Lawrence shook his head. “I guess you would be the best person to call it. Takes one to know one as they say.”
Joel frowned. “I’m not that opinionated.”
“Yeah, whatever. So, did she say what she thought your chances were for going back to the fire department?”
“No. We didn’t get to that, really. Plus, my doctor and the department will be the ones to make the call.”
“Have you thought about Hightower Security at all? It could be—”
Oh, no, he was starting again. For the past four months, his family had been trying to get him to think about other options just in case he didn’t get a clean bill of health to return to firefighting. He couldn’t get them to understand he wasn’t ready to consider other options.
He needed to believe he would be able to go back to the fire department.
“You know, I appreciate you taking your day off to go with me to my first physical therapy session, but I really don’t want to talk about this. I just want to get better and get back to my normal life.”
Lawrence nodded.
They watched the rest of the game in silence.
Samantha sat on her sofa, flipping the channels without a desire to really watch anything. After her horrendous day at work, she just wanted to veg out.
Joel Hightower was nothing like she had imagined him.
Why did that bother her? It shouldn’t have. He was a patient.
She’d dealt with difficult patients before. As a professional, she just had to do her job.
When her phone started ringing, she contemplated not answering it. She wasn’t in the mood for talking, especially if it was her mother on the other line.
She glanced at the caller ID. Seeing it was her friend, Jenny, the receptionist from the clinic, she picked up.
“Hey, girl. What’s up?”
“Girl, I had to leave before you were done with your last patient.” Jenny’s bubbly voice came through the phone line. “And you know I had to call you and find out how it went. I’ve never seen you almost snap on a patient before. Girl, I thought you were going to rip his head off. His fine-as-he-wants-to-be head off, I might add.”
Samantha hissed. “He’s rude, and he’s a bear.”
And truth be told, his stank attitude hurt your feelings and shattered all the little idealized images of him you had in your mind.
“Whatever. He’s something to look at, and he had his other fine brother with him.” The distinct sound of smacking lips followed by “mmm” interrupted Jenny’s adulation. “Girl, I was glad you were late. I got to sneak glances at those two fine Hightower men the entire time. You know, I went to high school with the oldest Hightower brother, Patrick. Every girl in Paterson wanted to snag one of those Hightower boys—”
“I can hardly imagine why. Joel Hightower is a surly, opinionated jerk. In fact, I’m going to start calling him Mr. Surly.”
Jenny laughed.
“What’re you laughing at? It’s not funny.”
“I just think it’s funny you find him so opinionated. Tell me, is that your expert opinion, since you can be a little opinionated yourself?”
“Ha, ha, ha. The difference is my opinions are usually right, and his…Oh, forget it. I don’t want to talk about Mr. Surly.”
“Hmm…I’ve never seen you get this worked up over a guy before. Interesting.”
“And I think you might be in need of a shrink, because clearly you’ve lost your mind.”
“Right. We’ll see what the next months shall bring, now won’t we?”
“No, we won’t, and I’m not worked up over Joel Hightower. I don’t get worked up. That’s not my style. I’m an easygoing, laid back, live and let live kind of a girl.”
It was all she could do to keep her voice calm because she didn’t like the fact that Jenny had called her on her less-than-cool response to the surly but fine-as-all-get-out Joel Hightower.
“Yeah, you’re easygoing, all right. You easily let some of the finest men in North Jersey go on about their business once they get tired of trying to work their way into your world.”
Samantha also didn’t like the tone of Jenny’s know-it-all voice that was hitting a little too close to home. So what if she hadn’t met a guy who could successfully hold her interest for more than three dates? So what if she preferred to keep her options open and not get too serious at this point in her life?
“Oh, please tell me this isn’t going to turn into another why-don’t-you-settle-down talk. I like my life the way it is. I’m twenty-seven, I have a career I love, and I get to meet all kinds of guys and go out when I have time. I’m cool with my life.” Was that a little whine in her voice she heard? She cleared her throat and sat up a little as she clutched the phone.
“You don’t let anyone get close.”
“I let you get close, and believe me, I rethink that every day,” Samantha joked through tight lips.
“Ha, ha. You know that’s not what I mean. If I didn’t know you better, I might start to think you don’t like men, but I think you just don’t trust them. You’re a serial dater, and you don’t let guys stick around long enough to get close.”
“That’s not true!” Not really…
“What about my cousin Paul?”
“Paul? The cop?” Samantha shook her head as she remembered the brash rookie cop. He had been handsome without a doubt, but not handsome enough to make her forget her vow.
“Not my type. You shouldn’t have even set me up with him. I could have told you that wasn’t going to work. I’m not into guys with dangerous occupations.”
“Mmm, hmm, and all other guys fit under the two-or-three date rule. You cut them loose after a few dates.”
“That’s because I’m particular about things like, oh, I don’t know, conversation. I’m looking for someone who will make me think, make me laugh and who has a nice, safe, uneventful job. I’m not picky at all.”
