by Eva Luxe
“Well, thank you,” Lance says, “although I don’t feel too grateful. I just feel confused. I think we should just wait and see what happens. Let me assess Harlow and see what I think. Maybe there are areas that do need a more experienced eye. I haven’t exactly been watching you that closely.”
“Hey!” I protest.
“It’s a compliment. I know you know what you’re doing. But I don’t really know Harlow’s situation. So, let me figure that out. And see what Dr. Davis does. Maybe you’re jumping to conclusions.”
I sit back in my chair and try to calm down. I glare at my sushi as if it’s my problem, while Lance scarfs his down like he hasn’t eaten in days. I suppose I’m so confused right now that there could be an answer I’m not seeing, but I doubt it. I know a threat when I hear one, and a threat is definitely what Dr. Davis delivered to me just hours ago.
“Just promise me you’ll remember what I said,” I tell Lance, in a last plea of desperation. “Don’t discount it, and don’t be blinded by Dr. Davis’ power.”
“All right,” Lance says, reluctantly. “I know you wouldn’t just pull this out of thin air. I’ll be on the look- out too. I just don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret. If you’re going to go after Dr. Davis, you’ll need a lot more clear-cut evidence than what you just showed me right now.”
He’s right. At this point my print outs mean nothing and it’s just Dr. Davis’ word against mine. I sigh.
“Thanks Lance. I really do appreciate you listening, and keeping an open mind.”
“Well, I’m fully on board with this plan,” Mae says. “I wish you both luck, and I’ll be cheering for you over in the surgery ward, unless there’s anything I can do besides go to lunch with you and lend my moral support. Also, I like this sushi too, I have to confess. So, I’m always down to come here with you guys whenever you might need me. Just buy me sushi. Of course.”
“Thanks, Mae,” I tell her, laughing. “And I will. No worries.”
“Speaking of that, are you going to just let that perfectly good sushi sit there?” Lance asks me. “Because if not, I have a plan for it…”
I shake my head and take a bite of it.
“This isn’t half bad,” I say, as I take another bite, not even realizing how hungry I must have been. Or else it just tastes really good.
“Now you see why I ignore the trash in the corner and the rats lurking in the side rooms,” Lance says, as Mae and I both laugh.
Chapter 41 – Harlow
Whitney’s been calling me, but I’ve been ignoring her.
I talk to my brother Ramsey instead, in his car on the way to our dad’s gravesite.
“Long time no talk,” he says. “How’ve things been?”
I want to say: Fantastic, and then: Awful.
What a whirlwind of a few days it’s been.
But instead I just say, “Well, you and Jensen were right. Especially Jensen. I’m telling you now so that you guys don’t get to lord it over me yourself.”
“That trip to paradise with the elusive physical therapy lady sure was short and sweet,” Ramsey laughs. “Did it end before you even got her in bed?”
“Ummm.”
He laughs again.
“Well, at least you got something for your trouble.”
Something indeed.
I can’t help but flash back to her curvy ass, supple breasts, and her wet and welcoming pussy. How I made her come for her first time and then repeatedly after that, how I tasted her sweet juices running into my mouth and all the way down my neck. How I slipped myself inside her and took exactly what I wanted: all of her.
“I don’t know how I could have been so wrong about her. The chemistry was perfect, the sex was out of this world, her body was banging…”
“It just seemed so right because you were focused on all the wrong things,” Ramsey says. “So, did she get in trouble at work? For fraternizing with the feeble, wobbly patient who needs her help and her professional focus?”
“Not exactly. I don’t think they know about us at work, although they suspect. But I don’t really know what all they know, or what they’re up to.”
A memory pops into my mind, of the creepy way that Dr. Davis came to the dive bar after his award ceremony, when I was celebrating with my buddies.
Why does he always keep such close tabs on me? How much does he even know about me that I don’t know?
“So, what happened?”
I pause as my phone vibrates in my pocket, letting me know I have an incoming call. I take it out to see who’s calling, although I already know.
Whitney again, of course.
I ignore her, yet again.
“You’ll never believe it, but she was purposefully holding me back. Blowing smoke up my ass, telling me I was doing great, but then turning around and telling Dr. Davis and everyone else how much work I still need to do.”
“Un-fucking-believable,” Ramsey mutters.
“Yeah. It makes no sense.”
“Sure it does. The chick is crazy, and being in heat for you turns her even crazier. She wants to keep you on a short leash. Figured if she strung it out long enough, had enough one on one sessions with you at work and in the sheets, that eventually you’d put a ring on it. Happens all the time.”
It doesn’t feel like that was what was happening with us. But I don’t say anything. Obviously I don’t know much about how evil women can be, since I’ve never liked one enough to care. I’ve only ever stayed away from anything serious with them, due to our mom.
The reason I’m riding with Ramsey instead of Jensen— other than the fact that Jensen rides everywhere on his motorcycle while Ramsey drives like me— is because I wanted to talk to him about Whitney privately, instead of Jensen this time. Ramsey isn’t only the oldest among us but he’s also managed to be the Last Man Standing— the only one among us who hasn’t fallen for some chick. He’s the only voice of reason that hasn’t been clouded by possibly bad judgment.
