Chapter 2 - The Patient Everyone Feared
At 7:02 the next morning, Massimo was still in bed.
I opened the curtains.
He groaned.
“Close those.”
“No.”
“Tessa.”
“Good morning.”
“I could fire you.”
“You've mentioned that.”
He pushed himself upright.
His upper body was powerful enough to make transfers easier, but the frustration appeared whenever his legs failed to follow.
I positioned the wheelchair.
“Today I want to evaluate trunk stability, sensation, and lower-extremity response.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“No?”
“I have meetings.”
“Cancel them.”
He stared at me as if I'd suggested burning down Boston.
“Nobody cancels my meetings.”
“Then they can watch.”
Thirty minutes later, three men in expensive suits entered the rehabilitation room.
Massimo was on a therapy mat.
I was testing his right leg.
One man began talking.
“The shipment from Providence—”
“Stop.”
Everyone looked at me.
I pointed toward Massimo.
“Move your foot.”
He glared at me.
“I'm conducting business.”
“And I'm conducting rehabilitation.”
The man looked at Massimo.
Massimo looked ready to murder somebody.
Then his right foot moved.
Barely.
But it moved.
Everyone froze.
I crouched closer.
“Again.”
Nothing.
“Again.”
His jaw tightened.
A tiny movement.
Massimo stared down.
“What was that?”
“Motor response.”
“You said—”
“I said again.”
He tried.
Nothing happened.
His fist slammed against the mat.
“Damn it!”
“Again.”
“I did it.”
“Do it twice.”
He tried.
Failed.
Again.
Failed.
The three men remained completely silent.
Finally Massimo shouted, “Everybody out!”
They left instantly.
I didn't.
“Why are you still here?”
“Because you haven't finished.”
“I said everybody.”
“I'm not everybody.”
His eyes flashed.
“You enjoy this?”
“Watching you suffer? No.”
“Then why are you smiling?”
“Because your foot moved.”
That stopped him.
I sat beside him.
“Your nervous system isn't a light switch, Massimo. Recovery can be ugly. One day something works. The next day it doesn't.”
“And if it never works again?”
“Then we'll deal with that.”
“We?”
“For three months.”
He studied me.
“You always keep your promises?”
“I try.”
His expression became unreadable.
“People around me don't.”
That afternoon I discovered how little privacy existed inside the Pascale estate.
Two guards followed us everywhere.
Massimo hated it.
During assisted bathing, he ordered them outside.
“They stay nearby,” I said.
“No.”
“You're a fall risk.”
“I said no.”
“You fall, I'm not catching two hundred pounds of stubborn Italian.”
He almost smiled.
“I weigh one ninety-two.”
“Wonderful. Much easier.”
The bathroom was enormous, lined with black marble.
I helped transfer him onto a shower chair.
He avoided looking at me.
For the first time, Massimo Pascale seemed uncomfortable.
“You can stop staring at the wall,” I said.
“I'm giving you privacy.”
“I'm bathing you.”
“That doesn't mean I need to enjoy the humiliation.”
I stopped.
“This isn't humiliation.”
“You wouldn't understand.”
“No?”
I handed him the shower head.
“You survived severe spinal trauma. You're learning how to function again. Needing help isn't humiliation.”
His voice lowered.
“You didn't know me before.”
“No.”
“I didn't need anyone.”
“Everybody needs someone.”
“I didn't.”
“Maybe that's why you're so bad at it now.”
He looked at me.
For several seconds neither of us spoke.
Then he quietly washed his chest.
The tattoos across his shoulders and arms told stories I didn't understand.
Names.
Dates.
Symbols.
Scars crossed several of them.
I didn't ask.
That was part of the agreement.
Later, during another transfer, his right knee suddenly contracted.
I felt it immediately.
“Massimo.”
“What?”
“Do that again.”
“Do what?”
“Your leg moved.”
His face went still.
We tried repeatedly.
Nothing.
His frustration returned.
I grabbed his wrist before he could hit the chair.
“Don't.”
His eyes dropped to my hand.
Nobody touched Massimo Pascale without permission.
I released him.
“Sorry.”
He looked at me strangely.
“Don't apologize.”
“For touching you?”
“For stopping me.”
That night, as I prepared to leave, Luca approached.
“I've worked for Massimo sixteen years.”
“Okay.”
“I haven't seen him work this hard since the accident.”
“He hates me.”
Luca smiled.
“No.”
“What?”
“He listens to you.”
“Because I'm annoying.”
“That too.”
Then Luca's expression changed.
“Be careful.”
“With Massimo?”
“No.”
I followed his gaze toward the security cameras.
May you like
“With everyone else.”
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