Harlow: A Military Bad Boy Romance: The Bradford Brothers (17 page)

I’m back at Pi
ñ
on, but this time I won’t be working with Whitney. In fact, I hope not to have to see her here at all. I’m meeting with the new physical therapist assigned to me, Lance, who is one of Whitney’s bosses, and who showed up to watch me do the track exercises.

I’m glad he’s familiar with my case although I’m a little afraid that Whitney may have poisoned him against me, because I know they’re friends. Her loser ex was afraid she was cheating on him with Lance, who is gay, when really Whitney was just tired of his antics. Like I got tired of hers.

Still, though, Lance had seen me perform the track exercises with his own two eyes. He has to know independently of Whitney that I’m fit for service, or else he’ll see that soon.

I do my best to make a good impression when I first meet him, but soon I find out he’s a nice guy who doesn’t need pretenses.

“Harlow, good to see you again,” he says, clamping a strong yet friendly hand down on my shoulder. “I’m Lance. I’m honored to be able to work with you.”

“Same here,” I say. “I’ve put in some time with Whitney but I hear you’re even more experienced.”

“Yes. Yes. Now about that… I know you’ve already gone through some of this with her, and I hate to be redundant. But just so that I have a good understanding of where we are on things, I’m going to ask you to do some of the same things, if that’s okay with you?”

“Sure, no sweat.”

It’s annoying to have to repeat things, but I want to start off on the right foot, so whatever Lance wants to do is fine with me. Plus, I know I did well on those exercises before, so I’m anxious to show off my skill again, so that Lance can see that Whitney obviously wasn’t giving me enough credit.

“Okay, let’s start by having you stand on this bar and extend your left arm…” Lance begins, and I follow his instructions perfectly.

It’s not nearly as fun as when I was doing this same exercise with Whitney. I can’t help but remember her nice, plump ass as she stood in front of me, or the feel of her small, soft hands on my shoulder as she steadied me.

“Very good,” Lance says.

He runs through some more familiar exercises, taking notes and making little “
hrmphs
” and “
hmmms
” in between. His vocalizations sound vaguely positive, but I’m dying to know what he’s writing down.

“So how am I doing, Lance?” I finally ask him.

“You know what, Harlow, you are doing spectacularly well,” he says, sounding a little surprised.

Now I don’t know what to think.
Is everyone here inclined to doubt my abilities
?

I know I had a traumatic accident but I don’t know why they all seem so shocked that I can do simple stretches and pass easy assessments, when Dr. Davis has been working with me on all of these things for months now, and he’s helped me bounce back to where I’m almost as good as new.

Lance runs me through some more easy tests and then both of us jump when we hear an unexpected knock at the door.

“Dr. Davis,” says Lance, sounding as surprised as I feel. “Welcome. Come on in. What can I do for you?”

“I’ve just been observing,” Dr. Davis says.

“Observing?”

“From the window, and I can’t help but notice that you are repeating exercises that Harlow has already done with his previous physical therapist.”

“Why yes,” Lance says, visibly blushing. “I’m just trying to get an accurate assessment of…”

“And I’m just trying to not waste Harlow’s time,” Dr. Davis says, bluntly. “It’s a precious commodity and, as you know, he’d like to work on things that will help him advance faster.”

I’m not sure whether to be grateful or upset at Dr. Davis. I’m glad he’s trying to move me along, but I think it’s rather unorthodox for him to be here, and I’m a bit embarrassed. On the other hand, maybe he’s trying to make sure there are no more mistakes, like there were with Whitney.

“Of course. Dr. Davis. Whitney had suggested some exercises and stretches…”

“Nonsense,” says Dr. Davis, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I can show you what Harlow needs to work on.”

He enters and stretches out my left leg— the one that is still rather weak— on top of the barre. He definitely knows my problem areas. I grunt, unable to extend it all the way.

“This is a big problem that Harlow needs help fixing,” Dr. Davis commands.

“Oh yes, I can see that,” says Lance, furiously taking notes. “I’m glad you pointed that out.”

I feel betrayed, as if somehow Lance should have stuck up for me. I’m not
that
bad. Sure, I know I’m not as flexible as I was before my accident, and Whitney had said she would work on that with me, but I’m still a lot more flexible than a lot of service members, and even a lot of guys in my own unit.

Dr. Davis continues to show Lance my problem areas, stretching me this way and that like an inflexible rag doll.

“You see?” he says, when he’s finally done twisting me into contortions.

“Yes,” says Lance.

“Now, if I may have a word with you privately?”

“Of course,” Lance says confidently, but he looks a little nervous. “I’ll be right back, Harlow.”

He steps outside with Dr. Davis, and I’m not happy. I’m sure that Dr. Davis has to go over things about my training with Lance, and make sure he understands, but I have no idea why he can’t do it when I’m not right here. I know they have planning and training meetings about me in my absence, but I guess that’s not enough.

Lance comes back with the same nervous smile he had on his face when he left.

“Please excuse that interruption,” says Lance, as he picks his pen back up from the desk where he had left it. “You are most definitely a very important patient of Dr. Davis’, and we just want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

Now it’s my turn to say “of course” like a robot, as I stand around awkwardly.

“Okay, we’ll just wrap up with some squats,” Lance says, and I obediently bend down to begin.

“I’m so glad that our program has the chance to work with you, and with Dr. Davis,” Lance says, as he clicks the meter to count each of my squats. “It’s a fine opportunity for the facility, and I’m sure it’s helped Dr. Davis with the sale of his technology.”

“The sale of his…?”

I want to stop squatting, but I don’t want to give Lance any reason to think I can’t continue, so I go on, perplexed.

I had known that Dr. Davis was trying to sell his technology and get his stocks to go public, but I thought I would be among the first to know when it actually happened. In fact, Dr. Davis had promised me some of the stock funds, for working for him.

