“Hey. How much will I owe you for rescheduling this afternoon’s appointments?” she said to the receptionist. There were only two. One of them was a guy who’d cancelled his past five appointments, so the chances were good he wasn’t showing up anyway.
“I’ll take some cookies from Hoffman’s Bakery as payment,” the receptionist said.
“Done. I’ll be in tomorrow.”
***
IT WAS A goddamn good thing that Tanner had had the presence of mind to bring his phone (encased in a sealed Ziploc bag) into the shower with him. If he wiped out, at least he could call for help. Maybe he needed one of those “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” buttons or something. He hadn’t even washed his hair yet when he’d slipped in the water and landed flat on his back. He managed to shove himself across the shower floor to grab the phone on the built-in bench and dial 911. He hit Harrison’s number seconds afterward. He unlocked the security gate and his front door via phone before things got a bit fuzzy.
He was currently strapped onto a rolling cot inside an ambulance while the paramedics tried to joke with him to take his mind off the agonizing pain he was in.
“We’ve seen the ol’ plastic bag and duct tape thing on post-surgical knees before,” one of the guys said. “Things are cool until your legs go out from under you.”
“At least you didn’t hit your head.”
“Well, let’s be thankful for small favors,” he bit out. “It fucking hurts.”
“I’ll bet,” the guy said. “You’re burning through everything you’ve had already. We’re going to have to wait to give you more until you’ve seen the doc, unfortunately.”
“Didn’t anyone tell you to use a wheelchair or shower stool?” the other guy asked.
“There’s a bench in my shower already—”
“It wasn’t deep enough,” the guy explained.
“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” Tanner said.
He knew he wasn’t critical, so there were no lights and sirens. He had to hand it to the driver, though: the guy put his foot into it. He glanced out the windows to see the ambulance exiting the Mercer Island tunnel. They were less than ten minutes from the hospital. He’d have more tests, the orthopedist would throw a shit fit over the condition of the surgical repairs he and his colleagues had spent several hours working on six months ago, and hopefully there would be some additional pain meds while they all figured out what to do next.
He felt his phone buzzing in his hand. He held it up in front of his face so he could see it. A text from Harrison. The guy was his best friend, but damn, he needed to get a life or something.
Already at Virginia Mason. You won’t believe who walked in.
He knew his family was probably on a flight from California, but it would take them at least a couple of hours. Maybe it was his ex-girlfriend Star. He let out a groan.
“Take it easy, bro. We’re almost there,” one of the paramedics told him.
“Please tell me my ex-girlfriend isn’t in the waiting room,” he muttered.
“Didn’t you used to date Flowerbomb, that singer?” Flowerbomb was Star’s stage name.
“Yeah.”
Maybe she got tired of waiting for that boy bander’s voice to change. If he had a couple of twenties on him, he’d ask the guys to check that she wasn’t around before she got into his room and did the usual: she’d call her agent, the paparazzi, and a couple of entertainment show reporters while she draped herself over him to pose for pictures. He was sure the tabloids would enjoy pictures of a guy wearing nothing but a towel around his hips too.
The ambulance pulled into the porte cochere outside the emergency room. The back doors opened as soon as the vehicle stopped.
“Well. What have we here?” another paramedic said.
“Somebody fell down in the shower,” Tanner said.
“Let’s get you into a cubicle and find out what the hell’s up,” the guy said. “By the way, you’re already pretty popular. The waiting room’s full. They’re all looking for you.”
“How much do you want if I asked you to tell them all to go home?”
“One of them seems to have your wallet. You might need to talk to that guy first.”
***
AS TANNER HAD predicted, the surgeon flipped out over what he’d managed to do to himself. It was always fun to see a distinguished-looking older guy in Nike golf wear losing his grip in the middle of an emergency room.
“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to re-repair this type of injury? I have never had a patient refuse to stay in the rehab facility, either. ‘Visiting nurse,’ my ass. If you had listened to my advice, you’d be well on your way to recovery instead of facing at least one more surgery.” He sent one hand through closely cropped silver hair. “You’re worse than my five-year-old grandkids.”
“You wouldn’t stay in that rehab hospital, either.”
“I didn’t play pro football for a living,” the doctor snapped. “Sacrifices must be made.” He turned on one heel and stalked out of the cubicle. Tanner could hear his golf spikes clicking on the highly polished emergency room floor as he stormed away.
He and his colleagues sent Tanner off for every test they could think of and met up around his bed a few hours later to discuss the findings. After the determination that there was no neurological damage besides a slight concussion, the nurse had been generous with the painkillers. He was drifting in and out while the surgeons decided how they were going to clean up the damage.
He heard the text noise on his phone go off. He pulled the phone up and hit the text to see who it was. Star sent him a nude pic. The phone slipped out of his hand before he could delete it. One of the doctors standing around his bed grabbed the phone and held it up so everyone could see.
“She must be friendly,” one of the other doctors said.
“It’s my ex. Please give me the phone so I can delete it.”
The surgeon still in golf wear said, “All I ever get from my wife are grocery lists.”
