Page 4 of Physical Therapy

I set my foot on the floor and lean forward, elbows to knees. “Why? So you can read into the words I choose? Draw assumptions from how I relay the story?”

Her lips tilt in the softest of smiles. “Not at all. Purely so I can hear what your reasoning is for beating a man so badly he needed an overnight stay in the hospital.”

I recline slowly, eyes on her the whole time as a smirk grows. “What does your professional opinion tell you was the reason?”

The pen in her hand slams against the surface of her pad with a slap. “Here’s the thing. I ask you questions, to begin with, and you answer them. Once I have established a profile for you, then you may start questioning me as long as it’s in regards to either your condition or your treatment. Okay?”

“My condition?” I scoff. “Are you insinuating that I’m unwell?”

“Not unwell,” she replies curtly. “Simply with a few vices that need to be straightened out.” She sits ramrod straight, one elbow to the arm of the chair as she studies my response.

I hold her eye with a hard stare of my own and gently slide my hands into the pockets of my suit pants. “I don’t believe honor is a vice, Ms. Potts.”

“Edith.” Her eyes narrow a fraction. “First name basis works both ways, otherwise it leaves us unequal. Doesn’t it?”

“I suppose.”

“Perhaps, if you’re reluctant to discuss the event that gave the courts license to send you here, then you could start by explaining to me how brawling relates to honor?”

“Because I refuse to show weakness in the face of adversity.”

She nods in that condescendingly slow way only therapists do. Yet somehow, this fox manages to make it sensual in nature. “Refuse to show weakness? Or admit to it?”

Goddamn, she’s good. I’m going to need to up my game if I intend to come out the winner here.

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