“You know Jesse Morrow?” Whitney asks, her eyebrows raised.
“You know Jesse Morrow?” I ask, throwing her own question back at her.
“I did a little recon,” she says, her cute cheeks blushing a shade of rose.
“Very nice,” I tell her.
“Let’s just use him as an example,” she says. “Since both of us are familiar with his situation. He’s an average service member, wounded in the line of duty, with some pretty major injuries and a lot of work that needs to be done.”
I nod.
“He’ll probably never end up back in active duty— but still, very few do— and he could benefit from intense physical therapy and further treatment, probably with an integrated approach. Occupational therapy, counseling, and some sort of guidance or transition as to what he should do with this future.”
“Sure,” I say, nodding my head. “Jesse Morrow deserves that. They all deserve that.”
“You know…”
She begins, and I can tell she almost thinks better of telling me whatever she was about to say.
“What?”
“It’s just, when I was talking to Jesse, he mentioned that he’d asked you to come to his surgery, and had never heard another word from you. I mean, he was really understanding and nice about it, but I was just surprised that…”
“Fuck,” I say. “Fuck fuck fuck.”
“What?”
“Damn Dr. Davis. I went to see him, but his surgery had just finished and he was too doped up to recognize me. I left a card for him. Dr. Davis acted hella sketchy, which makes perfect sense now. He said he would make sure he received it, and would let him know I dropped by.”
“Well, lo and behold, Dr. Davis didn’t live up to his word,” Whitney says, and I nod.
“How can I get in touch with him? I need to explain what happened.”
“I may be able to get you some contact information from his file,” she says, with a sly smile.
“Awww. You’re the best. I knew there was a reason I was into you.”
“Very funny,” she says. “But let’s get back on track. We are using this patient as an example, correct? He deserves further treatment, correct?”
I nod.
“But Dr. Davis doesn’t want to work with him,” she concludes, marking a big X next to his redacted name. “Or him, or him, or her, or any other average service member.”
Soon her X’s line the page, and it’s obvious how angry she is. And it’s touching to see how much she cares.
“So this is where I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it affects you.”
“Okay. Shoot. I’m ready.”
I’ve been on such a roller coaster ride since meeting Whitney— or since my helicopter crashed, actually— that I shouldn’t think it’s possible for me to be surprised by anything anymore. But I never expected her latest revelations, and I know I can’t be sure of what’s coming down the pipeline. I just want her to tell me, so that we can deal with it together.
Chapter 49
“Well, the three of you who were referred for more treatment are really cream of the crop type scenarios,” Whitney continues. “You’re all in some type of Special Forces, and although your accidents were certainly traumatic, they didn’t affect you to the extent that some of the others were affected by their accidents. You also had an advantage when it came to possessing natural strength and willpower after your accidents. Much of what Dr. Davis is taking credit for, you would have already done naturally on your own.”
“But. I was helpless without Dr. Davis,” I protest. “I couldn’t even write my own name. Neither could Alex.”
“And don’t you think that’s just a little coincidental?” Whitney asks.
I pause. Just when I think I had figured out all the clues, she has to go and point out something obvious.
“Look,” she continues. “I thought about all of this. I’ve had a lot of time to work on this, since I was jilted by my new lover for the heinous crime of trying to help him out.”
“Very funny,” I sneer, but I do feel a twinge of guilt.
“When I first saw Dr. Davis’ videos of you, and even the modern day version of you on the stage, I thought he was somehow exaggerating your current condition to make it seem better than it was. There was no way that someone could go from nearly brain dead— which is how Dr. Davis portrayed your original condition— to fully functioning and normal, in such a short amount of time.”
I crinkle my eyebrows at her, not entirely convinced.
“I mean, I’m no neurologist,” she continues, “but neither is Dr. Davis. And that got me thinking too. I’ve never seen or even heard of a patient making much such giant strides in my experience in physical therapy school, and Dr. Davis isn’t even a physical therapist. He’s a facial reconstructive surgeon. His latest technologies in that field are definitely very impressive, and he deserves credit where credit’s due. But I started to wonder why he’s trying to take credit in fields in which he has no experience.”
“Yeah. That is pretty weird.”
“So then it struck me that Dr. Davis is exaggerating, or flat out lying, in the opposite direction than in the one I originally assumed. You weren’t nearly as bad off as Dr. Davis claims.”
I look at her, not sure if I want to believe her or not.
“You did have a bad accident, and you required facial reconstruction surgery if you ever wanted to look like anything resembling normal again,” she continues, gently. “You also benefitted from physical therapy- type exercises, but you would have been doing those on your own anyway. Basically, Dr. Davis had little to nothing to do with that part. And you didn’t have brain damage.”
Whitney spins her monitor to face me and then she pushes “play” on a video. It’s the one where I can’t write my name, except that it’s a longer, uncut version, showing wider angels and obviously unedited.
“See, there’s an IV. You’re hooked up to morphine. This was right after one of your surgeries. You were clearly drugged out of your mind.”
“And who could write their name when they’re in that state?” I wonder.
