Page 43 of The Potter

Unfortunately, I didn’t stay that way.

My hips throbbed and my knee ached. I needed more than the four pillows on the bed. Like the bed, they were soft. Too soft for someone who needed to sleep with them between her legs to relieve the pressure. At home, I have a bed specially made for people who suffer from arthritis and joint problems. It’s hard and feels a lot like a rock when you first lie down. But, it supports my body the way it needs.

Easing out of bed, I tiptoe into the kitchen. Without more pillows, I’ll need a pain reliever. Otherwise, Vance will end up carrying me into work. I certainly can’t have that. We’ve already crossed far too many lines tonight.

What was with the forced dinner and sleepover? It’s like Vance tries to be nice but gets confused on howniceis supposed to go. But, I’ve long given up trying to figure out how he works.

I’m just grateful he didn’t act like it killed him for me to stay. That must be progress, right? Maybe, if we can be friends or even tolerate each other, he’ll still agree to the surgery when he hears I don’t exactly have someone to take care of me afterward.

Like the bathroom cabinets, Vance’s kitchen cabinets are empty of painkillers. I don’t know whether to cry or pour myself a glass of bourbon. Alcohol only numbs the pain for a little while. After that, I feel worse. Tomorrow, I will feel like death with bad hips.

Ugh. Guess it’s physical therapy stretches after all.

I honestly hate stretching. Part of the reason is because that’s all I’ve been doing for years. It isn’t relaxing yoga that you see on TV. It is gut-wrenchingly painful. It defines the term “pain before gain.”

In order to move again, you need to stretch muscles that feel like they are ripping you in half. It’s the shittiest solution to pain I’ve ever encountered.

But it works.

And that’s how Vance found me on the rug of his living room, moaning and cursing with both feet in the air doing my best at the “happy baby pose.”

“Halle?”

I can’t even look; I stay frozen in place. Maybe he’ll just feel weird and walk away. He tends to do that fairly often.

But then, I realize I don’t have on any underwear. I took them off to shower, and I don’t know about most women, but I’m not putting on dirty underwear once I’m clean.

I let my feet drop hard onto the floor, sending a shooting pain up my hips. “Oww,” I cry, pulling down Vance’s college shirt as far as I can, without ripping it from my shoulders.

“Are you okay?” His voice is much closer than it was before. So close, in fact, that if my eyes were open, I would swear Dr. Potter is right beside me.

I let out a groan. “Can you just go back to sleep and pretend this was all a dream?”

I’m pretty sure I’ve embarrassed myself enough around this man with all the begging and hatefulness. His seeing me commando, rolling around on his Italian rug, is too much.

“Open your eyes.”

I notice the warmth of his hand first, hovering over mine, where it’s still gripping the shirt, holding it to my knees.

“Just go back to bed, Dr. Potter. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

I wished he had just passed out from all the bourbon.

“You didn’t.”

Great. He’s a night owl.

“I promise, I’m good. Just needed to stretch.” It’s like I can feel his gaze roving over my body, sharp and calculating. The doctor has awoken.

“Where’s the pain?”

His hand presses down on mine, and I sigh. “Not to make this more awkward, but if you didn’t already notice, I’m not wearing any underwear.”

“I’ve seen vaginas before.”

“Eww. Can you not say it like a doctor? It sounds weird.”

He lets out a light chuckle. “And yet, you are my patient. Would you prefer I refer to your nether regions in slang?”

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