Page 10 of One More Chance

Christ, this is bullshit.

Chris stands. “I’ll walk with you to your office so you can pack up your stuff.”

Shit, so much for me being able to investigate who framed me. “I’m a military vet. Does this mean I’m no longer allowed access to the center as a client?”

His answering sigh is that of a man who’s shouldering the weight of the world several times over. “I think it’s probably for the best, Lucas, if you avoid the place for the time being.”

If I no longer have access to the center, at least my brothers still do. It won’t be the same as me seeing what I can turn up, but it’s better than nothing.

And right now, we’re facing a big fat nothing when it comes to figuring out the truth.

Curious gazes follow me as Chris and I walk along the corridor leading to the clinic. I used to think the newly renovated building was warm, welcoming. Now, glacial stares creep over my body, condemning me for something I didn’t do.

We enter the clinic and my first patient of the day is sitting in the waiting area, leafing through a magazine. Elsie’s cane leans against the armrest of her chair.

The door shuts behind me with a click, and she looks up.

A smile appears on her face and accompanies her relieved sigh and the drop of her shoulders. “Thank God,” Elsie says. “I heard you’re no longer working here, and Rebecca will be covering for you until your replacement is hired. I’m glad to see she was wrong.”

Rebecca heard about the firing squad before I did?

I shoot a permission-asking glance at Chris first and sit on the chair next to Elsie. “She’s not wrong.” The words feel like boulders on my chest.

“B-but you promised I’d be able to walk down the aisle at my wedding without needing my cane.”

I fix my mouth into a reassuring grin, which feels as natural as walking through a grocery store while naked. “That hasn’t changed, Elsie. As long as you do what my replacement recommends, there’s no reason you won’t be walking down the aisle without the cane.”

My reassurance does nothing to erase her dejected expression. “Why are you leaving? You’re one of the best PTs around.”

At least someone appreciates my hard work. “Thank you.”

Chris shifts on his feet but doesn’t say anything.

I walk to my office with him in tow.

Rebecca, the clinic director, steps out of her office, and tucks her chin-length blond hair behind her ear. “Lucas, I’m sorry about what happened. I let the board know that I disagreed with their decision. I still can’t believe anyone could think for even a second that you’re guilty—”

Chris coughs, a not-so-subtle reminder that he has places to go and this is taking too long.

Rebecca shakes her head in a whatever gesture, accompanied by a slight eye roll. “Remember, once your name is cleared, I want you back. No one fights for his patients as hard as you do.”

I smile at my former boss. “Thank you. That’s the plan.”

Without a word, Chris watches me pack up my office and escorts me to the main entrance. It’s only then that he decides to say anything. “I’m sure you’ll be back before you know it. In the meantime, I’ll keep pushing for the board to reinstate you. You’ve done great work here. I’m sure in time the board will realize their mistake in terminating your contract.”

I can only nod and accept his condolence handshake.

Once inside my SUV, I send my brothers a group text: I’m now unemployed. The center fired me because of the drug charges.

Troy: Shit. I was hoping that wouldn’t happen.

Another text comes through that has nothing to do with the group text.

Robert Wakefield: Lucas, could you come over when you have a chance? Tuuli and I need to talk to you.

Fuck, this day has just gone from bad to worse.

I sit at the Wakefields’ kitchen table. The table has been in their family for the past three generations. The warm sunlight streaming through the window highlights the scratches and scars that mar the pine surface. The imperfections don’t speak of neglect. They add character. They tell stories. Stories of births. Stories of deaths. Stories of accomplishments. Stories of failure.

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