My (Not So) Perfect Plan (Believe In Us #2)

THREE

CLAIRE

Evan looks like he swallowed a frog, both dismayed and terrified. Gee, is it really so bad to see me?

“Hi, Evan.” I awkwardly wave the chart at him, feeling really uncomfortable and wondering again why it is that Joanna has me be the one to log him in. I mean, I know why. The second she heard that I knew him, she thought it would be a great idea for me to do it so “he’ll be more comfortable.” Why do I get the feeling her plan is completely backfiring?

He looks terrible. Black rings under his eyes tell me he hasn’t been sleeping, and while he has the beginnings of a sigh-worthy beard going, I can only assume it’s because he just didn’t care enough to shave. He frowns at me.

“What are you doing here?” he growls out.

I ignore him and look at his mother. I’ve never met her, but her blonde hair is carefully coifed and her tailored button up, ankle length slacks, and ballet flats all scream money. These people are out of my league. Uber professional it is then.

“Hi, Mrs Carmichael,” I say, going up to her and offering my hand. “I’m Claire Brown. I go to school with your son, but I volunteer at the clinic in the afternoons a few days out of the week.”

She shakes my hand, curiosity burning in her gaze. How do I tell her that her son and I have basically zero history?

“I’m just going to get him checked in and do the basic questions and then Joanna, the therapist, will come in and we’ll start. You’re welcome to stay, but if you’d rather wait in the waiting room, there’s free wifi.”

She nods at me and takes a seat on a bench. I sit down on a rolling stool and move over to Evan, clicking my pen open and flipping open the chart. His gaze drills into mine, slightly tormented if I have to guess.

“Okay,” I say to him with the same easy smile I give all my patients, “let’s get started.”

“Easy, go easy, slow,” Joanna says, holding Evan’s leg in place. “You don’t need to go fast. Going faster is not going to help your leg heal faster. And don’t push it. It’ll be painful, but if it’s excruciating, stop. The point of these exercises is to keep your muscle tone up so you have great pot surgery recovery.”

Evan sighed and slammed his head back on the table.

“All right. I’m going to show you some exercises you can do at home. If you need help, maybe your mom can help you. Or maybe Claire can come over?” Joanna winks at me and I do everything I can to keep from blushing because yeah, that is not going to happen. I can just see me in Evan’s McMansion. Pfft.

“Let’s start with some leg extensions. We don’t want you getting locked up in here. Here, Claire, I want you to help him sit up.”

I place one hand on his arm and slid the other behind his back as he start to sit up. He has some serious muscles and he smelled delicious, all spicy and leather and male. I am furiously trying not to notice because I’m a professional. Professional. Professional, I keep reminding myself.

“Now, I want you to keep this leg bent and here’s where you’re going to need help. I want you to extend your leg, but I don’t want you pushing too hard. You need someone to support your leg while you do it, but I want you to do most of the work. Okay?”

Evan nods, sweat beading on his brow just in the effort to lift his leg.

“It’s okay if you can’t lift it very far. Just try for a tiny, fraction of a bit more every day.”

She works with him for several minutes, until his elbows are trembling.

“Now, Claire, help him lay back down.”

I reach out, oh so happy to put my hands on him again even though I know I shouldn’t be, and help him lay down again. His frown is immediate and I withdraw my hands as soon as possible because apparently he hates it when I touch him. Or maybe he’s just hurting, I remind myself. It’s not like everything is about me. I’m just a therapy assistant.

After five minutes, Joanna and I get him to his feet. I am decently tall, but he still stands a whole head taller than me.

“We’re going to help you practice using those crutches. Hold him steady, Claire, while I grab a different pair of crutches.” She leaves the room. I’m still holding him around the waist, his body warm beneath my hands. My heart races with the contact. I swallow, trying not to notice how his abs are strong, corded, ridges of muscle beneath my fingers. I try not to think about it, but trying to control my breathing is difficult. He leans toward me and breathes in. Is he smelling me? No, can’t be. He’s probably strained with the effort of holding himself upright like this. My eyes flit up to his. He is looking down at me with a pained expression that makes me pull back a little bit.

