Get Out While You Still Can

Leo

Pain had become my new alarm clock.

Not the sharp, unbearable kind.

The worse kind.

The dull ache that settled deep inside my knee the moment I tried to move, reminding me that my body wasn’t mine anymore.

I stared at the ceiling, willing the pain to disappear.

It didn’t.

“Damn it.”

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the protest from my injured knee.

Three months.

Three months since that hit during the conference finals.

Three months since every sports analyst in the country started asking the same question.

Would Leo Vance ever play hockey again?

No one knew the truth.

Not my teammates.

Not my fans.

Not even the media camped outside the estate every other day.

Officially, I was recovering from a minor injury.

Unofficially…

One wrong move could end my career forever.

I limped toward the window and looked across the lake.

Morning fog rolled over the water, peaceful enough to make anyone forget the pressure waiting outside these gates.

I couldn’t.

Not for a second.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Twenty three unread messages.

Coach.

Mason.

Sponsors.

Reporters.

I ignored every one of them.

Another notification appeared.

Grace Bennett

Your therapist will begin your rehabilitation at 9:00 a.m.

I scoffed.

Not if I can help it.

At exactly nine o’clock…

A knock sounded on my bedroom door.

Three calm knocks.

Professional.

Patient.

“Mr. Vance?”

Her voice.

Even after eleven years…

I recognized it instantly.

“Your first session starts in ten minutes.”

I stayed silent.

Maybe she’d take the hint.

Another knock.

“Mr. Vance?”

Nothing.

I smirked.

This was easier than I expected.

She’d get frustrated.

Call Grace.

Walk out.

Problem solved.

Thirty seconds later…

The bedroom door opened.

I stared.

“What are you doing?”

Emilia stood in the doorway holding a clipboard.

She looked annoyingly composed.

“You didn’t answer.”

“So you broke into my room?”

“I used the emergency access key.”

“I never gave you permission.”

“You don’t have to.”

I blinked.

She continued without missing a beat.

“Your manager did.”

Unbelievable.

“I was ignoring you.”

“I noticed.”

“That means I didn’t want to see you.”

“I noticed that too.”

She smiled politely.

“It didn’t change today’s schedule.”

I laughed once.

Short.

Disbelieving.

“You’ve got some nerve.”

“So I’ve been told.”

I pointed toward the door.

“Get out.”

She looked at her watch.

“We’ve already lost four minutes.”

I stared.

Was she serious?

“You really aren’t leaving?”

“No.”

I crossed my arms.

“Interesting.”

“What is?”

“I’ve never met anyone this stubborn.”

She shrugged.

“I’ve never treated anyone this dramatic.”

I couldn’t help it.

A laugh almost escaped me.

Almost.

Instead, I glared.

“You’re impossible.”

“So are you.”

The rehabilitation gym became a battlefield.

“Ten squats.”

“No.”

“Eight.”

“No.”

“Five.”

“No.”

I leaned against the treadmill with a smug grin.

“You can’t force me.”

She wrote something on her clipboard.

“What are you writing?”

“‘Patient refused medically necessary exercises.’”

“You wouldn’t.”

She kept writing.

“I’ll also note that you refused to cooperate on your very first day.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“You like blackmail.”

“I like documentation.”

I hated that answer.

Mostly because it worked.

“Fine.”

I lowered myself into the first squat.

Halfway down, pain shot through my knee.

I clenched my jaw.

Emilia noticed immediately.

“Stop.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re compensating with your right leg.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You shifted your weight before you reached halfway.”

I blinked.

She had noticed that?

Most therapists didn’t.

She walked closer.

“Again.”

This time she watched every movement.

Every angle.

Every breath.

Every tiny shift in balance.

“You’re protecting the inside of your knee.”

I looked away.

“So?”

“So the pain is worse than your medical file says.”

My stomach tightened.

“The file is accurate.”

“It isn’t.”

She said it so confidently that it irritated me.

“You’ve known me for one day.”

“I’ve known your knee for five minutes.”

I opened my mouth.

