Levi's POV

I hate how quiet Charlotte's being. The ride back to our flat and our flat itself is too quiet for me. Landon is still out doing whatever errands he said he had to do, and I'm stuck in this chair looking up at Charlotte as she tries to busy herself in the kitchen.

I see that brain of hers going a mile a minute, her facial expressions changing like rapid fire as the voices inside her head try to convince her of her regrets one minute followed by determination the next. It's painful to watch her do this to herself. But, I know her, and I know that her repentance will drive her to fix all of the wrong doings she thinks she has done.

I'm not going to watch her tear herself down over this. What's done is done and we are equally at fault. Setbacks are unfortunately a part of my injury and like it or not, sometimes out of our control. I'm glad we know the real problem this time and hopefully it can be fixed.

Whatever I need to do, I'll do. Sitting in this wheelchair though is something I can't handle for very long. I can't quite pinpoint what it is, but every time I use this chair, I feel like I'm fighting back a panic attack. It reminds me of when I could barely control any of my limbs at all, when I had no balance, no way of protecting myself from any danger or falling...It reminds me of when I gave up on myself.  Fuck, now I'm having a leg spasm. Maybe I have PTSD from a wheelchair, which sounds ridiculous if I were to admit this out loud. But I feel sick every time I use it, and if I want my hip to heal, I need to quit being a bloke and use the damn thing. Maybe I should just sit on the couch instead. Christ, what the hell is wrong with me.

Charlotte is still occupying herself in the kitchen while I position my chair in front of the couch. Both of my legs are jumping around now, and my arms are shaking...Yup I'm about to have a panic attack for sure. Get it together Levi.

I'm not sure how long I've been staring at the couch cushion when I feel Charlotte's soft hands cupping my face. Her expression is more quizzical than concerned, so I'm probably only a mess on the inside and she doesn't know I'm panicking.

She surprises me by leaning down and kissing me hard on the mouth. I freeze on contact until her lips send a warmth through my body that blankets some of my anxiety. I kiss her back, realizing it's her that I need...it's always her.

"Can...Can you help me stand," I hear myself studder. I don't want her to have to support my weight, but I need to stand up before I lose control.

"Anything you need," she smiles at me while she lifts my arms and drapes them around the back of her neck. Why I can't seem to move my limbs on my own is beyond me.

I grab onto her like she's my lifeline, because that is what she is. On three, I stand up from the wheelchair and all I focus on is the way Charlotte holds me tight with one arm around my waist and her other higher on my back, and I embrace her with all I've got.

"You're shaking!" She notices, but I keep hugging her, burying my face into the curve of her neck and breathe in her scent. Her hand rubbing up and down my back comforts me and slowly my body gives in to her touch, my twitching lessoning each passing minute. "I love you," she whispers, and those three words are what seal the deal.

After another moment, she guides us both to sit onto the couch. She keeps her body close to mine and leans her head onto my shoulder. When she notices me having a staring contest with my wheelchair, she squeezes my hand with hers and patiently waits for me to speak.

"I'm sorry, I don't know how to explain without you thinking I'm a complete fool,' I tell her truthfully. "I can't use that chair, today anyway... and it's not for reasons you probably think." I use my free hand to run my fingers through my hair, while I try to think of the correct words. Charlotte tilts her head to the side, watching me have an internal battle with the chair in front of us, and trying to figure me out. Hell, I can't even figure me out, I mean who stresses out so much over a wheelchair.

"I'll stay off my legs as much as possible and use the chair to get to and from therapy this week, but I'll crawl around the flat if I need to, I'll even let Landon throw me onto his back if it comes to that...but..." Charlotte grabs both of my hands and squeezes them again, successfully shutting me up.

"Hey, you don't need to explain anything unless you're ready to tell me, and I will always be here for you and will listen. Whatever your reasons, I would never think you're crazy for having them."

Charlotte stands up from the couch and rubs her hand over her little baby belly, reminding me that I'm going to be a father, so I better get my shit together sooner than later. I watch her push my wheelchair out of sight before she walks back into the kitchen and comes back bearing lunch.

"You hungry? I made us some sandwiches, then after I thought we could start on your stretches?"

"Yeah, thanks," is the last thing I say before we devour our lunch together.

When we're finished, she rinses our plates off and puts them into the dishwasher before coming back to me. I see the wheels turning in her head again as she contemplates the best way for me to get to our exercise room. Without thinking too much about it, I lower myself down onto the floor and begin using my arms to drag my butt and legs across the room. Charlotte gives me the one eyed 'are you serious ' look, but I ignore it and continue my pursuit until I reach the yoga mat. "See, I'm keeping weight off my legs," I chuckle.