“You okay?” I ask.

He makes some sort of growly sound low in his throat right before Joanna comes in like a ball of sunshine holding a new set of crutches.

“I didn’t like the feet on those crutches the hospital gave you. These should provide better support.”

He takes them from her and I continue holding on to his waist to make sure he doesn’t fall while he situates himself.

“All right, take some practice steps,” Joanna says, ready to catch him if starts going down.

I look up at him, watching his face as he purses his mouth in concentration. He grunts, the tips of his ears turning red.

“Good, just keep doing that,” Joanna says. “Claire, you stay with him, don’t let go. I’m going to go over some of the exercise handouts with Mrs. Carmichael and make sure she doesn’t have any questions. You good with that?”

“Um, uh…” I tried to object, but she is gone before I can say anything coherent.

“Are you (step)… afraid (step)… to be alone (step)… with me (step)?” he asks.

“N-no?” I look up at him, pleasantly surprised to see his signature smirk directed at me. Looks like his spirits are improving, which is excellent since a positive outlook can only speed recovery. But I realize, we are alone together in a more intimate position than I ever have been with anyone I know outside of family. If I could just get my breathing under control, that would be great. He sways and I step in closer, ready to help him get his balance. That puts our faces within inches of each other and the desire to know what his scruffy chin feels like against my cheek is almost overwhelming. Stupid crush!

I step back, confident he’s found his balance again, though my hands are still at his waist.

“I’m not afraid to be alone with you,” I say quietly and then add in a teasing tone, “If anything, you should be afraid to be alone with me. You’re pretty much at my mercy.”

He does that growly thing again as he steps forward strongly.

“Good job,” I say, coaxing him to take another step. “Why don’t we shoot for the back wall? And then we can turn around and go back the other way.”

I take my eyes off the muscles that his thin t-shirt is pretty much doing nothing to conceal and wet my lips. His eyes watch me with a look in them I’ve never seen before, but it’s intense and I’m like a deer in the headlights.

He swings forward, bringing himself within three inches of me. “Your scrubs are really flattering.”

“They’re too small,” I admit without thinking because I’m too lost in his proximity. “They didn’t have anything else available. I’ve promised myself to buy a different set when I can afford it.”

The sheen of sweat on his brow gathers to trickle down his temple. I pull off the towel I have slung over my shoulder and wipe his brow.

“They are definitely not too small,” Evan says with the charming smile that no doubt has women everywhere offering him their panties.

I gulp. “Do you need a break? I think you could use a break.” Because I sure as heck need a break .

“Maybe a cold shower,” he says, swinging forward two more steps. My eyes glance down involuntarily. He starts snickering.

It wasn’t my fault, totally not at all my fault. He swings forward another step and suddenly there’s nowhere for me to go. We’ve reached the back wall. We were supposed to turn around and go the other way. Instead he seems pretty content to crowd my space on the wall.

“So, Claire, about this tutoring,” he says, leaning in toward me. His voice is smooth and deep, washing through me. I can feel little puffs of air on my mouth as he speaks and it makes me shiver.

“Hm?” I ask, not even knowing what he’s talking about. Is he going to kiss me? It feels like he’s going to kiss me. Do I want Evan Carmichael, known-lady’s-man, to kiss me? The answer is undeniably, yes. Please. Kiss me, Carmichael.

He lifts his head and grins at me, like he knows exactly the effect he’s having on me. It’s enough to wake me up from my zombie trance. Muttering to myself about fangirling like an idiot I slip out from in front of him and wait for him to turn.

“I’m afraid I’m going to fall over, Miss Brown. I think you better hold on to me so I don’t lose my balance,” Evan says in the most pathetic voice known to man.

