AGAINST the ODDS

Chapter 15: The Fire I Shouldn't Feed

(Jaxon's POV – Rehab intensifies, and so does his attraction to Lillian.)

⸻

Rehab is getting harder.

Not just physically—though my knee is screaming at me more than ever—but mentally, too.

Because the more time I spend with Dr. Lillian Carter, the more I realize my biggest battle isn't with my own body. It's with her.

Or more specifically, with the way I can't stop wanting her.

It's a problem. A big one. And no matter how much I try to push it aside, it keeps coming back stronger.

⸻

The Pain is Worth It

"Push, Jaxon. Just a little more."

I grit my teeth, beads of sweat rolling down my back as I force my leg to extend against the resistance band. My quad is on fire, my knee feels like it might explode, but I don't stop.

I can't stop.

Because she's watching.

Because when Lillian Carter tells me to do something, I do it. Not just because I have to, but because there's something about the way she looks at me when I prove her wrong—when I push through the pain and do what she thought I couldn't.

I want that look.

I need it.

One more rep.

I release the band and collapse back onto the mat, chest heaving. "You're evil," I groan.

Lillian smirks, hands on her hips. "You can stop any time, you know."

I wipe the sweat from my forehead and shake my head. "No chance."

She kneels beside me, her fingers pressing against my knee, checking for swelling. The touch is clinical, professional—it should be neutral. But it's not.

Not for me.

I feel it like an electric current, like a slow burn I can't put out.

And I know I should be fighting it.

But I don't want to.

⸻

Crossing a Line in My Head

"So, you're finally listening to me," she says, her voice teasing but laced with something else. Something almost... proud.

I grin, tilting my head up to look at her. "I told you I was coachable."

She rolls her eyes but doesn't pull away.

That's another thing I've started noticing.

She stays close.

Maybe she doesn't realize it. Maybe she's just too focused on my recovery to overthink the space between us. But I think about it. Every damn second.

It's messing with me.

Because when I first met her, all I saw was another doctor trying to hold me back. Someone who didn't understand what it meant to be an athlete, to need the game like I need air.

But now?

Now I see someone who does understand. Someone who sees through the front I put up, past the cocky attitude and the refusal to admit I'm scared.

She sees me.

And that makes her dangerous.

⸻

More Than Physical Therapy

After the session, I sit on the edge of the therapy table, rolling my shoulder, still catching my breath. Lillian jots down notes on her clipboard, her face unreadable.

"You're improving," she says without looking up.

"Yeah?"

She nods. "At this rate, you might actually make a full recovery in time for next season."

I raise an eyebrow. "Might?"

She smirks. "Don't push it, Reid."

I chuckle, but there's something else in her voice. A softness I don't hear often.

I watch her for a moment, the way her brow furrows slightly as she writes, the way she chews on the inside of her cheek when she's thinking.

And before I can stop myself, I ask the question that's been sitting in the back of my mind for weeks.

"What do you do for fun?"

She looks up, surprised. "What?"

I shrug. "Outside of work. What do you do when you're not torturing people in the name of medicine?"

Her lips twitch, like she wants to smile but doesn't want to give me the satisfaction. "I read," she says finally.

I nod. "Figures."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

I smirk. "You seem like the type."

She raises an eyebrow. "And what type is that?"

"The kind that thinks too much."

She lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "And you don't?"

I lean back on my hands, stretching my legs out in front of me. "Not if I can help it."

She watches me for a beat, then says, "Maybe you should try it sometime."

"Maybe you should try not thinking so much."

We hold each other's gaze, and suddenly, the air between us shifts.

It's subtle, but it's there.

Something neither of us wants to acknowledge.

Because we can't.

Because she's my doctor.

And I'm her patient.

But damn if that line isn't getting harder to see.

⸻

The Problem with Wanting Her

By the time I leave, my knee is aching, but that's not what's bothering me.

It's her.

The way she looks at me when she thinks I don't notice. The way she softens, just for a second, when I push past my limits and don't back down.

I shouldn't care.

I shouldn't want her to look at me like that.

But I do.

And I don't know how much longer I can pretend otherwise.