AGAINST the ODDS

Chapter 13: More Than Just Rehab

(Jaxon's POV – He starts looking forward to their sessions, and it's not just about his knee.)

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Rehab still sucks.

The pain. The slow progress. The nagging feeling in the back of my head that no matter how hard I push, I might never get back to the player I was before.

But for some reason, I don't hate it as much anymore.

And it's not because of the exercises.

It's because of her.

Dr. Lillian Carter.

The woman who should be my biggest enemy in this whole process—the one constantly telling me to slow down, to trust the plan, to stop fighting against the very thing meant to help me—has somehow become the person I look forward to seeing every damn day.

And that's a problem.

A big one.

Because this isn't supposed to happen.

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A Shift in Perspective

I walk into the therapy room, expecting the usual routine—stretching, strength exercises, her lecturing me about overdoing it.

What I don't expect is the way my chest tightens when I see her standing there, skimming through my chart, completely unaware that I'm watching her.

She's always so damn focused. So serious.

But every now and then, when she's not paying attention, I catch something else.

Something softer.

Like right now—her brows slightly furrowed, lips pressed together in a way that isn't annoyance but concentration. The way she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, oblivious to the fact that she's doing it.

I should not be noticing these things.

I clear my throat. "You're making that face again."

She looks up, startled. "What face?"

"The one where you're thinking so hard I swear I can hear it."

Her lips twitch like she's fighting a smile. "It's called doing my job."

I smirk. "If you say so."

I drop my bag on the floor and sit on the table, stretching out my leg. The knee still feels tight, but I can already tell it's better than last week. Not good enough, but better.

Progress.

She steps in front of me, arms crossed. "How's the pain?"

"Manageable."

She tilts her head. "On a scale of one to ten?"

"Two."

Her eyes narrow. "Jaxon."

I sigh. "Fine. Four."

She gives me a look. "That's more like it."

She kneels beside me, fingertips pressing lightly around my knee, checking for swelling. I should be focusing on the pain, but all I can think about is how close she is. The way her hair smells—something light and clean. The way her hands move with certainty, like she knows exactly what she's doing.

Which, of course, she does.

Because she's brilliant.

And I'm in trouble.

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More Than Just the Knee

We go through the usual exercises, and for the first time, I don't fight her on them.

Maybe because I'm too distracted by the way she keeps watching me, like she's trying to figure me out.

Halfway through the session, I catch her staring.

"What?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

She shakes her head. "Nothing. Just... you're actually listening to me today."

I shrug. "Don't get used to it."

She smirks. "Noted."

She hands me the resistance band, and as I start my reps, I glance at her again.

"Why rehab?" I ask.

She frowns. "What do you mean?"

I keep my movements steady. "You could've been a surgeon, right? You're obviously smart enough. Why choose this instead?"

She hesitates, like she wasn't expecting the question. "Because I like being part of the process. Surgery is important, but after that, most doctors don't see their patients again. Rehab is different. It's where the real work happens."

I nod slowly, letting that sink in. "You like fixing people."

She laughs softly. "I like helping people fix themselves."

Something about the way she says it makes my stomach tighten.

Because that's exactly what she's doing with me.

She's not just fixing my knee.

She's forcing me to see things differently. To stop hiding behind my own stubbornness. To trust her.

And somehow, without me even realizing it, she's become the one person I do.

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An Unexpected Moment

At the end of the session, I'm more exhausted than I want to admit. My knee aches, but it's nothing compared to the frustration swirling in my head.

Because I shouldn't be thinking about her like this.

I shouldn't be looking forward to these sessions just because I want to see her.

But I do.

As I grab my bag, she clears her throat. "Hey."

I turn. "Yeah?"

She hesitates. "You... you did good today."

I raise an eyebrow. "Did you just compliment me?"

She rolls her eyes. "Don't get used to it."

I chuckle. "Too late."

For a moment, neither of us moves.

And I realize we're standing too close.

That I can see the way her breathing shifts, the way her fingers tighten slightly against her clipboard.

Something is there.

Something neither of us is ready to admit.

So I do the only thing I can do.

I smirk, nod toward her clipboard. "See you tomorrow, Doc."

She shakes her head but doesn't look away.

"Yeah," she says softly. "See you tomorrow."

And as I walk out, I already know—tomorrow can't come soon enough.