I narrow my eyes at him because there’s not a person alive that wouldn’t believe he doesn’t have an ulterior motive. But, Joanna did say I was supposed to hold on to him and I do love the way he feels. At the same time, I wonder if there is some kind of ethics violation I’m committing by enjoying this. I step up to him again and put my fingers on his waist. He takes a quick intake of breath as he stares into my eyes and I wonder if maybe I’m having an effect on him too.

Joanna breezes back into the room. “Excellent. I talked it over with your mother, Evan. Since Claire is familiar with all the exercises, instead of volunteering her hours here, she can volunteer her hours helping you do your exercises. You’ll be coming here once a week just to check in and make sure you’re progressing. Let me know next week when your surgery is because that will affect your plan of care. Sound good?”

He nods and seems to be much happier now than when he first arrived, but I am panicking. PT three days out of the week, for an hour at a time?

“That’s actually perfect,” he says. “We can do our tutoring then too, if you’re good with that?”

“Just make sure you don’t try to do the tutoring while you’re doing the rehab. You really need to make sure your mind is focused on the PT when you’re doing it,” Joanna tells him.

I raise my eyebrows at him to emphasize the point. None of this distraction with flirty behavior.

“Help me to my wheel chair, Claire?” Evan asks me. The deep, rumbly sound of my name on his lips has me wanting to fan myself. Oh, man, I am in so much trouble.

Evan is finally situated in the car. I’m holding Mrs. Carmichael’s purse and the folder with Evan’s information. I can’t say I’m sorry to see him go. He tends to disturb my equilibrium, which is already disturbed enough what with the chaos at home.

Mrs. Carmichael comes up to me looking a bit frazzled. I’m sure she doesn’t appreciate it considering she looks like one of those people who trys to stay in a constant state of interview –ready preparedness.

“You’re a dear,” she says, taking the purse and folder from me. “I was wondering. This might be an imposition, but I hope the payment will even things out. You go to school with Evan, right?”

Where was she going with this? “Yeah…?”

“Well, he’s going to be almost bed-ridden for weeks if not months.”

I nod my head. His sort of injury was not fun.

“I worked it out with the school that he’ll be able to complete whatever he misses in school at home.” She turns and does this weird thing where she looks at her car closely, as if to see whether Evan is watching her. It looks like he is buried in his phone, but she turns her back to him just in case and leans forward to whisper, “Since his football career is ruined, we want to get him into college on an academic scholarship. His father refuses to pay for college. Wants him to bootstrap or something.”

“Yeah, of course.” I bob my head because that makes sense, although why she’s trying to hide it from Evan, I don’t know.

“Here’s the thing. There are a few subjects he needs to improve his grades on. I know he’s tutoring you in Trigonometry, so it sounds to me like you have a pretty good working relationship with him already. He mentioned that you are in the top 10% in your class – only because it surprised him that you would need his help. Would you consider coming over to tutor him on English, and Spanish? I know it’s a lot to ask, but I can pay for it. Would thirty an hour do it?”

“Thirty?” I ask in shock. I could so use the extra money to pad my college fund.

“Sorry. Forty?” She asks.

“Sure,” I croak before I can talk myself out of it, before she can raise the amount anymore. Who knows how high she would go. “I can bring over any assignments that don’t come over the internet, do some PT with him, and then we could do some tutoring.”

“I think that would be really good because he seems to be really struggling right now and anything to get his mind focused on something other than the loss of any potential football career would be good right now.”

I had no idea this injury was complicating his life this much. It makes me feel a little sick inside. He has potentially month’s worth of recovery in his senior year. It’s not like I am this party animal who planned on having the senior year of all senior years, but I didn’t have to spend it cooped up or bedridden.

“Does he have a lot of his friends stopping by, Mrs. Carmichael? Or at least, showing their support?”

“Some, but I can’t say I was impressed with how many. Two of the kids from the football team showed up, and I know he’s been getting texts, but they don’t seem to make him very happy.”