Tanner managed to get his eyes to coordinate long enough to hit Delete. The doctors decided they had somewhere else to be.
Finally, there was blessed silence. He’d already been told he was having surgery in the morning. He was so high on whatever it was they gave him that he could have sworn he heard Jordan’s voice and felt a smaller, cool hand squeeze his.
“I heard you’re going to be here for a few days,” she said.
“Yeah,” he muttered. He could smell her perfume too, the pear and flower scent he hadn’t been able to forget. They must have given him the good shit.
“Your family is on their way here from the airport too.” He wasn’t sure how she’d gotten that information, but he’d puzzle that one out later. He felt her sigh brush his cheek like the whisper of fairy-godmother wings. “I wanted to tell you I’ll see you when you’re a little better.”
“No you won’t,” he said.
He heard her musical laugh. She probably had to go back to the forest to hang with the elves or something. “Oh, I will,” she responded. “Rest.”
He wasn’t sure how much time passed in the haze of more pain meds, nurses who wouldn’t let him get any damn sleep, and hearing his mom’s knitting needles clicking away while she made him another sweater or something. He opened his eyes to see twilight stealing through the large window to his left. His mom’s knitting lay on the recliner next to his hospital bed. She and his dad must have gone to get some food.
Harrison strode into Tanner’s room seconds later.
“You’re awake, bro.” He reached out for Tanner’s mom’s knitting, placed it on the rolling table in front of Tanner’s bed, and sat down in the chair. He held up the strip of pudding snacks. “The nurse gave me some food. Want one?”
“I’m not really a pudding guy.” He rubbed one hand over his face. “I thought I heard Jordan’s voice. Was she here?”
“You’re calling her by her actual first name now?” Harrison ripped the
foil lid off one of the pudding containers and licked it.
Tanner didn’t dignify that with an answer.
“She was here. She wanted to find out if you had to have another surgery. She didn’t stay long.” Harrison licked the spoon he was using. “By the way, she met your mom. You’re in big trouble.”
“Huh?”
“Your mom spent the rest of the afternoon talking about why you should date someone as sweet and charming as she is.”
“Did you tell my mother that she spent an hour yesterday torturing me?”
“Your mom doesn’t seem to care about that.”
***
SEVERAL DAYS AFTER Tanner’s wipeout in the shower, Jordan went to the rehab facility Tanner was staying in. According to his surgeons, the repairs to his knee were in better shape than they had hoped for when the inflammation receded. Tanner had been resting for the past week or so, and he’d been given the thumbs-up for PT again. Marco had invaded her work area that morning to tell her that the surgeon had requested Jordan work with Tanner again.
“His surgeon? Why? There must be someone else more qualified that would make him happier.”
“Does anything really make him happy?” Marco said.
“He still wants to work with you,” Jordan said.
“That’s not going to happen.”
The lure of extra money warred with the knowledge that the further away she got from Tanner, the better it was for her. The cost of living in Seattle was unrelenting. She loved the area, her family was here, and she’d prefer to stay despite the skyrocketing expenses. Several of her friends had moved back in with their parents after graduating from college and were still living there. If she saved enough she might be able to come up with a down payment for a condo the size of a shoe box in Auburn. The best part of buying a place was that she’d never have to deal with a roommate again unless she wanted to. Plus, the constant filling out of rental applications and credit checks weren’t cheap, either. Her parents had made sure that she graduated without a mountain of student loan debt. If she stayed on track and didn’t go nuts in the shoe department at Nordstrom’s Anniversary Sale anytime soon, there was always hope.
If she was brutally honest with herself (and maybe she should try that for a change), the extra money had almost nothing to do with the fact she was still working with Tanner. The more time she spent with him, the more she realized that he wasn’t such a bad guy, which was scarier to contemplate than an evening spent locked in one of those escape-room things with all her ex-roommates.
She hurried into the physical therapy area of the rehab facility. Tanner was already there. He raised one eyebrow.
“We meet again,” he said. His lips twitched into a smile. “You looked at me like you wanted to call me something that was not G-rated.”
“I don’t want to scare the old people,” she said.
“Seriously? All of them have probably heard those words before.”
“They don’t need to hear them from me.”
“Come on, DP,” he said. “Live a little.” She wasn’t sure what “DP” referred to, but she was betting it wasn’t especially complimentary.
He was being especially irritating today. He must have been in a lot of pain. She had PT tricks up her sleeve that he couldn’t imagine. They’d leave him with aching muscles and wishing he’d never tangled with her.
“Brace yourself,” she said. “I have some new exercises for you.” She rubbed her hands together. She probably looked about as evil as Elsa. He looked like he was about to burst into laughter.
“I hardly felt it last week.”
She gave him an angelic smile. “You’ll feel it in a few short hours.”
“Promise?”
She put him through the exercise routine she kept refining as she noted his progress.
“A few more reps,” she said. “Watch your form.”
“Do you say that to all the guys, or just me?”
“What guys? You’re the only one in here right now.”
He let out a laugh. “I’m sure we could find some other men who would enjoy having you twist them into a pretzel.”
“I only do that with men I really like.” She tapped him on the forearm. “How does your knee feel right now?”