“So, you’ll just keep dating and leaving all the most eligible guys in the area until there are no more left to date, without really giving them a chance?” Jenny’s tone was exasperated.
“If they don’t fit the criteria, I have to keep it moving. Time waits for no man, and neither do I. No need dragging out the inevitable. I prefer to think of it as power dating until I find the right one.”
She blinked when Joel Hightower’s bold and daring face popped into her head. Those brooding brown eyes would challenge her without end. That insufferable personality wouldn’t allow him to agree with a thing she said and would probably make conversations riveting and interesting, to say the least. And those irritatingly witty little snipes of his would keep her on her toes. She tried to shake his smirking face from her head.
When that didn’t work, she imagined him in his fireman uniform. The image didn’t disappear, but at least it reminded her that no matter how much she found herself oddly attracted to him, he was not the one.
“And I think you might have met the right one today if you don’t wimp out and give the sexy Hightower a fair look.”
Samantha rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. What was it with Jenny and this Joel Hightower guy?
“Whatever, girlfriend.” She yawned. “Listen, I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.”
“Bye, Hightower Fan-Club President…”
Samantha sucked her teeth, hung up the phone and tried to get Joel Hightower out of her head.
The next morning, the phone woke Samantha up. She glanced at the clock. Seven o’clock. It was time to get up and start getting ready for work, anyway, but dang.
She cleared her throat and tried to do a halfway decent job of getting the frog out. “Hello.”
“Hello, Sammie, did I wake you?”
“No, Mom.” She tried to clear the cobwebs from her brain so she could get a read on her mother’s voice. It was too early in the morning for Veronica Dash to be drunk, but that had never stopped her before. More than likely, she was getting an early start to her drinking day.
“I figured I would catch you before you went to that little job of yours. When I call you in the evenings, you never really have anything to say.”
That’s because the only thing I want to say to you is “Mom, stop drinking,” but I can’t say that because then you’d get all huffy and drink even more.
“Anyway, I know you were just home a few months back, but that was only for a week and a half. I just think it would be nice if you got a job in Chicago, or at least a little closer. So, I was looking through the want ads—”
“Mom, I’m happy with my job now. I like it here. You had to know I couldn’t stay in Chicago forever.”
This Samantha-come-home conversation was getting old.
“You act like it’s so horrible for a mother to want her child closer to home.”
Why? You haven’t really paid me any attention since I was twelve and your drinking spiraled out of control.
But she couldn’t say anything without starting World War III and sending her mother on a drinking binge.
Today, she opted out instead.
“When are you going to stop these little games of yours, Samantha? When are you going to stop or trying to punish me?”
Samantha sucked her teeth. Her mother would be the one to paint herself as the victim.
“Mom, I am not trying to punish you. I have a life and a career. I’m just trying to live my life, that’s all.”
“You’re trying to punish me by staying away. Just like when you were a snotty little kid, who thought she could hurt someone by walking around not talking…Hmmph…Like I needed to hear you complain and tell me that I’d had enough to drink…What kind of child walks around the house for months, not speaking to her mother? I’ll tell you what kind! A vindictive little snot who’s trying to punish the parent instead of staying in a child’s place.”
Enough of this!
“How about a child who is trying the best way she can to get her mother to stop trying to kill herself with a liquor bottle? Or one who was afraid she would say something that would send her mother on yet another drinking binge. Take your pick, Mom, because I’ve been both!”
As soon as the words fell out of her mouth, she regretted them. The last thing she wanted to do was argue with her mother. In fact, she avoided the battleground at all costs most times. She ran her hand across her face and finished wiping the sleep out of her eyes.
“Listen, I’ve got to go get ready for work, Mom. I’ll call you this weekend—”
“Don’t bother!”
Click.
Oh, yes…Getting hung up on by one’s mother…What a glorious way to start your day!
Samantha softly laid the phone down and headed for the shower.
“All I want to know is if I work hard enough and do what I’m supposed to do in physical therapy, is there a real chance that I can go back to firefighting?” Joel tried to get a straight answer out of his doctor.
“And as I said, making your back stronger and getting the most out of physical therapy is what you need to be focusing on.” Dr. Lardner kept his eyes on his pad.
“Also, the fire department’s physician would be the one to give the final go-ahead about you going back to work. I will say that a back injury as extreme as yours will take a lot of work in order for a person to go back to such a physically demanding job.”
Joel ran his hand across his head in frustration.
“And I’m asking you, if I put in the work needed, is it a possibility? I need to know that it’s a possibility.”
He hated the pleading sound in his voice, but holding on to the hope his life could go back to normal was the only thing keeping him going, keeping him positive. His family’s quest to get him to see other options was starting to punch holes in his resolve.
“Honestly, when you came into the hospital with the injuries you had, I didn’t think you would ever walk again. Luckily the damage didn’t lead to paralysis, and you are walking on your own two feet today. So, I don’t want to say with certainty you wouldn’t be able to do what you needed to do to make your back stronger, strong enough to go back to firefighting, but I don’t want to make any promises.”