“Noted.” I didn’t know what I could do about his friends, but even if he didn’t have a ton of people for support, at least I could send a card. “I would gladly do it, but I don’t really have a way to get out there. I don’t have a car.”

“Oh, well.” She worries her mouth a moment. “I really want you to come. If I let you use his truck, will you do it?”

My eyes bug out of my head. “Is he going to be okay with that?”

“It’s not really up to him. We bought him the truck and it won’t be in use while he’s laid up. After the surgery, even if he goes back to school, he won’t be able to safely drive himself for at least a month. I could drop him off, or send a car, but I think he’d appreciate riding in his own vehicle better. For that matter, once he returns to school, I’d feel much better if I knew you were helping him get around since your experienced on the best way to support him.”

I’m really flattered by her faith in me, but I don’t even have my license yet.

“Do you mind if I talk to him about it first?” I ask hesitantly.

She thinks and nods after a moment.

I walk over to the car where Evan has the window open and is resting his head back against the seat.

“Hey.”

He turns to look at me and I flounder at the sight of his scowl. Mr. Grumpy pants.

“So, um, your mom wants me to pick up your assignments for you. She said you’ll have to try to get an academic scholarship now.” His frown deepens but I soldier on. “She was thinking we could do some mutual tutoring. My English for your math.”

“Okay.” A muscle tightens in his jaw. He doesn’t like it, but I didn’t expect him to be okay with it, which leaves me wondering how to present the other part of the problem.

“Um, but so I don’t have a ride to get to your house. Rachel can take me a few times, but I can’t rely on her all the time. Your mom wants me to borrow your truck.” I wince as I say it because what guy wants a girl without a license to be driving his truck? It’s insane.

“You have a license?”

I shook my head, relief visible on the horizon.

“You’re not borrowing my truck without a license.”

Thank you! I smile at him.

“Great! So I’ll tell your mom this won’t work then. I can pick up your assignments and stuff and get one of my friends to drop them off or something or she can pick them up from or whatever. Or she did say she can send a car. Whatever. We’ll work it out.”

I turn away, but his voice stops me in my tracks.

“Or you could get your license.”

I turn back to him. “Huh?”

“You know, become a licensed driver?” He seems serious, except for his eyes which hold a gleam of amusement. “I’ll be laid up with this leg pretty much all the time, but if I don’t have to do anything myself, I’m willing to give your pointer if you get your learner’s permit.”

“Well, I have my permit. I just haven’t done it yet,” I admit, shamefaced.

“Cool. Get one of your friends to drop you off at my house and we’ll go driving.”

“Are you sure? In your truck? You’re okay with me learning how to drive in your truck?” I can’t imagine him actually wanting to do anything but rest.

He shrugs his shoulders. “Consider how anal retentive careful you are about everything, I’m really not worried you’re going to wreck my truck. And I can’t stay holed up at home all day every day. I’ll go nuts.”

I bite my lip, wondering if this is smart. I squint at him, suspicious of his offer. “No laughing at me?”

“Oh, no. There’s going to be laughing,” and for the first time since he’s been here, he grins at me.

I shake my head. “You actually trust me to drive your truck?”

“Not by yourself, yet. I’ll be in the vehicle with you, which means you’ll be extra careful when you’re learning.”

Mrs. Carmichael comes up to the car, looking askance between us.

“I’m going to teach her how to drive,” Evan tells his mother. I look over at her, wanting to see how she will take this news.

She frowns. “Are you sure you should moving around that much?”

“I have the crutches and the surgery will be next week. I know I have to rest the leg and ice it and exercise it, but I figure it will be good to get out every once in a while. You know, so I’m not demoralized.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “Is that a risk?”

He looks at her and then his eyes shift to me for a moment before going back to his mom. He blinks a few times, a faint gleam in his eyes before he masters himself again. Has he been keeping it from his mom?

“Yeah, I think it might be,” he says softly.