“Awesome,” he said. “Never felt better.” He was lying, but this did not mean she was going to back off.
“Glad to hear it, Tanner,” she said. “Let’s keep going. If you need a break, let me know.”
He gave her a sly grin. “You like me, huh?”
“What?”
“You only torture the guys you really like.” He let out a breath and mopped at the sweat running down his face with the towel he’d draped around his neck. “You must be in love with me or something, DP.”
Her heart skipped a beat.
“You’re not crying yet,” she said. “I’ll have to try harder.”
He laughed out loud.
***
AN HOUR LATER she’d meted out the equivalent of finding oneself in a heavyweight prize fight or a car accident, whichever was more painful. He wasn’t sure. He would never admit being in pain to her, though. He wanted to maintain a shred of male pride.
“You might want to talk someone into picking up an Icy Hot roll-on that’s big enough to use all over your body,” she said. “A massage might be a good idea too.”
He waved one hand. “I’m fine.”
She grabbed the tablet he’d seen her use for client notes. “Happy to hear it. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”
“I’ll be running by the next time you see me,” he called out as she rounded the corner to leave. He could have sworn she was laughing as she went.
***
TANNER GOT THE thumbs-up from his surgeon to leave the rehab hospital four days later. This may have had something to do with the fact that he promised he’d hire a live-in nurse for a few weeks. The thought of it pissed him off, but he had no other choice. It was that or spend the next month asking friends to smuggle food in that didn’t come out of a blender. Harrison picked him up from the rehab hospital.
“My mom called this morning. She wants to move in for a month. I told her no. I love her, but I’m not down for that,” he told Harrison.
“Listen, dipshit, you wouldn’t be in this position if you’d actually listened to the doctors the first time around,” Harrison said.
“I’m fine. Mom has other things to do than babysit me.” Tanner frowned at his smartphone’s screen. His ex, Star, had sent him yet another text. He deleted it without opening it.
Harrison pulled into a parking place a few feet from the local high school’s football field. Tanner glanced up from his phone to see the late-afternoon sunshine highlighting a group of little kids on the field.
“They’re early. Come on,” he said.
“Huh?” Tanner said.
Harrison grabbed the set of crutches out of the backseat and rounded the car to Tanner’s side. “Remember when you told me that you wanted to coach after football? I’m about to make all your dreams come true. We have some folks to meet.”
“Oh, hell no. I thought I was going home so I could relax on my own couch.”
“It’s time to get started with the rest of your life. Let’s go.”
“I don’t know what you have in mind right now, but I’m not interested,” Tanner said. “You call this coaching?”
“Gotta start somewhere, bro,” Harrison extended the crutches to Tanner. “Move your ass.”
Tanner fucking hated it when the motivating strategies he’d used on his old teammates were used against him, dammit. He hobbled through the parking lot and maneuvered onto the football field sidelines. There was a currently unoccupied metal bench; he could sit down for a few minutes while Harrison did whatever the hell he came here to do.
He heard Harrison’s voice again. “You all know who Tanner is, right? Maybe you kids could talk him into being our assistant coach. He needs a job.”
Tanner bi
t back yet more four-letter words. Harrison had talked to him before about coaching a local peewee flag football team. Tanner thought he must have been hallucinating or something when Harrison mentioned he should help out with it when he was lying in a hospital bed. He didn’t have anything against little kids, but maybe he wasn’t the best guy for this. Kids must have had the same sixth sense as every cat he’d ever met; maybe he had “sucker” stamped on his forehead. They were heading in his direction, and he didn’t have candy or anything else to ward them off with.
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’m still in rehab.”
“PT doesn’t take twenty hours a day. Don’t be a chicken,” Harrison said.
A little boy with no front teeth was tugging on Tanner’s pants leg. “We can’t play unless we have another coach. It’s in the rules.”
“Yeah,” another little boy said. “My dad told me. He can’t do it because he works all the time.”
Seconds later, Tanner was surrounded by fifteen kids pulling on his clothes, interrupting each other and trying to knock him over. He braced his crutches in each armpit and made the “time-out” hand signal. “Okay. One at a time,” he said.
A little girl with a long red ponytail and wearing a “Girls Rule” T-shirt, shorts, and soccer shin guards edged her way into the group. “You want to play football?” he said to her.
“I’m a quarterback,” she said.
He perched on the edge of the bench so he could look into her eyes. “Are you sure? Boys can be rough. You might get hurt.”
“That’s dumb,” the girl said. “I can be the quarterback if I want to be.” She was already indignant. “My dad says quarterbacks have to be smart and ’lusive. I’m ’lusive. And I’m smart. My teacher says so.” She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him. She tried to look tough, but he noticed her chin was quivering. Her eyes were brown instead of blue, framed by long lashes tipped in gold. Her hair was a bit more copper colored than his woodland nymph of a physical therapist’s, and she had a few more freckles scattered across her button nose, but it was obvious: she had the same kind of self-confidence and refusal to acknowledge the word no. She was a miniature version of Jordan, and he was doomed.
Necessary Roughness Page 4