Free Crash Pad by Whitley Gray

curved in a ninety-degree arc around mats, weight machines, and parallel bars. Nubby cranberry and gray carpet covered the floor in a random pattern of circles. A few other injured souls glanced up, grunting and sweating their way through sessions with their physical therapists. Jamie flashed them a wry grin in commiseration.
    Beyond the glassed-in area, ten exam tables separated by striped curtains occupied the therapy department. Craig strolled ahead to a table at the far end, then pivoted and observed Jamie’s progress. Gritting his teeth, Jamie straightened as much as he could and tried not to limp. Jeez . He was sweating like a pig. By the time he made it to the table, he was only too ready to slide onto the paper-covered Naugahyde and lie down. Would he ever get back to his routine of running in the park?
    Remy would be out there, training for the next big marathon. No, running didn’t sound so great after all. A new sport might be in order—something that wouldn’t attract Remy. Like water ballet. Beneath Jamie’s head, the pillow crackled inside its cotton pillowcase.
    “Looking forward to coming back to work?” Craig asked.
    “I’d much rather be here as a massage therapist than a patient,” Jamie grumbled.
    “Soon.” Craig bent Jamie’s knee, then gently unlaced and removed his running shoe and sock. “Tell me if this hurts.”
    “So far it’s okay.” Bearable.
    Craig flexed the ankle. “How about now?”
    “’S okay.” Not enough to say uncle yet. Maybe aunt.
    Studying his face, Craig put more pressure on the joint.
    “That’s…uncomfortable.” Yeah, about like having a scalpel buried to the hilt in his Achilles’ tendon.
    “And now?”
    Straight past uncle to Great Aunt Jennie’s hot-pepper pancakes. Damn, that hurt . Jamie clamped his teeth together.
    “Still pretty tender.” Craig straightened Jamie’s leg and let him catch his breath. “I’m going to get the whirlpool set up and I’ll be back. Maybe a little massage to loosen you up?”
    “Sure.”
    “Go ahead and get ready. Back in a minute.” Craig pulled the curtain around to table to give him privacy.
    My God . The throbbing in his ankle brought tears to his eyes. Was he ever going to get over this? Jamie pulled off his other shoe and sock and stripped off his warm-up pants. In his running shorts, he eased onto the table and lay down on his stomach, sighing with relief.
    No way could he keep up the pretense that his ankle was all better. He’d have to figure out something else he could do at work, something that wouldn’t involve standing. Maybe Sean would let him do light duty—setting up and supervising the whirlpool would be okay for a couple of weeks. Weights clanked somewhere out in the therapy area, and a man groaned.
    Returning to his old job with Baron was an option.
    And deal with the possibility of Vince? No, thank you.
    There was always telemarketing from his cozy rent-by-the-week motel room. Or move in with Sarah. Or return Remy’s calls. He buried his face in his folded arms. A great bunch of alternatives.
    “Ready?” Craig’s voice came from behind the curtain.
    “Yeah.”
    Metal rings scraped along the rod as the curtain was whisked open, and then back in place. “Okay. I’m going to start with some lotion.”
    The squirt of the bottle reminded Jamie of massaging Remy. A light scent reached his nose, and his chest ached. Large hands slicked down his calf, and strong thumbs dug into the tense muscle. Jamie jumped.
    “Relax.” Craig’s voice had that therapeutic note all medical professionals seemed to use as he rubbed into the knots there. “Use some visualization.”
    “Trying.” Taking a deep breath, Jamie closed his eyes, pictured the sprain healing, pictured himself running, pictured giving Remy a massage. Now that wasn’t helpful.
    Strong hands flexed his knee, brought his foot up. Gentle fingertips stroked along his calf to his instep, across his arch. Not painful, just relaxing. Heat