“It’s a surprise.” She untangled from my arms and got off the bed. “In the meantime, I need you to relax and reserve all your energy for PT.” She straightened her clothes, grabbing the empty bottle of water off my nightstand. “I’ll be back in a few minutes with a new one of these”—she shook the plastic—“and an Oreo cookie.”

“Straight after my heart.”

She chuckled as she walked out, unintentionally giving me a full view of her ass.

My physical therapist had set me up on the couch, lying across the cushions, a few hours ago after our session. It was a nice change from my bedroom, and the news was playing on the TV. The station was showing an update on the bombers; one had been shot and killed by the police, and the other was in custody, pictures of both filling the screen.

I wasn’t in the forgiving stage yet.

I wanted that motherfucker to suffer.

The flat screen went black, the remote in Whitney’s hand before she returned it to the coffee table. “Enough of that. I need your mind off of what’s happening, not focused on it.” She sat next to me, handing me another drink. “How are you feeling?”

I gulped down several sips. “Decent.”

“How decent?”

My fingers slipped around her thigh, gently tracing to her knee. “Well enough to do whatever you have planned.”

“Caleb …”

My eyes finally glanced up from those sexy legs, and she concentrated on my gaze, one I was positive she could see straight through. “You promise you’re feeling strong after PT?”

“If whatever you have planned becomes too much, you will know.”

“Then, let’s get out of here.”

“I like the sound of that.”

She grinned and brought over the wheelchair. I gave her back the water and gradually sat up. This angle was lower than my bed, but the fiery tingles clutched just as tightly. I moved slowly through each inch, her arm guiding me to my feet, and I turned and sat on the hard vinyl.

I instantly raised a finger, hissing, “Wait,” as I exhaled the pain.

She knelt in front of me. “Do you want a pillow for your back?”

I wanted to cut my fucking legs off, to be able to move without the burning going as high as my throat, choking me.

I nodded, breathing through the seconds it took for my back to adjust to the new position, her addition helping me find some comfort.

“All right,” I eventually said, “we can go.”

“One sec.” She rushed toward my bedroom, returning with a sweatshirt that she set over the armrest. “In case you need it.” She then led me to the elevator that opened directly into my foyer.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

She leaned into my ear. “I thought you could use some fresh air.”