In with the New Baby

I’m skeptical.

“Given everything, I don’t feel like starting down another road.”

“C’mon, bud,” he says and touches my elbow.

I say nothing.

“Just come by tomorrow,” he says. “I’ll do everything I can to help you.”

I look at him as he beams. I feel sorry for him and I don’t want to disappoint him. Friends like that, given our mutual background as Navy SEALs, are a brotherhood no one who has never been in it can understand. But I also don’t believe in this psychotherapy bullshit.

“I’ll think about it,” I say, but by that, I mean I’ll think about how much I don’t plan to go.

Damien claps his hands.

“Perfect!” he says and goes out the front door.

I have to laugh. Some people do really care about me, but they can’t seem to understand that I’m the type of person who likes to be left alone, rather than bothered by a bunch of different doctors and support groups and whatever other tricks Damien has up his sleeve.

I yawn and stretch and turn on the TV with the remote.

Dr. Phil is talking to some young kid and telling him pretty much to stop being a fuckup.

I can relate.

I nestle down and fall asleep as Dr. Phil dispenses his sage advice that I know I won’t take any better than the kid on his show will. I was born stubborn and I’ll die stubborn.

Chapter 5

Amanda

I’m tired. I’ve had a lot of appointments today and my patients seem to be responding to their therapy, which is good, but it can get rather taxing.

I sit down and look at my last appointment for the day.

Lincoln Drake.

Great.

“He probably won’t even show up,” I say aloud to myself.

“Don’t be so sure about that.”

I turn around and see that it’s Anne.

“Lincoln’s a fighter who’s not used to giving up,” Anne says.

She pats me on the back. She’s always been quite touchy-feely, preferring to talk to people with her hands as much as her voice.

“For once, I wish he would,” I say and leave the room.

I need a cup of coffee.

Right next door to the clinic is the Best Baked Coffee Shop. The workers there are so nice. Right now, I need a little kindness. Not to mention something to warm me up from the cold. I order a coffee, light with cream, two sugars. I sit by the window and check my phone.

I’m in no rush. If Lincoln shows up, he can wait.

I stand up and am ready to go back to the clinic.

Then I look out the window and see Lincoln. His head is down as he walks slowly. His knee really doesn’t seem too bad. He maintains his balance, isn’t limping, and his stride is strong. He runs his right hand through his dark hair and stretches.

What a hard-headed but hot guy he is. I know I shouldn’t think that about him, but I can’t help it.

I sit back down and sigh.

I’ll keep him waiting.

One bad behavior deserves another.

I stay for fifteen minutes and want to stay longer but I can’t.

Even though it’s Lincoln Drake, I am still a professional.

I grab his chart and enter the examination room.

“How are you today?” I ask, without looking at him.

“Good,” he says softly.

He’s sitting on the examining table.

I cross my arms and lean against the windowsill. I say nothing.

“Amanda,” he says. He scratches his right pec. “I need to apologize.”

“About what?” I ask.

“About the other day,” he says and looks past me out the window. “About the way I treated you last time I was here.”

Whatever, I think. I’m not playing his games. Hot athlete or not, I’m a trained medical professional.

I’ve given my side of the story and everyone can see that I was being the logical, rational, professional one – well, except for lusting after his hot body, but who could blame me? – and he was the one being a big baby, so why should I forgive him?

I stare at him for a moment and think.

His knee.

“You know,” I say, and walk toward him.

“What?”

“I saw you entering the clinic and your knee doesn’t really seem that bad.”

“You saw me?” he asks, and then he smiles.

Shit, I’ve given away the fact that I got a bit stalker-ish when it came to him. I saw him and I liked what I saw, so I kept looking – so sue me – but I’m not about to admit that to him.

“I was merely studying you on an objective basis.”

“Oh, I see,” he says and looks down.

“Tell you what.”

“What?”

“Why don’t we start with an old-fashioned x-ray?”

“But I’ve had an MRI and….”

“Yes, I’m well aware of your prior prognosis.”

He says nothing. Instead, he looks at me with a hangdog look. His face pleads with me.

“Come with me,” I say.

He follows me to the lab.

“Bella,” I say to the technician.

“Yes, Miss Amanda?”

“Take an x-ray of Mr. Drake’s knee here. Front and back.”