AGAINST the ODDS

Chapter 14: The Man Behind the Stubbornness

(Lillian's POV – She sees a different side of him—one that makes her job harder.)

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I have a problem.

A six-foot-four, two-hundred-and-forty-pound problem with a cocky smirk and too much charm for his own good.

Jaxon Reid.

I knew from the start that he would be a difficult patient. I expected the resistance, the stubbornness, the constant battle to get him to slow down and trust the process. What I didn't expect was this.

I didn't expect to look forward to seeing him every day.

I didn't expect to notice the way his mood shifts depending on his progress, how his bravado masks something deeper, or how his presence lingers long after he's gone.

I didn't expect to care beyond the professional sense.

But I do.

And that makes my job a hell of a lot harder.

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A Different Jaxon

Today's session starts like the others. He walks in with his usual confident stride, wearing that damn smirk that somehow manages to be both frustrating and—if I'm honest—dangerously attractive.

"Morning, Doc," he greets, dropping his bag onto the bench.

I glance up from my clipboard. "You're in a good mood."

He shrugs. "Had a good night's sleep."

I narrow my eyes. "Or you're just planning to ignore half my instructions today."

He grins. "No promises."

I shake my head, suppressing a smile.

This is the game we play. He pushes, I push back. But lately, something about it has shifted. It's less of a battle and more of a rhythm. Like we're learning each other's moves.

And I don't know if that's a good thing.

"Alright," I say, straightening. "Let's see how that knee's doing."

He moves to the therapy table, sitting down as I begin my assessment. He's making progress—his range of motion is improving, and the swelling has decreased significantly. But there's still a long road ahead.

"How's the pain?" I ask as I press gently along the joint.

He exhales slowly. "Tolerable."

I raise an eyebrow. "On a scale of one to ten?"

He gives me a pointed look. "Three."

I nod. "Better."

As I continue my assessment, I feel his gaze on me. It's not unusual for him to watch me work, but today, there's something different about it. It's quieter. Less playful.

More... thoughtful.

"What?" I ask without looking up.

"Nothing."

I glance at him. "You're staring."

He smirks. "Maybe I just like the view."

I roll my eyes, but my stomach flips in a way I do not like.

This cannot happen.

I am his doctor. He is my patient. There are rules—rules I refuse to break.

So I do what I do best. I redirect.

"Let's get started," I say, stepping back. "You up for a challenge today?"

His smirk deepens. "Always."

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More Than Just an Athlete

An hour later, I'm watching something I never thought I'd see.

Jaxon Reid being patient.

Not completely—he still grumbles when I tell him to slow down, still pushes the limits of what he should be doing. But today, he's listening more. Controlling his movements.

And the most surprising part?

He's actually enjoying it.

"Alright," I say as he finishes a set of single-leg balance exercises. "Take a break."

He exhales, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. "You really know how to t*****e a guy, huh?"

I smirk. "It's a gift."

He chuckles, shaking his head. Then, after a moment, he leans back against the therapy table, glancing at me.

"Can I ask you something?"

I hesitate, then nod. "Sure."

He studies me for a second. "Why are you always so serious?"

I blink. "Excuse me?"

"I mean, I get it. You're a doctor, you're focused, you don't have time for nonsense. But I've seen you." He tilts his head. "When you're not thinking so hard, you actually seem kinda... fun."

I cross my arms. "Kinda fun?"

He grins. "I'm being generous."

I narrow my eyes. "And what makes you think I'm not fun?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe the fact that I've never seen you relax. Ever."

I open my mouth to argue but stop. Because... he's right.

I am always serious. Always focused. Because I have to be.

Because the moment I let my guard down, things get messy.

And I can't afford messy.

I clear my throat. "This isn't about me, Jaxon. We're here for your rehab."

He nods slowly. "Right. Of course."

But there's something in his eyes—a flicker of something I can't quite place.

And I know this conversation isn't over.

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The Line is Blurring

By the time we finish the session, I'm more exhausted than he is. Not physically, but mentally.

Because today, Jaxon wasn't just my patient.

He was something else.

Someone who sees me in a way most people don't.

And I don't like how much I don't hate that.

As he grabs his bag, he pauses. "Hey, Doc?"

I look up. "Yeah?"

He hesitates. Then, with a smirk that doesn't quite reach his eyes, he says, "Try not to think too hard, okay?"

I stare at him, thrown off by the words.

And before I can respond, he's gone.

Leaving me standing there, questioning everything I thought I had under control.