Page 19 of I Still Love You

I push into his arm, and he backs away as if I’ve burned him. When he clears the way, I rest my hand on the door handle and look back into the darkness. “Pull up your big girl panties and toughen up, Luke. Stop caring what everyone thinks about us and live your life how you were before I showed up. Pretend as if I’m not even here. That’s what you want to do, isn’t it?”

I swing the door open without looking back, swipe my card to slip into the back end of the emergency room, and stomp my way to the nurse’s station. I drop Sierra’s candy bar where she sits and sink into the chair next to her to eat my chips.

Ignoring her stares when she does a double take, I shove a chip in my mouth. “What took you so long? Everything okay?”

I’m mid-chomp into a chip that doesn’t deserve my wrath when I respond, “The machine didn’t want to give up our snacks.”

“Oh yeah,” she says while tearing the wrapper of her candy bar open, her eyes softening. “I forgot to mention it’s a little touchy sometimes.”

“Yeah, well, you owe me a dollar, and next time, you’re going for the snacks.”

I’m not going back out there. Not when the possibility of Luke lurking exists. Because I’m aware of how he operates. He’s not a man who cowers and accepts defeat. It’s why I went radio silent when I left. Because I knew he’d go to every length to reach me, and I wanted to be unreachable.

He didn’t reply to my insult and lack of cooperation, but he will. And when he does, I’m not sure what the hell I’m going to do.

8

Luke

I bump into Henderson Wills at the front desk after walking a patient out with a plethora of paperwork for exercises he can do at home. I notice the way he’s favoring his bad shoulder and nod at him. “Look who it is. How’s the shoulder, man?”

When he turns his attention from Rebecca, one of the front desk ladies, to me, it’s clear he could be doing better. His shaggy dark hair is the first indicator, the strands longer than normal and tucked behind his ears. The dark coloring under his normally bright eyes is another. And he’s not smiling. Henderson is the pitcher for the Quentin Wolves and a damn good one at that, but he’s been through a rough year. After they took the trophy at the end of the season, he tore his rotator cuff at a Pledge of Commitment charity game on the West Coast.

A torn rotator cuff can be career suicide for baseball players. All it takes is a tear in the perfect spot and pitching flushes itself down the toilet. And right now, Henderson is circling the throne, waiting to see if he’s going to survive or be dragged down by the pressure in the bowl.

“If it were good, I wouldn’t be here,” he comments, voice void of emotion, as he walks to the end of the check-in counter.

“You should’ve called me,” I tell him. I’ve been friends with Henderson for just as long as I’ve been with Jett, but I understand what it’s like to retreat into your shell, which is why I’ve given him space. “Coach wants you to pick back up with sessions?”

He nods, his eyes falling before looking back up at me. “It was feeling better when I was coming in, but after a few weeks without…” He trails off, and I know it’s because he doesn’t want to say it.

It’s not stellar news if he’s back. If therapy doesn’t help, he’s going to need to look into another form of rehabilitation. For an injury like this, he’s looking at injections or surgery. The latter would bench him longer than he’d like.

“I hear you.” I turn to Rebecca, ignoring the twinkle in her eye she’s given me since hearing about Layla. “Get him on the schedule as soon as possible.”

Her smile falters, and she glances between the two of us. “I’m trying to find an open slot in your schedule. The soonest availability is two months out.”

I shake my head and round the desk to get a view of the schedule on Rebecca’s screen. “That’s not going to work.” I lean down, eyeing the appointment calendar. We’re all booked up, and I’m not comfortable canceling patients’ appointments. They’re on the schedule for a reason, and I won’t take that away from them.

She clicks her mouth, zooming in on specific days. “The only thing I can take out is your Pledge of Commitment charity game in a few weeks, but—”

I shake my head. “We can’t cancel that, either.”

That charity game brings in money for the hospital. The board would flip shit if they found out I canceled it, even if it was to help Henderson Wills. I look over at him. “Can you come in after hours?”

He shifts uncomfortably on his feet. “I can, but you don’t have to do that, Luke.”

The fuck, I don’t.

This is my job, and I can’t have one of the Quentin Wolves walking around suffering because our first bout of therapy sessions didn’t provide enough relief, and I don’t want to work over the weekend. As much as he’s dedicated to the Wolves, I’m dedicated to him. To all of my patients.

“It’s not an issue. Rebecca will get you sorted.” I round the counter and clap him on the back, on his good side. “Pick a time that works for you and your schedule, and I’ll work around it.”

His eyes brighten briefly, and he extends a hand. “Thanks, man. I’ll be sure to send you a fruit basket as thanks,” he quips, the corner of his mouth tipping upward at his joke.

“Instead of the fruit basket, you could just come out with the guys and me.”

“You want me to endure Jett and Tilly? I take back the fruit basket.”

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