“That’s okay. Just knowing there’s a chance is good enough for me.”
For now, until I can make it a reality and end up doing the job I love again.
The feeling he got from being able to rush into a blazing building head on—tackle and tame the burning flames until they were wiped out—was unlike anything he had ever felt. He remembered the first time he ever saw an out-of-control fire. It had been awe-inspiring. When he saw those firemen carry a little girl and her grandmother from the fire, he knew without a doubt that was what he wanted to do. While most little boys growing up at that time wanted to be Superman or Batman, he already knew what kind of superhero he wanted to be. He wanted to be a fireman. He still wanted to be a fireman.
“Oh, and, Doc, uh, I was wondering about…sex…with my back…” This had to be the most awkward conversation ever.
“You will certainly be able to have sex. You’ll just have to be a little careful and not stress your back. Your physical therapist will be able to give you some advice on the best positions—”
“Aah…no.” He tried to imagine having a conversation about back-friendly sex with Little Miss Spitfire, especially when he’d had some interesting dreams about the curvy, sexy and opinionated woman last night.
“I mean, she’s a woman, and it would be awkward. Can you recommend some books or something?”
“I certainly can.”
“Good.” He hadn’t become concerned with the topic of sex until now. He had a hint it might have something to do with the spark of desire he felt for Samantha Dash.
Chapter 3
After two-and-a half months of intense therapy, Joel had come to hate his sessions.
He didn’t hate the sessions so much as what they represented: the ever-growing possibility he might never fight fires again.
Sure, they could make the pain manageable and most times nonexistent. He could even get on with a perfectly normal and boring regular life, but no matter how hard he worked, he couldn’t seem to bring things back to the way they were before the accident. His back still wasn’t strong enough to support the heavy equipment.
And then there was his physical therapist: Little Miss Spitfire. It seemed as if she lived to disagree with everything he said.
One would think two black urban professionals would have more in common, especially when he felt an intense attraction to the woman unlike anything he’d ever felt before, and his attraction led him to the irony of ironies. The woman knew all about his injuries and therefore his limitations, and no man wanted to step to a woman when she already knew he wasn’t bringing it the way he wanted to.
Forget that.
So for the past couple of months he’d been resisting. Resisting the urge to plant a kiss on those lips of fire. Resisting pulling the curvaceous body that could put Jennifer Hudson out of business into his arms. Resisting putting down his best lines and his tightest game to pull the most beautiful dark-chocolate goddess into his life.
And all the resisting kept a brother in a state of constant grumpiness.
When she finally came into the room, all bubbly and carrying those electric stimulation pads, he felt like smiling back at her, but all he could do was nod and grunt hello.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favorite curmudgeon.” She laughed and it sounded like music—music he wanted to bottle up and keep.
He glanced at her. She was wearing her white lab coat over a light summer outfit. Her cream slacks were topped by a pastel pink-and-cream blouse. The twists she normally wore in her hair had been loosened and gave her jet-black hair a crinkly, curly effect.
He liked how she looked way too much.
Trying not to smile or laugh or otherwise let her know how much her simple presence brightened his day, he coolly asked, “Do you make a habit of insulting all your patients?”
“No
pe, only the overly pleasant ones like you,” she offered sarcastically.
He had to laugh at that.
“See, there’s that million-dollar smile. You really ought to show it more often, Mr. Surly.” She grinned and he noticed the soft gloss on her lips. It was a neutral shade with more shine than color, but with the flash of her perfect teeth she didn’t need any color to highlight her smile.
Samantha Dash had the kind of smile that could make a man clean out his bank account and give her everything he owned just to see it.
“I would if you were always so pleasant and agreeable, Little Miss Spitfire.”
She’d finally placed the electric stimulation patches on his back and started the treatments.
He grimaced as the small shocks did their job. “Sometimes I think you get too much of a kick out of this.”
“Who me? Never.” She laughed her sweet bell-like laugh again.
He didn’t know what worked better for his pain, the treatment or seeing her.
Seeing her.
After the treatment, they sat in her office, going over her plans for the rest of his treatments and discussing his progress.
He realized he had come a long way from where he was when he was injured during the big warehouse fire, but he still wasn’t back on the job.
The people around him, from his doctors to his family, kept pushing him to consider what he would do if it never happened, if he could no longer fight fires. He didn’t even want to think about those possibilities. Instead, he pushed them out of his mind and focused on his surroundings.
He had come to like her cozy little office. The only thing that didn’t seem to fit her was the fake greenery in the room. She seemed like a real-plant kind of a girl.
There was nothing fake about her. From the tips of her natural hair, to each and every curve on her body, to the unapologetically real retorts that came out of her mouth, she proved time and time again she kept it real.
“So how is the pain? You have less than a month left of therapy. We’ve been at this for over two months, are you noticing any difference? It definitely looks like your range of motion and strength are improving.”
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