"There's got to be a better way," she approaches me, so I lay back onto the mat.

She starts with my left leg first, stretching my hip, hamstring and quad muscles. She has me do a few pushing and pulling exercises using those muscles against her resistance. I can do about three repetitions and then my knee wobbles and my upper thigh shakes. That's been the norm for my left leg since I began walking on it again. My lower leg is a lot more difficult for me to control. Charlotte stretches my calf muscle and my ankle, but I'm lucky if I can even get one repetition of pulling or pushing my foot against her on my own. I wonder if this is the best this leg will ever get.

She pulls a piece of paper out of her pocket that the doctor gave her with instructions on what to do with my right leg. "So, I'm going to do all the work here, no pushing or pulling on your end. When you feel any pain at all, I'll stop, and we will count that as your baseline, okay?"

"Okay," I don't dare disagree with her when she looks this determined.

My lower right leg feels fine, but once she makes her way to stretching my hip, there's no denying the pain when she sees it on my face. "That's barely a stretch at all," I huff, this is frustrating.

"This is your baseline, it will get better each day," she says before she scribbles something down on the piece of paper. Charlotte continues with a few more stretches, getting the same minimal results, writes more down on the paper. I close my eyes, taking deep breaths so I remain composed.

"Ooh!" My eyes fly open when I hear her squeak. Her hand is on her belly, and I can't help but think something's wrong.

I sit up and reach for her, "What is it?"

"I think I just felt the baby move. But I think it's too early, maybe it's just gas."

This time I give her the one-eyed stare. Her hand roams her entire stomach, feeling for the movement again. No luck. Probably gas like she said, I did get a little excited for a minute there.

"How many times a day do we do these stretches?" I ask her.

"Three, plus an hour with Derek and an hour in the pool," she says and I sigh.

"I should probably get myself back to the couch," I begin to drag my legs again.

"Wait! There's probably a better way to get around than this," she points at the floor then at me.

"What if I wear the full leg brace with the crutches? If my knee is locked straight, my left leg can hold my weight and I'll use the crutches to stay off my right leg," I can't believe I'm suggesting this, as much as I hate the full brace, it's a much better option than the wheelchair. My self-diagnosed PTSD only occurs when I'm near that stupid chair. I can handle the leg brace.

"That would work," she surprises me. "Although I think you should use crutches that go under your armpits instead of the forearm ones so you're not putting so much pressure on your left arm." She has a point there, my left arm can only do so much and I don't want to screw that up too.

"I'll have Landon stop by the rehab to pick some up on his way back here tonight, I'll give him a text now." Charlottes quickly types on her phone and then brings over my full leg brace and forearm crutches. "You'll have to use these for now, but only around in here, and when I'm near you in case your arm acts up."

"Deal," I'll agree with anything that allows me to stand.

Charlotte helps me up and I slowly make my way back to the couch. She's right, I'm using my arms more than I'm used to while trying to keep my right foot from touching the ground. My left arm proving its residual weakness from my accident.

"Landon texted back saying he'll be home in an hour, so why don't you lay on the couch, I have some laundry to do anyway," she informs me. I feel bad that I'm not helping her with these chores.

Once back onto the couch, I unhinge my brace so I can bend my knee again.  Everything I do to just get around is so tedious and requires extra time and effort. Even a simple act of laying on the couch takes more effort, it's tiring for me... how is it not tiring for her. She's so patient with me, she always has been. One of these days she won't be. When the baby is born, she'll have less time to wait for me. I need to be better, more efficient...less crippled.

"Hey, what's wrong? I lost you for a minute there," her sweet voice pulls me away from my thoughts.

"Sorry, just thinking. I'm fine," I lie with a smile.

She moves her body on top of me so that her knees are on the cushions while she straddles my legs, her small bum barely sitting on top of my thighs. I grip her waist and pull her in closer to me until her baby belly grazes my shirt. Her fingers glide through my hair sending that familiar tingling sensation down my spine. The way she looks into my eyes with her multicolor one's makes me feel so important, so loved. She loves me with all my flaws and I still can't figure out why, but I'll take what ever she'll give me and give her all I've got in return, hoping it's enough.

I lean in, because all I want is to taste her lips on mine.

"You're going to be fine, we're going to be fine," she breathes, locking our lips together again.

We're going to be fine. I repeat her words in my mind. This is only a setback, I've dealt with them before. We're going to be fine.