Page 7 of The Potter

Duke arches a brow. “For you or her?”

And for the second time today, I throw another person out of my office.

“Don’t be a pussy, Vance. Get up!”

I needed this.

After leaving the office early, I texted my older brother, Astor, who didn’t bother coming into work, and asked if he was down for some sparring. I should have judged his mood more carefully since I’m the one on the mat, bleeding with his foot shoved in my back.

“I hear you like throwing women out of your office.” He bears down harder, the burn of pain a welcome visitor.

Pushing up on my elbows, I gurgle out an unimpressive laugh. “And you call me a pussy?” I spit a mouthful of blood onto the mat. “I’m not the one gossiping with our little brother over salads.”

“Duke is concerned. We both are.” Astor steps off and kicks me in the ribs. Not enough to do any damage, but enough to serve as a warning. Out of the three of us, Astor and I don’t do feelings. Concern is an emotion he’d rather bury right along with love.

I push up off the floor and stand. “I’m fine.”

“She was your friend, Vance. It’s natural to feel—”

I land a punch to Astor’s jaw, bringing a smile to my face when he, too, spits out blood.

“All right, you little bitch. I see you’re not in the mood to share. Enough talking for the day.”

And we don’t.

Instead, Astor and I trade blows for the next hour until I’m close to vomiting.

“Go home, brother.”

I don’t bother pulling my head from my hands and facing Astor. He can go fuck himself and his demands.

“I’m serious. Go home and get your shit together. Duke and I don’t care how. Just as long as you get it done. If you don’t start performing surgeries, we’ll keep losing money. Winning the trial may be our only way to keep the practice open.”

“Fuck you.” I flip him off, still not moving my hands from my head.

My father founded Potter’s Plastic Surgery. I offered to take it over when he retired, even though Astor was the oldest and next in line. But at the time, Astor didn’t want the responsibility of running a practice, and Duke was still completing his fellowship.

I stepped up and took over the practice, rebranding and aligning my brothers’ strengths with mine. The community needed a different image of plastic surgeons. We weren’t vain and obsessed with perfectionism like my father.

We were constructors, sculptors, and refiners.

We built up the community. Healed the broken and gave hope to the hopeless.

And in four hours, I destroyed it all.

Ms. Belle wanted the old Dr. Potter—the one the media applauded.

What she got was the remnants of what that asshole left behind.

This Dr. Potter is nothing like that man she read about.

This one is sore, sick, and empty.

Halle

Actresses are good at being broke.

It’s something you learn to live with in the entertainment business.

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