Episode 4:Forty-Five Seconds
1459 Words
Emma arrived at Oceanside Rehab even earlier than usual, the sky outside still a pale shade of blue. She’d hardly slept, her mind replaying the text conversation with Jack over and over. She’d crossed a line, and she knew it. But she couldn’t bring herself to regret it.
She set up therapy room three, adjusting the parallel bars to Jack’s height, laying out towels, and checking the water bottle. She moved on autopilot, her thoughts drifting. She wondered if Jack would sense her nerves, if he’d say something about their messages, or if they’d both pretend nothing had changed.
At 8:58, she was reviewing his progress notes on her tablet when she heard the familiar squeak of wheels in the hallway. Jack appeared in the doorway, a little less pale than yesterday, his hair still damp from a morning shower. He wore a faded gray t-shirt and jeans, his brace peeking out from under the fabric.
“Morning, Emma Collins,” he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
Emma smiled back, feeling her heart skip. “Morning, Jack. Ready for your next milestone?”
He wheeled himself in, parking beside the bars. “You tell me.”
She moved closer, her professional mask slipping just a little. “Today’s challenge is forty-five seconds. You managed thirty yesterday, three times. I think you’re ready to push a bit further.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “You’re getting ambitious.”
Emma shrugged, feigning confidence. “I believe in you.”
He held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary. “You’re the only one who does.”
Emma felt the words settle between them, heavier than she expected. She cleared her throat, gesturing to the bars. “Let’s get started.”
Jack positioned himself, hands gripping the bars. Emma stood at his side, close enough to help but not hovering. She could feel the tension radiating off him.
“Ready?” she asked.
He nodded. “Let’s do it.”
Emma counted him in. “One… two… three.”
Jack pushed himself upright, face tightening with effort. Emma watched the clock, counting the seconds in her head. At fifteen, Jack’s arms began to shake. At twenty-five, a bead of sweat rolled down his temple.
“Halfway,” Emma said quietly. “Breathe.”
Jack’s jaw clenched. “Hurts.”
“I know. Ten more seconds.”
He grunted, eyes fixed on the clock behind her. At thirty-five seconds, his good leg wobbled.
“Don’t look at the clock. Look at me,” Emma said, stepping into his line of sight.
Jack’s eyes flicked to hers. For a moment, the pain faded, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable.
“Five seconds,” Emma whispered. “Four… three… two… one.”
Jack collapsed back into his wheelchair, chest heaving. He closed his eyes, letting his head fall back.
Emma handed him a towel. “How bad?”
Jack wiped his face. “Seven. Maybe eight.”
She made a note on her tablet, glancing up to find him watching her.
“You’re getting better,” she said.
He shrugged. “Or you’re just getting better at distracting me.”
Emma smiled. “Whatever works.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the hum of the air conditioner. Jack broke it first.
“Did you sleep last night?”
Emma hesitated. “Not really.”
Jack nodded, as if he’d expected that answer. “Me neither.”
She wanted to ask why, but she already knew. Instead, she checked her watch. “Five-minute rest, then we go again.”
Jack grinned, a little of his old swagger returning. “You’re relentless.”
Emma leaned against the wall. “That’s my job.”
He looked at her, his gaze lingering. “Is that all it is?”
Emma felt her cheeks warm. She busied herself with her notes. “We should keep things professional, Jack.”
He didn’t look away. “Should we?”
Emma met his eyes, the air between them charged. She forced herself to look down. “Rest. You’ll need it.”
The second attempt was harder. Jack barely made it to thirty-five seconds before his leg buckled. Emma caught him, her hands steady on his waist. He leaned into her touch for a moment longer than necessary.
“Sorry,” he muttered, embarrassed.
Emma shook her head. “Don’t be. You’re pushing yourself. That’s what matters.”
Jack let out a shaky breath. “I keep thinking about what you said yesterday. About pain being a river.”
Emma smiled gently. “It’s true. You can’t stop it, but you can move with it.”
He nodded, thoughtful. “You ever have pain like this?”
Emma hesitated. “Not physical, no. But everyone has something.”
Jack studied her, as if searching for the truth in her words. “What’s your pain, Emma?”
She looked away. “That’s not important.”
Jack reached out, his hand covering hers. “It is to me.”
Emma felt the heat of his touch, the sincerity in his voice. She pulled her hand away, gently but firmly. “We should try again.”
Jack didn’t argue. He repositioned himself, determination etched on his face.
The third attempt was the best yet. Jack stood for forty seconds, his breathing controlled, his focus unwavering. When he sat back down, he was grinning.
“I’m getting there,” he said.
Emma smiled, pride swelling in her chest. “You are.”
Jack looked at her, his expression open. “Thank you.”
Emma shook her head. “You did this, Jack. Not me.”
He laughed, the sound light and genuine. “You keep saying that, but I know better.”
They finished the session with some stretches and light conversation. As Emma helped Jack gather his things, he paused at the door.
“Coffee?” he asked, almost shy.
Emma hesitated. “Jack…”
He held up a hand. “Just coffee. No therapy talk. I promise.”
She considered for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. After work.”
Jack grinned, wheeling himself out. “It’s a date.”
Emma watched him go, her heart pounding.
The rest of her day passed in a blur. She replayed the morning’s session in her mind, the way Jack had looked at her, the way his hand had felt on hers. She knew she was treading dangerous ground, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.
After her last patient, Emma changed into jeans and a sweater, trying to look casual. She met Jack at a small café near the beach. He was already there, a coffee waiting for her.
They talked about everything but therapy-music, books, favorite foods. Jack told her about his band, about the accident, about the fear that he’d never play again.
Emma listened, her heart aching for him. She told him about her childhood, about the piano lessons she’d hated and then loved, about her dreams of traveling the world.
As the sun set, Jack reached across the table, his hand covering hers.
“I like this,” he said softly. “Just us.”
Emma smiled, squeezing his hand. “Me too.”
He looked at her, his eyes searching. “Can I see you again? Outside of therapy?”
Emma hesitated, the weight of her responsibilities pressing down on her. But she nodded. “Yes.”
Jack’s smile was radiant. “Good.”
They sat in comfortable silence, watching the sky turn from gold to deep blue.
Later, Jack walked her to her car, wheeling beside her under the streetlights. At her car, they paused.
“Thank you,” Jack said quietly. “For today. For everything.”
Emma looked at him, her heart full. “You’re welcome.”
He reached up, his hand brushing her cheek. “Emma…”
She leaned down, their lips meeting in a gentle, tentative kiss. It was soft and sweet, full of promise.
When they parted, Emma smiled. “Goodnight, Jack.”
“Goodnight, Emma Collins.”
That night, Emma lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. She replayed the kiss, the feel of Jack’s hand on her cheek, the warmth in his eyes. She knew things would get complicated. She knew there were rules, boundaries she shouldn’t cross.
But for the first time in a long time, she felt alive.
She picked up her phone, typing a message before she could talk herself out of it.
I had a good time tonight. Thank you.
The reply came almost instantly.
Me too. Sleep well, Emma.
She smiled, setting her phone aside.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new milestones. But for now, she let herself hope.
- Writer
