Loïc“I feel nothing.”
—Loïc Berkeley
“There you go, Berk! You’re kicking a*s today,” Lieutenant Dixon, my physical therapist, cheers.
“I’m kicking a ball, d**k, not fighting in an MMA competition,” I say in a grumpy tone with an immature roll of my eyes.
Truth is, Dixon—whom I’ve called d**k for the past month—is my favorite person here. I’ve been an asshole to him from day one, and he’s been nothing but supportive. He held a one-sided conversation with me for the first week of physical therapy until I finally started to respond. He’s upbeat, crude, and funny, and damn it if he doesn’t remind me so much of Cooper. I hate that as much as I love that about him. Regardless, I can’t help but like him.
“And you’re kicking the s**t out of that ball. If it weren’t for the obvious metal appen
