Page 16 of Spring Tide

She breaks eye contact, fidgeting with her fingers in silence. “Yeah, we’re doing this. I said I’d help you, Luca. I won’t go back on my word.”

The lump clears. “Then it’s case closed.”

“This is Harper St. James, officially locking her lips now.” She mimes the action with her hands, tossing away a fictional key. “Come on, let’s go to my room, and you can take your pants off.”

“What?” I sputter.

“I need to properly examine the muscles and joints in your leg.” She grasps tightly to my wrist as she drags me down the hallway. “Those bulky jeans are in the way.”

My fingers involuntarily clench together. “I’ll just roll them up past my knee.”

“Won’t work the same.” She drops my wrist, pressing both hands flat against my back. With one solid push, I’m shoved inside her open bedroom door. “Come on, it’s all good. This is strictly professional.”

“Fine.”

“I’m just gonna grab a few things.” She sweeps an arm out, wildly gesturing toward her unmade bed. “Take a seat and make yourself at home.”

As she bounces out of the room, my eyes hopelessly trail across her floral bedspread. She has a queen-sized mattress set on top of a white wrought-iron frame. Her bedding is chaotic, with twisted cream sheets, a tangled duvet, and more throw pillows than one person could possibly require.

Sitting amongst this mess feels like an invasion of privacy.

“Okay!” she chirps, bounding around the corner. “I’ve got my goniometer, some ACE wraps, and ... you’ve still got your pants on.”

“Right.” My gaze dips, the tips of my ears tinging with heat. “I didn’t ... did you want me to take them off now?”

“That would be great.” She sets a few items on the dresser by the door, slowly shifting around to make her bed. “Sorry, I’ll just fix this up, and then you can sit down.”

“Okay, so I’ll just—” My fingers are fumbling, thumbs awkwardly tugging at the button on my jeans. “—get undressed, then.”

She smooths two hands across her duvet, patting down the wrinkles and fluffing her pillows in size-descending order. “Would you like me to turn around? Or I could step out and—”

“Yeah, if you could just give me a minute.”

“Sure, of course.” Her cheeks tighten with a gentle smile, eyes soft as they flit across my face. “Just let me know when you’re ready.”

The door lightly closes behind her. Taking a deep breath, I unfasten the button of my jeans and hastily tug them over my hips. Now I’m standing here half-naked in Harper’s bedroom. It’s a vulnerable place to be—alone in my boxer briefs and T-shirt—bruised knee ready and waiting for exposure.

At least now that the bed is made, smoothed over and situated, it feels slightly more acceptable to sit on. It takes me a few long moments to finally position myself, though. I shift my hips once or twice, going from the middle edge to the far corner and back again.

Once I’m mildly comfortable, I loudly clear my throat. “You can come in now.”

“Okay, great.” She swipes a measurement tool off her dresser. I sit back as her eyes sweep over me from head to toe, just once, before she takes a few steps closer. “We’re all set, then. Could you please describe your pain to me, level and type, while I take a few measurements?”

“It’s about a six out of ten.” I wince as she settles in beside me, the sudden offset in the mattress jolting my knee. “At this specific moment.”

“Okay, and at its worst?”

“Could be an eight or nine. Honestly, it feels like my entire shin is ready to dislocate at any moment. The pain is dull and aching at times; other times, it’s a constant throb. Feels like one wrong move could send me reeling to the ground.”

“I see.” Her fingertips gently brush against the side of my thigh as she lines up her plastic tool. “This is a goniometer. I’m just gonna use it to quickly measure your range of motion, so could you please extend your knee for me?”

I carefully kick my shin out, eyes pinching shut as I fight through the pain. “That’s end range,” I mutter through gritted teeth.

“Okay, thank you.” She sets the goniometer behind us. “I’m gonna need to palpate the muscles around the joint, so this part may hurt.”

“Go ahead.”

Her index and middle fingers carefully press against the knotted muscles on my inner calf, slowly stroking their way past the top of my thigh. A moment later, the pressure increases. There’s an instant jolt of pain like nothing I’ve ever felt before, so profound that my vision turns hazy.

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