Sure, Jensen was no fan of Whitney’s but he’d also let the silly “it doesn’t happen until it happens” talk slip through, which had derailed me. I know I won’t get any such crazy talk from Ramsey. Unlike Jensen, who has already fallen victim to “Commitment,” Ramsey will cut me right off and not entertain my delusions.
“Well, now Whitney keeps calling me, and I’m sure she’s going to try to give me some bullshit story that I’m just not in the mood to hear.”
“Yeah, you need to stay strong, Harlow. If you even go near her, you might cave.”
“That’s unlikely to happen. Dr. Davis assigned me to some new physical therapist.”
“Thank goodness you have him looking out for you,” Ramsey says. “Or who knows how long she’d be pulling these stunts while you were too love-blind to wake up and figure it out.”
“Yeah. Thank goodness for Dr. Davis.”
Story of my life, I think, but I don’t know why I’m beginning to resent Dr. Davis for that. Would it have been better for him to have just let me stumble my way through my mistakes until I figured it out on my own?
Of course not. Not for him— he wants me back to where the military will thank him for returning a SEAL back to fighting condition— and not for me— I want to be back more than anything.
I just think I wanted more time to figure it out, because that would have given me more time with Whitney. Who I need to remember is the enemy. And who was distracting me from my goal.
As Ramsey pulls up to the cemetery, my phone vibrates again.
“I’m going to step out. She’s calling again, and I’m going to tell her to leave me the fuck alone. So that my mind will be free to concentrate on Dad’s birthday.”
“There you go,” he says. “Stay strong. Don’t even listen to her words or you might start falling for them.”
“Thanks, bro.”
“Any time.”
I walk around to a shaded area and look at Whitney’s name flashing across my screen, for what I hope will be t
he last time.
“What?” I answer my phone, annoyed.
“Harlow. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you…”
“So I noticed,” I tell her, determined to stand my ground, even though I hate that her voice sounds afraid and worried. “Did you ever stop to think that if a guy doesn’t pick up after you’ve called him… I don’t know, eight or so times?.... that it might be a good idea to just stop calling him?”
“Harlow. I get that you might be confused. But we need to talk. Can you meet me—”
“No I can’t meet you,” I tell her, disgusted despite that fact that usually I’m on fire with desire for her.
To be honest, I still am— my cock is half hard right now, just hearing her voice— because I always am, for her. But I’m trying to let my other head do the talking for now.
She thinks we can just kiss and make it all better. She clearly doesn’t know who she’s dealing with.
“I don’t want anything to do with you, ever again. Don’t call me, don’t try to see me, don’t ask me to meet you.”
“Harlow…”
It’s one last plaintive attempt, but I refuse to fall for it.
“Please, Whitney. If I ever meant anything to you, then promise me you’ll leave me the hell alone.”
“Okay.” Her sigh sounds like one of those balloons that has had a small hole in it, that was struggling to stay in the air but finally admits to defeat as all air is being deflated from it. “Goodbye, Harlow.”
“Goodbye.”
And good riddance.
Chapter 42 – Harlow
Trying to choke back a mixture of overwhelming feelings, I join my brothers at my dad’s grave. It’s been awhile since I’ve been here, but the tombstone is still familiar and welcoming in a sad sort of way.
James Bradford:
Devoted Father and Beloved Friend.
Ramsey clears his throat.
“I know that none of us are religious men,” he begins. “So a prayer doesn’t seem appropriate. But I thought we might say a few words about— or to— Dad. Does anyone want to start?”
“I will,” Jensen says.
He probably comes here more than any of us, and he’s used to talking to our father.
“Dad, since I’ve last been here, things have turned out pretty well for me. So I wanted to thank you for continuing to be here for me, even from… wherever it is that you are. My case turned out okay. My lawyer turned out to be more than okay. In fact, I’m going to ask her to marry me.”
“Whoa,” Ramsey whistles, and I look at him in surprise.
“What a way to tell us!” I exclaim.
“I wanted Dad, and you two, to be the first to know.”
He looks so happy that I almost start to believe in love— for him, of course. Not for suckers like Dad and me.
“Congratulations,” Ramsey and I both say, each patting him on the back.
“Good job, little brother,” says Ramsey. “I’m proud of you. I might not be in favor of us Bradford Brothers getting tied down, but Riley’s a keeper, that’s for sure.”
“I’ll go next,” I say.
I look down at his gravesite and take another deep breath. I’ve always been bad at this— talking to my dad. But I feel that it’s an important tradition for my brothers and me to keep up, so I try anyway.
“I think of you often, Dad, and I always try to make you proud. I’m fighting hard to get back into active duty with the SEALs. Everything’s going fine after my accident, and I’m pretty much back to new. So, don’t worry. Love you, Dad.”
Now my brothers squeeze my shoulders. It feels good to have them with me on a sad day like this. I don’t know what I’d do without them.
“Okay, so I’m up,” says Ramsey, and he bends down to retrieve his guitar from its case. “Dad, I want you to know that everything’s good. We’re all good, we all miss you. Mom’s doing okay.”
