Breaking the Grid

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I lie on the table, feeling the firm pressure of the physiotherapist's hands working on my right leg, which thankfully isn't the one that's broken. My left leg is still wrapped up tightly, immobilized and waiting for the day I can finally test it out. It's been weeks, but I know it's too soon for any real progress. So, for now, we focus on what can be done—my hands, my arms, and strengthening the rest of my body to keep in shape.

Alicia is sitting nearby, scrolling on her phone but occasionally glancing over at me. She offered to accompany me to this session, and while I usually prefer being alone during physio, it's kind of nice to have someone here. Especially since she's one of the few people who doesn't treat me like I'm fragile.

The therapist's hands move expertly over my muscles, releasing the tension that's built up from weeks of inactivity. "How's that feel, Blair?" he asks, his tone professional but friendly.

"It's good. Painful, but good," I reply, my voice strained as he works out another knot in my calf.

"That's normal. You're doing great, but we still need to take it slow," he reminds me, his hands moving to massage my hands and forearms next. "We want to make sure you're fully healed before pushing anything with that leg."

I nod, trying not to focus too much on the frustration that wells up inside me. I know he's right. Rushing back too soon could end my season—or worse, my career—but the waiting feels unbearable. I'm used to action, not sitting still, watching from the sidelines. Every race I miss feels like a part of me slipping away.

Alicia looks up from her phone. "How's it going? He's not torturing you too much, is he?" she jokes, giving me a grin.

I manage a weak smile in return. "Just a little bit of torture," I say, trying to keep the mood light, though inside I feel anything but.

The therapist shifts his attention to my hands, pressing into the tightness around my fingers and wrists. "Your hands are in surprisingly good shape considering the crash," he comments. "We'll work on keeping them strong. Reflexes are key once you're back on the track."

"Yeah, can't wait to be back," I mutter, my eyes drifting toward Alicia, who's watching me with a curious look.

"You're going to be back stronger than ever," she says, her voice filled with confidence. "This is just a phase."

"I hope so," I reply quietly, feeling the weight of her belief in me, even when I'm struggling to believe in myself.

As the session continues, I try to focus on the physical sensations—the pain, the relief, the slow healing process. My mind keeps drifting back to Kyra, to the conversation we had on the terrace. There's so much left unsaid between us, but maybe this is the beginning of figuring it out. I just have to be patient and not let fear get in the way.We talked all night, and since then, we've exchanged a message or two. It's clearly not like it used to be, and her messages feel different, but I know I have to give her time. Still, it feels like a good start.

Alicia interrupts my thoughts, her voice pulling me back to the present. "So, how're you feeling about the recovery, honestly?"

I shrug, trying to appear more relaxed than I feel. "It's slow. I know it's gonna take time, but it's hard being patient."

She nods, understanding in her eyes. "You'll get there, Blair. You've been through worse, and you always come out stronger."

I appreciate her words, but it still feels like there's a long road ahead. The therapist finishes up, patting my arm lightly. "Good work today. Same time next week?"

"Yeah, I'll be here," I say, sitting up and swinging my good leg over the side of the table. As I move, a slight twinge in my left leg reminds me of just how fragile everything still is.