing and finally be out of this stand still I've been in.
Michelle nods silently, understanding my willingness to start.
"Well, don't push yourself too hard. If you feel pain, tell them."
"I will."
Michelle glances at me with a scrutinizing gaze. "I'm serious E. I know how you push through pain. I know these therapy sessions might be intense, but if you feel any strong pain that you know you shouldn't be feeling you better speak up. Otherwise, you could do more harm than good."
"I will stop if it gets bad." I promise, smiling slightly to verify my understanding.
She gives a curt nod and we continue walking the rest of the way with a comfortable silence between us.
She holds the door open to the Center, and I feel the cool air immediately wrap around my skin as I make my way through the door. The lady at the front desk smiles widely at me, and I find it to be infectious as I return the smile.
"Hi there! Is this your first time at California Physical Therapy?" she asks as she glances from me to Michelle.
I nod, readjusting my crutches to where both were situated against the desk, my arms resting on the counter to hold myself up. "Yes ma'am. I have an appointment at 10."
"Name?"
"Evangeline Parker."
She types on her computer before looking back at me.
"Ah yes. Welcome Ms. Parker. If you would just fill out this form for our medical records and have a seat over there someone will be with you shortly." She said as she pointed to the wall with chairs.
I turned to Michelle with a smile.
"Thanks for walking me. I think I got it from here. I'll text you when I head back to the salon if I get out before your shift ends. If not, you'll pick me up here?"
"That's the plan. Have fun." She says with a hint of sarcasm in her voice, and I roll my eyes at her as she heads back to the door.
I fill out the paperwork and crutch over to the chairs, sitting down on the chair closest to the door.
As I waited, I let my eyes wander around the place. The area I was in was certainly just meant for waiting and check-in. To my right, there were two large glass doors that opened into a massive space. From where I sat I could see exercise equipment and a relatively large number of people, perhaps 15, moving throughout the space. So this was going to be my home for the next 9 months of my life. Better learn to love it, I suppose.
The magazines set out on the small tables between the chairs caught my attention and I picked up the celebrity magazine full of gossip to flip through and kill the waiting time.
"Evangeline?"
I look up at the sound of my name, tucking a strand of brown hair behind my ear as I locate the source of the voice. My eyes land on a large man, both in height and build, leaning around one of the glass doors. His blue eyes shined with a determination that was familiar, mirroring my own as well as Michelle's. His warm smile revealed dimples in his face that gave him a very friendly feel. I smile as I stand, using the crutches to walk towards him.
"That's me. Call me Evan."
He held the door open as I passed through, making sure I was completely through before closing the glass behind me.
"My name is John Cena. I will be working with you." He stated calmly, and I found I liked his voice. It was such a smooth sound. It was nice.
"To get started, how about we go to one of the examination rooms and see what we have to work with?" He led me to a room closed off from the main training area, instructing me to lie down on the padded table. I managed to hop up without too much effort, stretching my leg out so he could take a look at it. He began taking measurements on my knee and the muscles around it and we began to talk.
"So how did this happen?" he questioned, wrapping a tape measure around my thigh to measure my leg's muscle mass as compared to the other.
I fought to keep the grimace off of my face. I had relived that night so many times, but it still was hard for me to talk about, both for the injury and the emotions that led to the injury. I pushed the thought away and recounted the event.
"A jump serve gone wrong. I landed awkwardly after I had strained it earlier that day."
John nods, and I watch him move around the room as he gathered information. I couldn't help but admire his build. He was very well built, with wide shoulders and a stout chest, large arms and legs, all of which the khaki shorts and light blue polo emphasized. I've always been attracted to the athletic type. This man screamed it.
"I've had my fair share of injuries through the years. I know it will be a struggle, but we'll have you back on that court in no time." He says confidently, giving me a wide grin.
I smiled back, deciding I already trusted this man with the process of recovery. He just seemed so genuine and determined.
His hands moved gently to remove the large white bandage from my knee. The staples holding the incision together was glaringly ugly, but he didn't seemed phased at all. He moved with such care and knowledge around the knee, being careful of the tender areas as he probed the muscles and joint with his fingertips. He tested the range of motion as well as the muscles, especially my quad and hamstring. After words, he gently massaged the muscles. I could feel the tension seeping out of the muscles around my knee and couldn't help letting my eye close at his touch. It's been a while since I've felt so relaxed.
"So you play volleyball?" he asks, keeping up the light conversation between us.
"Yeah. Beach volleyball." I mumbled, my voice soft and sleepy from the massaging. My mood did not go unnoticed my John who chuckled under his breath.
"Hey now. You can't be sleeping on me. We've got to get you moving in a minute." He teases.
I laugh softly, placing my hands behind my head and forcing my eyes to open.
"Much better. Up and at 'em." He says with a grin.
"So how long have you been a therapist?" I question, attempting to focus on his face as opposed to drifting off.