“Exactly. It’s the same with Alex, and the other guy. Once the medication wore off, you were perfectly fine to write your name or do any other task.”
“Hrmph. This really is making so much sense now. Especially because I saw Jesse Morrow right after his surgery, and he was definitely on a lot of meds. Couldn’t tell up from down.”
“Now you’ve got it,” Whitney says. “I imagine Dr. Davis soon had him try to write his name in that condition, just in case he needed to show it later, as ‘evidence’ that he was so bad off and had come so far.”
“Oh my god. Dr. Davis is the worst.”
My normally confident attitude is fading. I’m glad that most of my recovery has been something for which I alone can take credit, but I feel stupid for letting Dr. Davis dupe me. And I can’t even figure out why he would do it. But before I can wrap my head around it, Whitney drops even more devastating news.
“Now here’s the part that I really wish didn’t exist,” she says, pushing my file over to me. “But I think you need to take a look at that.”
I open it up to notes from the military about my progress. The board says I’m “cleared for service,” but Dr. Davis says I need more treatment first. According to the minutes from the sessions, the board took testimony from Dr. Davis and then decided I did need additional work, but wanted a third party to treat and evaluate me.
“So everything Dr. Davis has told me has been a lie!”
I can barely control my anger. I want to go find him and ring his neck right now.
“It’s been the exact opposite of what’s really going on!” I nearly explode.
“Apparently,” Whitney confirms. “He was telling you that he recertified you but the military wouldn’t accept it. In reality, it was the other way around.”
“But why? Does he just get some sick pleasure in screwing with peoples’ liv
es? Or only with mine?”
“The way I see it is like this,” Whitney says, reaching across the desk and gently squeezing my hand.
It’s clear that she’s had more time to think everything through, and I appreciate her telling me, but I feel like such a putz.
“Dr. Davis needs funding, and then he needed to sell his company. He needed to have the military on board. And for a while you were his only good candidate: the perfect turn- around patient success story. He needs you to trot on stage for him and demonstrate how he helped you overcome all your issues. He needs you to talk other service members into being treated by him, and not giving up or having a bad attitude, etc.”
“I sure did that job well,” I admit, feeling guilty.
“It’s fine, Harlow. You didn’t know. He’s just a total user. If someone doesn’t show the immediate progress you did, he cuts them lose. There are many, many service members who can’t show that progress, and so almost none are good enough for Dr. Davis’ purposes. And he keeps you on the hook until he can find some other worthy candidates.”
“Well, at least I’m not the only sucker anymore,” I say. “But I don’t know whether that should make me feel good or bad.”
“Yes, exactly. That’s what I needed to talk to you about. I was all ready to turn Dr. Davis in. I think he’s a despicable human being who is using the military, and military members, for his own selfish goals. But then I realized…”
“…that if you do that, he will probably retaliate against me,” I say, finishing her sentence for her.
She nods solemnly.
“And to make matters even more complicated,” she says, one side of her sexy mouth twisting into a concerned “o,” “I’m pretty sure he’s about ready to send you back to your unit.”
I sit up straight when I hear this: excited, although I know I shouldn’t be.
I want it to be true— and it definitely sounds as if Whitney has figured everything out— but I don’t want to have my hopes dashed yet again.
“How do you figure? He just took you off my case because you were saying I was ready. He just stressed all the ways in which I still need help.”
“I think he was dragging it out a little longer, for the sake of insurance,” Whitney says. “He wasn’t quite ready to cut you loose, because he needed to make sure the sale of his company went through, and he also needs to make sure that one of the other two names I highlighted in green is fit enough after surgery to be his new poster boy.”
“I see.”
I think about how eager Dr. Davis was to introduce me to Alex, and to have me be the spokesman for how great it is to work for Dr. Davis. He was definitely setting up this transition all along.
“But he knows he can’t continue this forever, or his gig will be up soon. He knows I’m on to him, although he thinks I’m easy enough to shake off his trail. He probably suspects that Lance has his reservations, although he knows that Lance values his job enough that he will keep his head down and do what he’s told. And he knows that sooner or later you’ll be on to him— sure, you could be a little more flexible and strong but, really, what is there to work on? You deserve to be back in the military.”
“I do.”
We stare at each other, as if silently asking each other what we should do now.
“I was thinking,” Whitney says, “that we can keep everything on the down low and wait until he recertifies you. Once you’re back with your unit, I can expose him. I don’t think he’d have the power to do anything against you at that time.”
I take a deep breath.
“It sounds so tempting,” I tell her. “But what kind of hypocrite would I be if I turned out to be the one who is afraid of risk, after lecturing my girlfriend about the very same thing?”
“Girlfriend. I like the sound of that.”
“Me too.”
“Well, Boyfriend, don’t feel any pressure to make a decision just yet. At least we have the information, and we can decide what to do with it as the timing feels right.”
“No,” I tell her, decisively. “The timing does feel right. For everything. For you and me, and to shine the truth on Dr. Davis, who has been living in the shadows for too long, while forcing everyone else into his limelight. Let’s do this.”
