AGAINST the ODDS

Chapter 17: A Win Worth Celebrating

(Jaxon's POV – A breakthrough in his recovery gives him hope—and an excuse to celebrate with her.)

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Rehab has been hell.

Every day, I push my body past its limits. Every day, my knee reminds me that it's still not the same. And every day, Dr. Lillian Carter is right there, making sure I don't do anything reckless.

She's the toughest trainer I've ever had—and that's saying something. But today? Today, something finally clicks.

And I'm ready to celebrate.

With her.

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The Moment I Needed

I'm halfway through my session when it happens.

For weeks, my knee has felt stiff, weak, unreliable. Every time I've tried to do a lateral movement drill, I've felt that nagging hesitation, that slight instability that reminds me I'm not there yet.

But today, when Lillian tells me to try again, I don't overthink it.

I just move.

And for the first time since the injury, my knee holds up.

No pain. No wobbling. No hesitation.

Just strength.

I stop mid-drill, hands on my hips, chest rising and falling as I process what just happened.

Lillian is watching me, clipboard in hand, her expression unreadable. But I know her well enough now to see past the mask.

She felt it too.

That shift.

That win.

A slow grin spreads across my face. "Tell me you saw that."

She exhales, nodding. "I saw it."

I wait for her to say more, but she doesn't.

She just stands there, studying me like she's waiting for something to go wrong.

"Admit it," I push. "That was solid."

"It was good," she concedes. "But—"

"No 'but,' Doc." I point at her. "That was a breakthrough, and you know it."

Her lips press together, like she doesn't want to give me the satisfaction. But then, after a long pause, she sighs.

"Fine," she says. "It was a breakthrough."

I grin. "Damn right it was."

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An Excuse to Celebrate

When the session ends, I grab my water bottle and stretch, rolling out my shoulders. Lillian is already updating my chart, her focus completely on the tablet in her hands.

Which makes it the perfect time to catch her off guard.

"We should celebrate," I say.

She doesn't even look up. "Celebrate what?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Uh, my breakthrough? The one you just admitted was a big deal?"

She finally glances at me, unimpressed. "You're supposed to recover. That's literally why we're here."

I smirk. "Yeah, but it's been weeks of setbacks. You saw how clean that movement was. That's worth something."

Lillian sighs. "Jaxon—"

"Come on, Doc," I cut in. "Just one drink. One toast to the fact that I'm actually getting somewhere."

She shakes her head. "I don't drink with patients."

I grin. "Good thing I'm not asking you as my doctor."

That throws her off.

She blinks, clearly trying to decide how to respond.

For a second, I think she's going to shut me down again. But then, after a long pause, she exhales and says, "One drink. That's it."

I can't help the victory grin that spreads across my face.

Because for the first time since this whole thing started... I got her to say yes.

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Blurring the Line

A couple of hours later, we're sitting at a small bar not far from the rehab center. It's nothing fancy—just a quiet place with good drinks and dim lighting.

Lillian is nursing a glass of wine, looking ridiculously out of place in her neatly pressed blouse and the lingering aura of I don't do this.

"You look uncomfortable," I say, taking a sip of my beer.

She lifts an eyebrow. "Probably because I am."

I chuckle. "Come on, Doc. It's just a drink. Not a contract."

She shakes her head, sipping her wine. "I just don't do this with patients."

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. "And yet... here we are."

Her lips twitch, but she doesn't let herself smile.

Instead, she changes the subject. "So, how are you feeling? About today?"

I know what she's doing—keeping this professional, even outside of the rehab center. But I let it slide.

"For the first time in a long time, I feel good," I admit. "Like maybe this isn't the end of my career after all."

She nods. "It's a big step. But you still have a long way to go."

"I know," I say. "But for the first time, I actually believe I can get back."

She studies me for a moment, and I swear there's something in her expression—something almost soft. But then she blinks, and it's gone.

"Well," she says, lifting her glass slightly. "To small victories, then."

I grin and clink my beer against her wine glass. "To small victories."

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The Problem With This

The more time I spend with Lillian, the harder it is to ignore the obvious.

She's not just my doctor.

She's Lillian.

She's sharp, focused, and way too good at keeping me in check. She challenges me in ways most people don't.

And damn it, I like it.

I like her.

And that's a problem.

Because as much as I want to see where this thing could go, I know she won't let it.

I can see it in the way she holds herself back, in the way she refuses to let anything slip past the professional barrier she's built between us.

But I also see the way she looks at me sometimes—like maybe, just maybe, she's fighting something too.

And I'm not the kind of guy who walks away from a challenge.

So, as we finish our drinks and step outside into the cool night air, I make a decision.

I'm not going to push too hard.

Not yet.

But I am going to find out just how strong her walls really are.

Because something tells me they're not as unbreakable as she thinks.