Page 4 of Digging Deeper

I don’t stick around to hear his reply. I probably shouldn’t speak that way to a patient or to the guy whose house I’m living in, but… he’s hurting Holden more than he knows and he truly is being an ass. I’ve heard all the stories about him from the rest of the staff, and… they’re not good.

Whatever. What’s the worst he can do? Tell me to move out of his house? Fine. I’ll find somewhere else to live if I have to. Holden would never let me be homeless, anyway. At least I have one Weston brother in my corner.

3

Hendrix

“This isn’t helping,” I growl to Jameson.

“What’s not?” he asks, not even looking up from his phone. He’s smiling as his fingers move, so I’m sure he’s texting back and forth with my brother. Holds is probably asking him if I’m doing my PT.

“Hendrix, I need you to pay attention to what I’m asking you, please.” I glance over at… oh hell, I can’t even remember his name. He’s trying to appear pleasant and encouraging, but he’s talking through gritted teeth, so obviously I’m annoying him as much as he is me.

“I feel like I’m in a fish bowl right now. Do there have to be so many people in the room? I let you get me out of bed; I’m sitting in this chair doing what I’m supposed to. Why do I need an audience? I’m not going to get up and dance around the room or anything,” I respond.

Jameson’s eyes jump from the phone, narrowing as he focuses on my face. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Not you,” I mumble.

From in front of me, damn Gavin leans casually against the side of my bed, arms crossed over his chest. Having to get help from a PT is bad enough, but it being my brother’s best friend, the guy Holds chose to stay in the same city as instead of coming home to me, is adding insult to injury. “He’s talking about me, Jameson.”

The PT next to me huffs. “Well, Gavin’s going to be working with you. I’m only here today to walk him through the treatment plan the doctor scheduled for you. He needs to see how far you’ve gotten.”

“Again, I repeat, I’m out of bed, aren’t I?”

Gavin shakes his head, smirking. Ignoring me completely, he says to his co-worker, “Nice, pawn the pain-in-the-ass patient off on the newbie.”

Jameson barks out a laugh next to me. I whip my head back to my supposed best friend. “Why are you laughing? I thought you were on my side.” Then turning to whatever his name is, I say, “And do you hear how he’s talking to me? I’m a patient. Are you going to let him talk to me like that?”

Dude blinks, but Jameson quickly regains my attention. “I’m laughing because I’ve never heard Gavin be rude before. It’s cute”—he shrugs one shoulder—“and you can’t blame him for calling it like it is. You are being a pain-in-the-ass. Now why don’t you get on with it? Roger says you only have to run through everything one time, and then we can have lunch. I’m starving.”

“Who the fuck is Roger?” I ask.

“Nice, Hendrix. Real nice,” Gavin says, drawing my attention back to him. He points at the guy standing next to me. “Roger is the extraordinarily patient gentleman who’s beentryingto work with you since you got here. I understand you’re feeling sorry for yourself and all, but I didn’t realize that your manners were as injured as your legs.”

His voice is soft, even while reprimanding me, and it pisses me off even more. I’m aware of the weirdest shit about Gavin.His voice is soft?I hate noticing things about him that I shouldn’t care about, but I always have. And now my damn brother’s making me work with him. Why should the rehab center listen to my brother, anyway? He’s a veterinarian. It’s not as if he works here.

“Wow,” Jameson says before chuckling.

“What?” I snap.

“You just had a whole temper tantrum in your head, didn’t ya?” he asks.

Grinding my teeth, I start to respond when Gavin says, “Stop gnashing your teeth, Hendrix. We have enough work to do to get you up and out of here without me having to work on your neck for TMJ.” Work on my neck… does he mean touch my neck, maybe grab my chin? No. Just no.

I need this to be over. Knowing Jameson was coming by himself for lunch today had been the highlight of my morning and the real reason I let them get me out of bed, but now I want him to go away, too. “What do you need me to do, Roger?” I ask, voice saccharine sweet.

“Oh brother,” Jameson mumbles next to me.

Focusing completely on a pucker mark in Roger’s face and trying to decide what state it resembles, I let him stretch my legs. Honestly, so far everything he’s doing can be done from my bed, so I don’t know why they’re making such a big deal out of it. It’s not like—“I’m sorry, what?” Roger pushing red and black resistance bands into my hands cuts off my wayward thoughts.

Roger takes a deep breath, then pastes the fake smile I’ve become accustomed to all the staff using on me onto his face. “I’m giving you these resistance bands. I want you to concentrate on the arm exercises you’ve been doing in bed while I do some stretches with your feet and legs. For now, you’re not going to worry about what I’m doing. Okay?”

I shrug. “Whatever.”

“There’s the spirit, Drix,” Jameson says sarcastically. For fuck’s sake, what’s his problem? I’m doing it, aren’t I? I didn’t say no. I’m not yelling at anyone. Damn, I’m out of bed. What the hell does everyone want from me?

My frustration grows as I watch Roger moving my feet around. I’m trying to keep all my attention directed on the thickness of the hard plastic handles in my hands, the pull of the bands as I run through one of the many upper body stretches they’ve given me, but it’s not enough. The more he manipulates my lower half, the more conscious I am of the fact I can’t sense anything. It’s disconcerting to watch my body move with no effort on my part, and no acknowledgement in my brain. Acid bubbles throughout my belly like fizz in a freshly poured soda, popping and spitting. My life is no longer my own; hell, my body isn’t even mine any longer. Wanting to scream, I lash out, throwing the bands across the room, past my bed onto the floor, with a low, rumbly growl.

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