Page 61 of The Way Home

Chapter 15

A month intotherapy, and Jamie had decided that occupational therapy was by far his least favorite. The physical therapy felt simple—a few stretches and movements he already did for bike races. Plus, his therapist was a kind, patient Scottish man who told him stories about his daughter.

But, after a stacked month of appointments, Jamie decided that occupational therapy kind of sucked. His therapist, a middle-aged Italian woman named Angelina, made him do really hard word puzzles and memory games.

It made him feel stupid.

Hedidadmittedly have more control over his mind. Before he started going, he would frequently forget things. At least in the short term. Put his wallet down, and forget about it a few minutes later. Make plans with Ellie, and promptly forget about them. From what he could tell, all of that was becoming less frequent.

The mood swings were definitely worse, though. He couldn’t help feeling frustrated, having to come here, constantly being asked what he remembered, how much he remembered, how he felt.

Did he have a headache? How was he feeling? Tired? Fatigued?

Even Caleb’s kind gestures made him feel like a child. It was nice that he made Jamie coffee every morning, but they always came with a note that said something like:Make sure you rest today! Text me if you feel nauseous or dizzy.

Jesus Christ, he wasn’t bloody dizzy! Randy? Yes. And Caleb coming home sweaty from workouts every night this week wasn’t helpingthatissue.

Everyone being so careful around him was rubbish, including Caleb. Ever since their date on Valentine’s Day, anytime Jamie initiated contact with him, Caleb excused himself to go to the shops or for a workout. Or sneak out to smoke, even if he thought Jamie was oblivious to it.

A few times, Jamie thought he saw Caleb’s eyes heat up. Or his gaze dip to his lips. A flicker of hope would ignite in his chest thatmaybeCaleb would kiss him. Justkisshim.

But no. The man stayed far away, slept on the couch, and Jamie wondered why he’d taken him out on Valentine’s Day at all. Did he evenwantJamie around—?

“Okay. You are finished,” Angelina announced in her thick accent, sliding Jamie’s paper toward herself. It felt like taking a standardized test.

He stood and packed up his things when she said, “Next Tuesday. Same time, please.”

“Okay.” He nodded and rushed to the Tube as fast as humanly possible.

As soon as Jamie found a seat, he pulled out his book. He loved reading, but—of bloodycourse—he got headaches if he stared at the pages for too long. Why couldn’t anything just beeasy?

It took six minutes of reading for a headache to form. Stuffing his book back into his bag, Jamie closed his eyes and let the simmering frustration in his chest fester until the robotic woman called out his stop. He rushed out the door and headed home.

When he entered the front door, he saw Caleb in the kitchen cutting vegetables.

“Oh, hey,” Caleb called. “I was just going to make a salad and head to the gym. Want me to make you something?”

Hearing Caleb’s deep voice eased some of the tension in Jamie’s chest. “No, thank you. I didn’t know you’d be home already.” His jaw unhinged just looking at Caleb—standing at the counter in asleeveless shirt, the lines of his triceps working as he cut vegetables. GoodLord.

Trying to be bold, Jamie walked up behind Caleb and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m, erm, glad you’re home.”

Please hug me or something. Anything.

Caleb stiffened. “Yeah, uh, practice ended early.”

“That’s good. I might nap in a bit.” Jamie chewed on his lip. “If you want to… join me?”

Hopefully, he didn’t sound as idiotic as he felt. From the side, he saw Caleb’s throat bob. “Um, I was going to work out.”

“Oh. Okay.” Jamie’s heart dropped. He pulled his hand away and rounded the counter, taking a seat on a stool.

Without looking up from his vegetables, Caleb said, “I picked up the next book in that series you’re reading. Left it on the side table for you.”

It’ll just give me a fucking headache.

“Thank you.”

“How was therapy?” Caleb reached across the counter and squeezed Jamie’s hand. That’s about as much physical contact as they’d had this week. Like a lovesick puppy, Jamie pouted when Caleb pulled his hand back.