“Oh yes, the whole office is a buzz, because the sale of Davis Technologies made the news. Now the program will have even more money, to help more service members like you.”

“That’s good,” I say, as the meter clicks one more time and Lance says, “All right, that’s good. That’s definitely the required amount in the minimum amount of time.”

“So am I free to go?” I ask him.

“You are. I’ll see you soon, and it was nice working with you.”

I’m not even going to ask what my report to Dr. Davis will look like. I’ve learned to just rely on Dr. Davis to tell me.

“Thanks,” I say, as I head out.

The more I try to make sense of everything, the less I can. I look around, wondering if Dr. Davis is still here, but I don’t see him. I’ll have to catch up with him later at his office, and ask about the sale of his company. Maybe he just hasn’t had time to tell me yet.

And I can’t help looking around to see if Whitney is anywhere in sight. She’s not, and I can’t decide whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

She’s listened to me about not calling me anymore, and I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s tenacious when it comes to challenging Dr. Davis— or me, I guess— but not about anything else. And I guess it’s for the best.

That woman was bad news. I just wish my head could convince my heart of that fact.

As soon as Lance’s session with Harlow ends, I head to his office. I couldn’t help but see them working in there together, and I’m jealous.

It’s supposed to be me in there working with Harlow, for both professional and personal reasons. The fact that it’s not is enough to drive me mad, but I have to hold it together for at least a little longer, until I can manage to get to the bottom of this mystery.

I watch Harlow walk out of the building and I can’t believe he didn’t see me. But then again, I’m sure he did and just doesn’t want to talk to me. He’s already warned me not to try to talk to him, so I don’t.

I’m beginning to realize we’re over. I don’t know what exactly happened or why, but I can’t wait around hoping it will change. I’m now focused on figuring out what exactly Dr. Davis is doing, since that obviously doesn’t include helping service members like the one I’d met outside his office.

“Lance!” I whisper, loudly, as I enter his office and shut the door behind me. “I need your help.”

“Oh my god, girl,” he exclaims, rolling his eyes. “What
now
? Don’t you even want to know how my session with your heartthrob went?”

“
Former
heartthrob,” I correct him. “And I guess. Sure, why not? How’d it go?”

“Very strangely. I put him through all the tests you already did, thinking maybe you’d missed something. Accidentally, of course.”

He raises his eyebrows, as if to infer he’s not trying to accuse me of inflating the numbers for Harlow’s sake.

“But of course, it all checked out. You’re right, he easily passed all of those silly tests. But then, lo and behold, who should appear but His Majesty the Royal Doctor Davis himself.”

“Really? At your session with Harlow?”

I hadn’t seen Dr. Davis at the facility. I wonder if he’s still around.

“Don’t worry, he didn’t stick around long. Only long enough to tell me I don’t know how to do my job. He told me to skip over my own assessments, and to concentrate on things that Harlow needs work on.”

“The extension in his left leg?” I guess. “Tightness in the quad and flexibility in the hip?”

“You got it,” Lance nods. “Of course, I know you already know all of that. You wrote him an individualized program that makes total sense. But Dr. Davis was stressing all of these problem areas as if they meant that Harlow couldn’t walk or something.”

“Does he think you’re dumb?”

“Well, I soon found out he doesn’t care what I am, as long as I go along with what he wants.”

“
Really
?”

I can’t believe it. Lance has already seen evil Dr. Davis in action. He’s definitely on my side.

“Uh huh. Called me out into the hall and told me he’s sure I know what happened with
you
, and how the last thing anyone needs is a repeat of
that
.”

“So he threatened you?”

“Pretty much. And the problem is, girl, that we’re dead to rights. I know he’s full of shit, he knows he’s full of shit, but he knows I value my job too much to call him out on it without anything to back me up.”

“Well, I have a plan to fix that,” I assure him. “I just need your help. I need to access to Dr. Davis’ files.”

“What? Whitney, how can I…?”

“No one will know you gave them to me. And if they somehow find out, just say that during the course of our training we were looking at all possible candidates and assessing the work they need done and how we can help them…”

“Whitney, this isn’t exactly on the up and up.”

“Well, neither is what Dr. Davis is doing! And my purpose is to find out why and stop him, whereas he wants to keep screwing over patients, for his own selfish gain. I know, without a doubt, that for some reason he’s super attached to Harlow, yet he’s likely screwing him over as much as any other patient. I just need to prove it.”

“Whitney, I want to be clear.” Lance crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I’ll do my best to help you, and I will get you access to those documents in a way that will damn sure cover my own butt.”

“Oh thank you, thank you, thank you,” I say, hugging him and beaming ear to ear. “I promise you I won’t—”

“Keep listening, you creep,” Lance laughs, peeling me off of him.

Then his serious expression returns. “Let me be clear here. You are spearheading this investigation, on your own, and if you find out anything, you can never trace it back to me. I know you’re this idealist with a crush— or
former
crush, or whatever you want to call it— on Harlow, but this is my job, and my life.”

I nod— I
get
it— but Lance keeps talking.

“I love working here and I’m not happy about whatever Dr. Davis has up his sleeve but I’m also not going to jeopardize my career. As your friend and supervisor I actually have to caution you to think about what’s best for yourself here, too. What will you do if Dr. Davis does strike back, and it costs you your internship?”

“Oh that’s okay,” I say, with a shrug, and a smile that I hope looks mysterious. “I already put in my application to medical school. I just need a letter of recommendation, from you.”

“Really?” he asks, a proud look spreading across his face despite his best efforts to hide it. “I thought you were too chicken shit for that.”

“Changed my mind.”

With the help of a certain former crush
.

“Well I’d best get started on writing it,” he says, “while I can still do it with a clear conscience.”