Closed it again.

Damn.

She was good.

After ninety exhausting minutes, I deliberately grabbed the heaviest dumbbell in the gym.

She looked up immediately.

“What are you doing?”

“Strength training.”

“Put it down.”

“I’ve lifted heavier.”

“Before the injury.”

“I can handle it.”

“No.”

I lifted it anyway.

A sharp pain exploded through my knee.

The weight slipped.

Before it hit the floor…

Emilia caught one side while I caught the other.

We lowered it together.

She turned to me.

“You almost tore the healing tissue.”

“I’m fine.”

She looked genuinely angry now.

“No.”

Her voice was quiet.

“You’re terrified.”

The words hit harder than they should have.

Because they were true.

I wasn’t afraid of pain.

I was afraid of never skating again.

Lunch was served in the formal dining room.

I considered skipping it.

Again.

Unfortunately…

Uncle Victor was already there.

“There he is.”

His familiar smile filled the room before I even sat down.

“My favorite nephew.”

I smirked.

“I’m your only nephew.”

“Which makes the title even more impressive.”

He stood and hugged me carefully, making sure not to bump my injured leg.

“You pushed yourself again.”

“I’m recovering.”

“Recovering doesn’t mean punishing yourself.”

His voice carried the same warmth it always had.

The same warmth I’d depended on since I was nine years old.

After my parents died…

Victor had become everything.

Guardian.

Mentor.

Father.

Best friend.

He noticed Emilia standing near the doorway and immediately smiled.

“You must be Dr. Brooks.”

She nodded politely.

“Yes, sir.”

He walked over and shook her hand with genuine warmth.

“Victor Vance.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine.”

He glanced toward me before sighing dramatically.

“I hope my nephew hasn’t scared you away yet.”

“I’ve survived worse.”

Victor laughed.

“I believe that.”

He pulled out a chair for her himself.

“Please.”

“Join us.”

She hesitated.

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“Nonsense.”

He smiled kindly.

“Anyone helping Leo is family while they’re under this roof.”

I watched Emilia relax just a little.

She wasn’t the only one.

Victor had that effect on people.

He always knew exactly what to say.

Exactly how to make someone feel welcome.

After lunch, Victor stopped me in the hallway.

“Walk with me.”

We headed toward the library.

The moment the doors closed behind us, he looked at me.

“So.”

I already knew what was coming.

“She’s staying.”

I folded my arms.

“Not for long.”

He smiled.

“Still trying to chase her away?”

“I’m succeeding.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You didn’t see this morning.”

“I’ve seen enough.”

He rested a hand on my shoulder.

“Leo…”

His voice softened.

“She’s here to help.”

“I don’t need help.”

“You do.”

“I need a better therapist.”

Victor chuckled.

“Grace tells me she’s one of the best.”

“I don’t care.”

He studied me for a long moment.

Then he asked quietly,

“Is this really about her skills?”

I looked away.

Of course it wasn’t.

He already knew that.

“I just don’t want her here.”

Victor nodded as though he understood.

“If she leaves…”

“She’ll find another job.”

“And if she stays?”

I stared out the library window.

“I’ll make sure she doesn’t.”

Victor sighed, his expression full of patient concern.

“I hope, one day, you’ll stop running from your past.”

His words lingered in the silence between us.

I didn’t answer.

Because I couldn’t.

That evening, I stood on the balcony outside my bedroom.

Down by the lake, Emilia sat alone on a wooden bench.

She held an old photograph in her hands.

Even from this distance, I could see the sadness on her face.

She brushed her thumb across the picture before pressing it gently against her chest.

She looked…

Lonely.

A memory I hadn’t thought about in years surfaced without warning.

A girl standing alone in a rain-soaked school courtyard.

Books scattered across the ground.

Tears she desperately tried to hide.

And me…

Doing nothing.

I gripped the balcony railing until my knuckles turned white.

“No,” I muttered to myself.

This changed nothing.

She was still leaving.

One way or another.

Because the farther she stayed from me…

The safer she’d be.