Jensen and I look at each other uncomfortably.
“I mean, she’s had a few small setbacks but I just saw her yesterday and she’s back to doing well. I’m looking out for her, Dad, just like you always did. So don’t worry.”
I feel a pang of sadness, for how badly Ramsey wants to be like our dad, and to take care of all of us, even Mom. He’s always been the strong one among us, no matter what.
“I’ve been doing a little… music therapy,” he says, causing Jensen and I to raise an eyebrow at each other. “And I wrote this song for you. It’s what I’ve been wanting to say for a long time. I wanted to play it here for you, on your birthday.”
He begins strumming his guitar, and softly humming. He’s actually pretty good. Jensen and I look again at each other, but this time it’s with a look of amazement.
He sings a soft verse and then his voice gets louder and stronger on the touching refrain.
I always wanted to say goodbye.
But how can I do that when I can’t let go?
I never wanted to say goodbye.
Because you’re still with me, wherever I go.
After he’s finished, we stand still in silence.
I’m thinking about my dad, Ramsey’s song, and how it’s true that I never wanted to say goodbye to Dad, and how I probably will never be ready to do that, although I had to long ago. And I can’t help thinking the same thing about Whitney.
I’m so mad at her, but I still can’t get her out of my head. What’s it going to take for me to be able to let her go?
Chapter 43 – Whitney
My doorbell rings, awakening me from a deep slumber. My first thought is who’s at my door so early? My second thought— embarrassingly— is, Harlow?
I stumble out of bed and answer the door unabashedly in my pajamas. I’m surprised when bright light is the only thing that greets me.
It’s not Harlow. It’s no one. Just a package my postman left at the front door. My latest installment from my Books & Bubble Bath subscription.
Great.
As if I didn’t already feel like a walking cliché, now I’m seriously thinking of trying to mend my broken heart by losing myself in a romance novel while soaking in the tub. I might as well adopt twelve cats and call myself an official Old Spinster.
I’m surprised to find that it’s mid-afternoon. I’ve been sleeping for a really long time.
I’ll admit it. I called in to work, decided to skip my classes, and took a mental health day. This is my very first one, ever.
I’ve heard of such things, but I thought they were for weak-minded idiots. The type of person who falls in love with someone who would believe a slimy doctor over her, and who would be so morose once that person breaks up with her that she needs to stay in bed all day, and maybe stay in the bathtub all evening to boot.
And then I decide to take action. I don’t deserve a bubble bath until I’ve figured out what Dr. Davis’ deal is.
Clearly Harlow doesn’t want anything to do with me right now, and how can I blame him, when undoubtedly Dr. Davis got to him first and painted me as some crazy stalker who is making Harlow look bad so that I can have him all to myself?
I need to figure out a way to convince Harlow that it’s Dr. Davis— not me— who can’t be trusted. I need to do it to possibly save my relationship with Harlow, and to save my internship and future career.
On a hunch, I drive to Dr. Davis’ office. This is risky, as either Dr. Davis or Harlow could see me, but at this point, what do I have to lose? I park at the far end of the parking lot, furthest away from the entrance, trying to formulate a plan.
I think about what I know, which isn’t much, except that Harlow is the only patient Dr. Davis latches onto so tightly. There’s no one else he touts as being a success story, or brags about, or makes work for him. So what is it about Harlow that Dr. Davis needs so badly? And what is it about his other patients that isn’t worthy of public attention?
I wonder if I should wait until I see Dr. Davis come out, and somehow go in and steal all his files. I wish I had a good disguise s
o that I could pretend to be a different patient myself. Or so that I could sneak in and talk to them.
None of these ideas are very good, but at least I’m doing something besides sleeping or taking a bath. It has to be a step in the right direction.
I know I need to have hard evidence to expose Dr. Davis as the fraud I believe him to be— although I have no idea what kind of fraud, or how, or for what reason— and even if I don’t get this evidence—even if I play ball and don’t say a word— he’ll likely find a way to destroy my career.
As Harlow would say, it’s time to go big or go home.
As I rack my brain, I see a lone figure exit the clinic and enter the parking lot. He’s limping, and it looks like the simple task of walking to his car is difficult for him. As he gets a big closer, I can see that he’s wearing a mask of some sort.
Here’s my chance. I jump out of my car and head his way, hoping that neither Dr. Davis nor Harlow are around, and that they won’t happen to walk outside and spot me here.
“Hello there,” I call out, extending an arm when I’m close enough. “Would you like help walking to your car?”
“No, I’m fine,” he says.
But then he takes my arm anyway. “Well, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. No problem. How are you today?”
“I’ve been better.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Hoping I don’t seem too out of place, I add, “I’m Whitney Reid.”
“Jesse Morrow,” he says.
The name sounds familiar, and I feel as though I’ve seen him around the office before, but I can’t place him.
Then he takes a deep breath, and then asks, “Do you work here? With Dr. Davis?”
“Me? No? Well… not exactly.”
“Do you know Harlow? Or Lance?”
