The physical therapy room smelled of effort and rubbing alcohol. Jim gripped the parallel bars, sweat darkening his t-shirt as he worked through another set of exercises. His heart monitor kept steady time - a rhythm far different from the ones that used to drive stadium crowds wild.
"That's enough for today," Rory said from where she sat with Junie, both sisters watching him with carefully measured concern.
"Two more," Jim insisted, though his arms trembled slightly.
"One," Junie countered, her nurse practitioner tone gentle but firm. "Your heart rate's climbing."
The soft tap of footsteps announced a new arrival. Lisa Torres stood in the doorway, beautiful even in travel-worn jeans and one of Sphinx's old band t-shirts. Her presence brought with it echoes of a world Rory had only gli