"About 2 years." He answered, and I calculated his age in my head. 25.
"You must have worked your butt off in school." I say absent-mindedly which caused him to laugh unexpectedly.
"Yeah, med school isn't the easiest thing in the world. But it's what I wanted to do. I wanted to help people. How about you? You must be a pretty awesome volleyball player to be pro."
I shrug nonchalantly.
"Eh, I'm decent. I have areas that could use some improvement. And anyways, I'm going to have to start over now." I remark, a note of sadness in my voice. As much as I wished I would just wake up one day and be completely healed, I knew I had a long road ahead of me.
"Hey," John said, stopping his massaging to look at me, "You will be on the court again in no time. I'm not going to lie to you. The recovery process sucks. But it gets easier, you get stronger, and before you know it, you'll be dominating that sand again."
I sat up slightly, looking him square in the eye. His gaze never faltered, and a feeling of tightness developed in my stomach. He wasn't just saying these things to cheer me up. He actually believed them. I could see it in his face that he wasn't going to give up on me.
"Well, let's get started then." I smile.
"That's the spirit! Grab your crutches and follow me. We'll set you up a work station."
I followed John out of the examination room to a section of low tables that looked like they were meant for lying on. He handed me a long exercise band, instructed me on the different exercises he wanted me to do. These were basic movements, wrapping the band around my foot and pointing my toes or pulling my toes upwards, tightening my quad muscles for seconds at a time. All of these were fundamentals that I would have to gain back in time. The hardest one was actually lifting my leg. They told me that after surgery my quad muscle would have to regain use, and not being able to lift my leg was evident of that. It was frustrating, but I was starting to get the hang of using my quad to lift my leg by the end of the reps. John had other patience to tend to, but he was always in earshot and he would check in from time to time, always encouraging me, asking if I felt pain. Honestly, I was just happy to be exercising period.
As I finished up the last reps, I looked up to find John sitting quietly to the side, watching me with a smile. A bag of ice rested in his hands, along with a piece of paper with all of the exercises I had done today.
"Looks like you're already ahead of the game." He comments as I prop myself up on my elbows, my chest rising and falling with each breath. I hadn't expected to work as hard as I did, but I'm glad for it.
"Yeah? How do you figure?" I question, wiping my brow. His smile just widened.
"I've worked with ACL patients before. You're the first I've worked with to get that quad muscle firing so quickly, not to mention being able to lift your leg that quickly." He says with a point to my knee. I smile, somewhat shocked. I thought I was behind, or average, not already progressing.
"Well…awesome."
John laughs at my choice of words, patting me on the shoulder.
"That's all I had planned for you for the day." He says as he places the ice on my knee. I make an involuntary sigh as the cold sinks into my skin.
"I've printed out the exercises I had you do today so you can repeat them at home. I want you to do them at least twice daily. Ice after finishing them, 20 minutes. When you're done with the ice here you are free to leave. Same time tomorrow?"
"Same time." I nod, taking the sheet from his outstretched hand.
"Awesome work today Evangeline." He says with a smirk.
"Evan." I correct sternly, though the smile gives away my lack of anger.
"Yeah, yeah." He says as he walks off, throwing up a wave as he goes to check on his other patients.
I lean back down, watching the clock and sighing contently. It had been a good first day.
xxxx
(John's Point of View)
I watched Evangeline out of the corner of my eye as I checked in with one of my other patients. She was walking pretty well on those crutches. She'd be off of them soon. Maybe I would have her move to one crutch before the week is out.
As I watched, she disposed of the ice bag and head out to the Center, a smile on her face. It was good to see a positive attitude like hers. So many people came in here with a hopeless gaze. Her willingness to work hard brightened up the place.
A low whistle behind me catches my attention, and I turn to look at Stephen. He shakes his head, chuckling softly.
"What?" I question.
"I saw that." He says matter-of-factly as he crosses his arms over his chest.
"Saw what?"
"You were checking her out."
I met his gaze with a look of disbelief.
"Ste, I was not. She's on crutches. I was making sure she was okay as she walked out." I say in defending myself.
"Oh, so you didn't notice her athletic physic?" he says with a wriggle of his eyebrow.
"Of course I did…I mean, no…I mean," I struggle for words, feeling myself grasping at straws. "Can I not just watch a patient leave without you harping on me?"
He laughs at me, patting me on back.
"John, I saw that smile. You can't fool me."
I scoff, swatting the air as f to clear it of his insinuations.
"Whatever man. She's a patient. That's it."
"Sure." He concludes, chuckling to himself as he walked back to his patient.
She was a patient. An attractive, hard-working patient. That is it.
Right?
I tried to make this longer, since I'm a little later than usually getting it up for y'all to read. Like I said, it is my spring break so I will be trying to get another one up in the next few days. Hope you enjoyed the chapter!
Much love,
Meg
