Damon’s POV
The air in the clinic felt heavier today, like it had soaked up all the tension I was trying to leave at the door. I leaned on my crutches, my injured leg dragging behind me as I made my way to the therapy room.
Each step was a reminder of how far I had to go, and how much further I might fall if things didn’t turn around soon. Winter was already there, her dark curls pulled back into a neat bun, her focus on arranging equipment with an efficiency that bordered on cold.
She looked up briefly when I entered, her gaze sharp and unreadable, before she turned back to her work. “Morning,” she said, I could notice the tension in her voice. “Morning,” I replied, lowering myself onto the therapy table. The silence between us was sharper than usual, and for once, I wasn’t in the mood
