His words make too much sense, but I’m not ready to feel any sympathy. “I know, Dad, but he’s nice one second and a grump the next. And then he’s apologizing before I can even process being angry. It’s up and down, back and forth, and in one day I already feel the whiplash from it.”

Dad smiles at me, his eyes shining, and I love that I can talk to him about anything. “I know, honey, and it’ll probably be this way for a while. The pain medication can mess with your emotions and moods. And the helplessness and loneliness can do a number on an injured patient. I know you’re damn stubborn, but try and be patient with him. It sounds like he needs it. And if it gets to be too much, take out your frustrations in the ring, okay?”

I know that he’s right, and for more than the first time, I’m thankful Dad introduced me to kickboxing as a kid. After realizing what a stubborn kid I was, he was very adamant that I found a way to channel my anger and annoyance in a positive way. We’ve been scrapping together for nearly twenty years, and we have a standing boxing date every Sunday at the local boxing gym where many soldiers frequent. I’ve tried to drag Lucy with me, but she refuses to get her pretty face bruised and sticks to the regular gym where we take yoga classes together. I’m stuck sparring with guys at the gym who try to take it easy on me. It wasn’t until they saw Dad and me beating the crap out of each other that they finally started treating me like an adversary instead of a wilting flower, but Kale’s still the only one who comes at me full force.

Finishing my beer, I stand to leave. “Thanks for the advice, Dad. I’ll try to be more patient with him. Will you be at the gym tomorrow, or are you having a late night?” I ask him, wiggling my eyebrows up at him, causing him to blush.

He shakes his head, chuckling at me. “I’ll be there, Charlie. No doubt about that.”

Leaning over, I give him another kiss on the cheek. “Love you, Dad. Have a good time tonight. You deserve it.”

“Thanks, honey. I love you, too. Remember that when I kick your ass tomorrow.”

Laughing, I give him one last smile and I leave the house, feeling much better than before. Wade Davenport is the best man I’ve ever known, and I hope Dr. Branch realizes that. For both their sakes.

IT’S BEEN three days since that weird first day with Knox, and it’s no less awkward than it was when I left Saturday evening. Dad and I sparred the next day, and I know I was a little more intense than normal. He seemed tired, and I was curious as to how his date was. I didn’t want to push it, so I decided to let him tell me when he’s ready. I just kicked, jabbed, and even got in one good uppercut before he was ready to call it quits.

I’ve been to Knox’s place every day since then, but we’ve barely interacted. When I showed up on Sunday after working out with Dad, he frowned at the bruise that was forming on my cheek from a jab I hadn’t blocked, but he only opened the door to let me in, not saying a word. Since then, we’ve only talked when necessary, and it hasn’t escaped my attention that he still hasn’t asked me to put the lotion on his back. I felt bad that I’d forgotten, but I wasn’t bringing it up if he wasn’t going to.

I’m pulling up to his house, ready to take him to a doctor appointment. I know he’s wishing that he’s going to get the okay to stop wearing the brace, and I’m hopeful for him, too. Maybe that’ll put him in a better mood. Although he hasn’t asked about the lotion, the evil part of me hopes he isn’t quite done with it yet. Cohen promised I’d get to rub lotion on his skin, and I inwardly cringe as I realize that I sound like freaking Buffalo Bill. “It rubs the lotion on its skin or it gets the hose again.” What the hell, Charlie? I think to myself as I shake the thought out of my head. Am I really quoting a fictional serial killer from Silence of the Lambs as I imagine rubbing my hands over his body? God, help me. If I start to discuss the delectable pairing of a Chilean Malbec with the juicy part of the brain, please find the nearest looney bin and drop me at their front door.

I exit the car and make my way up the front porch steps. I’m about to knock on the door when he opens it.

“Been waitin’ for you all damn day, sweetheart,” he informs me as he impatiently taps his fingers against the doorjamb.

Rolling my eyes, I don’t bother to check him out, because all I’ve seen him in since Saturday is a pair of basketball shorts and his brace, which he’s currently not wearing. “Sorry, Your Majesty, but I do have a job that requires me to show up and, you know, put in eight hours of work. That’s why Cohen scheduled your appointments for the afternoon.” I glance down at my watch and realize that, if we don’t get out of here soon, we’re going to be late. “Would it have killed you to have gotten dressed before I got here?”

I brush past him and head back towards his bedroom and into his closet. Hearing him behind me, I don’t turn around. Instead I start looking for an acceptable shirt he can slip on to go with his shorts. Finally, I decide on just a simple green t-shirt, not purposely choosing it so it matches his eyes or anything. Yeah, right.

When I turn around, I spot him sitting on the edge of his bed, watching me. I throw the shirt at him. “Here, put this on.” The shirt hits him square in the chest and falls into his lap. With my hands on my hips, I want impatiently, but he just sits there, still watching me.

“Umm, sweetheart, I could use a little help here,” he informs me, holding out his broken arm to show that he might need some assistance. Oh come on. He can’t honestly expect me to believe that he can’t get a t-shirt around his cast. Sighing, I cross the room to him and grab the material from him.

“This might be easier if you stand up,” I tell him, and he complies silently. Even at my five foot eight, he still stands about half a foot taller than me, so I climb onto his bed, standing up on it. He moves closer so I can help him. After I instruct him to hold his arms out, he complies as I place the open sleeve over his broken arm and feed it up past his cast. Putting his good arm through the other sleeve, I easily slip it up and over his head. It gets caught on his ear, so I have to yank down, causing him to curse. I can’t help the smirk that spreads over my face as I pull the t-shirt the rest of the way down, my fingers lingering on the skin as I cover it. He scowls at me, and before I know it, he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me to him so we’re chest to chest.

“I have to admit, Charlie, I’m used to women undressing me. Not the other way around. But I think I can get used to you doing this for me, especially if you keep looking at me like it pains you to cover me up,” he whispers in my ear, his breath tickling me as his words send a shiver down my spine.

Pulling back from him, I glare. “I was no—” He cuts me off my placing a long finger on my lips.

“Whatever you want to tell yourself, sweetheart,” he says, grinning at me. What was it that I called him? Oh yeah, an arrogant cockbag.

“Excuse me for trying to be helpful. And stop calling me sweetheart! I have a name, you know.”

He just keeps grinning at me, and I swear that in three days’ time he’s learned how to push every single one of my buttons. Huffing, I clamber off the bed and leave the room with him trailing behind me. When we get to the living room, I remember that he needs his brace, so I run back to his room to get it. He scowls but allows me to fasten it on him.

“Get your shit. You’ve wasted enough of my time and I’m not going to make you late to the first appointment that I’m supposed to take you to,” I snap, watching as he grabs his wallet and keys.

He locks up the house, and it isn’t until we’re in the car and on the highway that I begin to smell the sweat on him. Wrinkling my nose, I look over at him only to find him staring out the window.