Page 25 of Opening Strain

Whoa. Stop right there, buddy. She was Darren’s and always will be. Plus, she’s only doing her job and fixing me—given she got it wrong at the start and all that.

I push away from the island, go into the living room, and flick on the television. Changing the channels, I stop on a college basketball game, but it doesn’t hold my interest. I want to be playing the game rather than watching it. My fist connects with my thigh.Hurry up and heal.

Toward the end of the first half, I check the time. Thirty more minutes before my next PT session. I swap out my T-shirt and toss another sweatshirt over my head. Might as well head over there now. Don’t want to be late.

Unlike this morning, the reception area is filled with people. Patients stare at me, some with their mouths open. Great. So much for keeping my whereabouts on the down low.

I force a smile. “Hi, folks. Great day for some PT, huh?”

A couple of women in their mid-twenties use their hands to fan their faces. Older men appear not to know who I am. I give my name to the receptionist and take a seat next to the gentlemen.

One man asks me, “What’cha here for?”

I point to my thigh. “Pulled my muscle. You?”

“I got a hip replacement two months ago.” He indicates the man next to him. “He’s working out a rotator cuff injury he got while skiing.”

Both of which are better than doing a crazy-ass jump onstage. Figure I can do a little digging. “Has Jenna helped you?” I indicate his hip.

“Not Jenna, my therapist is Austin. He’s pretty good, but always seems to be focusing on the next thing rather than giving me his full attention.”

The other guy rolls his shoulder. “I’m with Courtney. She’s really good.”

I guess Jenna was right in that she’s not taking any more patients. Given how attentive she was to me this morning, I find it hard to believe she’s not doing it full time.

The women across the way point at me, and I shift in my seat. The man next to me says, “Are you somebody?”

I ask myself this question on the daily.

“He’s only the lead singer with one of the hottest bands in the country,” one of the ladies supplies.

The other corrects, “In the world!”

After offering them my rock star smile, I mutter, “They’re overstating things.”

The guy with the hip replacement nods, but his brows furrow. The rotator cuff man asks, “What’s your name again?”

A genuine smile crosses my face. They have no clue. “I’m Bennett Hardy. I’m with a band called Untamed Coaster and we’re going on tour in a couple of weeks.”

“Hence you’re here to rehab that pull.”

My hand claps hip guy on the shoulder. “Exactly.”

“We won’t tell anyone about you.” A devious glint enters his eyes. “Not even our granddaughters.”

I offer him my fist, which he bumps. These guys are all right. “Want a photo? For your granddaughters, I mean.” They agree and I take the selfie using the rotator cuff guy’s camera.

Soon, Jenna comes to the door. I wave at my two fellow patients and follow her to the back. I have to address this situation before we begin. Alone in the back area, I say, “We need to come up with a better system. While I enjoyed talking with a couple of your male patients, the ladies could’ve been a problem.”

Jenna’s cheeks pinken. “Bennett, I didn’t think of that. I’m so sorry.” She fiddles with her ponytail. “How about you text me when you’re five minutes away, and I’ll meet you at the back elevator?”

“Yeah. Makes sense. Appreciate it, Jenna.”

Problem solved, she has me lie down on the floor and repeat the exercises I did this morning. Knowing what to expect, things are a bit smoother. Not easier, as my thigh muscle protests. Simply smoother.

While I’m concentrating on a particularly difficult exercise involving a small medicine ball, Jenna says, “If I didn’t say this before, congratulations on the movie. It was,” she takes a breath. “Informative.”

I force my thighs to hold the ball. She wasn’t with the band after Darren’s funeral. Trying to lighten the mood, I ask, “What did you learn?”

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