“But what about your recertification?”
“Staying state- side wouldn’t be so bad,” I say, squeezing her hand. “Now that I have a reason to be here.”
Chapter 50
I rush into Lance’s office, not bothering to worry about who sees or hears. Everything will come to light soon enough.
“Not you again,” he says, dead- panning. “I hope you brought sushi.”
“No, but I brought news.”
“Gossip? Out with it then.”
“Gossip about myself,” I laugh. “Harlow and I are together. Like, in a relationship.”
He looks at me skeptically.
“I know I’m expected to extend congratulations here, but I’m not sure this is the greatest idea…”
“I know. You think he’s a player and that it’s bad for my career. But you’ll just have to wait and see on the first argument, and I’m about to do something that will be even worse for the second argument.”
“Let me guess. It involves Dr. Davis?”
“Yes. Based on the documents I… acquired…”— I wink at him— “I know for sure he’s a bold- faced liar who changes the ‘facts’ to fit his preference. And also that he’s using people for his own advantage. But, listen, Lance, I really do appreciate your support thus far and I can promise you that I won’t do anything to drag you into the middle of this, or hurt your job here…”
“Whitney. No worries girl. It’s fine.”
“What’s fine?”
I’m confused.
“You can involve me however you want,” Lance says. “I mean, I’d prefer if you not reveal your sources of… information prior to this point… but I completely agree with you that Dr. Davis is a fraud. He thinks he can convince me to not see things I’ve seen with my own two eyes, just because he has power and sway here.”
I smile, proud of Lance, even though he’s my boss rather than the other way around.
“If you can take him down, great,” he continues. “Add me to a list of people who will back you up. I don’t know if it’s the best idea for you to let Mr. Bad Boy into your life but I do know he’s ready to be let back into the military, and as his physical therapist, it’s my job to advocate for him truthfully, and not be intimidated by his ridiculous referring doctor.”
“Thank you!” I say, rushing forward to hug him. “Thank you thank you thank you, Lance!”
“Geez, you’re welcome,” he says, playfully pushing me off of him. “Now get off of me before your crazy ex comes back and sees us and thinks he was right about us having an affair.”
“Oh my god, that was so lame,” I say. “I’m so glad I’m done with him.”
“Me too. I have to admit, McHunkerton is a big step up from McMoocherson, at least in the looks and motivation departments. Just don’t let him break your heart, or he’ll have to answer to me.”
“Yes sir,” I say, nodding in mock solemnness. “And thank you, Lance, for all you’ve done to help me here. I’ve learned so much. Thank you for your amazing letter of recommendation to medical school, too.”
“You weren’t supposed to read that,” he jokes. “You’ll get a big head. But you do deserve it.”
He’s right, I think, as I leave his office. I do deserve it, for once.
I can’t believe everything is finally falling into place. Now I just have to deal with Dr. Davis, which isn’t exactly something I’m looking forward to.
Chapter 51
One Week Later
“I’m so nervous,” Whitney says, fanning herself with the folder full of evidence she’s brought to the meeting with the board.
“It’ll be fine,” I say, rubbing her back.
“So sorry I’m late,” says Riley, rushin
g through the door.
“Relax,” I tell her. “You’re not late. It hasn’t even started yet.”
I turn to introduce her to Whitney.
“This is Riley, my ever- so- punctual yet always- paranoid- about- being- late almost- sister- in- law.”
“Hi,” says Whitney, reaching out to shake her hand. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Well then give me a hug,” says Riley, enveloping her in a bear hug. “I’ve heard about you too.” She winks at me. “It’s not everyday that Jensen’s little brother gets a girlfriend.”
“Oooh, I love your ring,” says Whitney, reaching over to grab Riley’s hand and look at it more close up. “It’s so unique.”
“Thanks,” says Riley. “It was Jensen’s mom’s— and Harlow’s too of course. Their dad passed it down to whoever would become the first Bradford boy to get engaged.”
“He probably didn’t think any of us would ever get it,” I laugh.
No pressure or anything, I think.
Leave it to Jensen to get engaged right before my new girlfriend meets his new fiancé.
“Well congratulations,” Whitney says. “When’s the wedding?”
“We don’t know yet,” Riley says. “The whole engagement just happened so fast.”
“Well, there’s plenty of time to plan,” Whitney says diplomatically. “And I really appreciate you showing up to help us with this meeting.”
“Any time,” Riley says. “There’s nothing I like better than taking on the military on behalf of one of its members.”
She laughs, but it’s true. Most of her practice these days revolves around representing service members.
“I think the meeting should start any minute now—” Whitney says, looking at her watch. But then someone else breaks through the doors, without knocking.
“Dr. Davis,” I say, somewhat out of shock, but mostly to clue Riley in. “Nice to see you.”
“Don’t give me pleasant formalities when you’re trying to screw me over,” Dr. Davis says, his eyes practically bulging out of his head. “Just because you’re mad I didn’t pay you the money from the sale of my technology… yet.”
Please Boss: A Bad Boy Office Romance Page 26