9. Chapter 9
Chapter 9
Roxie
After last night, I promised myself I would keep things professional between Lennox and me. No more special dinners, no more impromptu leg assessments where he has to pull down his pants and cover himself with a towel. Although, I’ll be honest, I’m not sure how much it helped. His hand could only hide so much.
I blush thinking about it. Never in my career have I crossed any line with a patient. Sure, there have been some who were objectively attractive, but I’ve never wanted to do anything more than get them back to full health. Lennox, though? There’s something about him. He’s broken, struggling. There’s no doubt about that, but underneath the mask he shows most of the world, there are glimpses of more. Of the man I assume he used to be, peeking out to the surface.
It’s too intriguing.
Today, I have to do his baseline assessment, and he may be ready for it, but I’m very much not. My vow of professionalism is pounding in my head, but it doesn’t help the flashes of skin and bulge that disrupt my focus. Or the way he’s treated Ivy so far.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I don’t even know how long I’ll be here. Six months, I’d wager, if I’m lucky. There is absolutely no reason for me to be thinking thoughts like this. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that the mask people put on is usually the best version of themselves. No matter how intriguing the glimpses I’ve gotten are, what’s to say he isn’t hiding something horrible under there?
Now, I’m just an asshole. I can’t think about patients like that. I need to think the best of them, or I won’t be able to get the best out of them while we rehab. What a clusterfuck. Even I’m annoyed with myself right now.
“Mommy?” Ivy asks. Her tone makes me think this isn’t the first time she’s called me.
“Yes, Bug?”
“Can we go do something today?” Her voice is timid as she asks, breaking my heart a little more.
“I need to do Mr. Hutton’s assessment today, but after that, we can go anywhere you want, okay?”
She nods, but her eyes are still downcast with defeat.
“You can play that game on my phone you like,” I say in a sing-song voice.
“Okay!” She bounces on her toes, bad mood completely forgotten. Chuckling, I get her set up before going out to the living room to wait for Lennox.
I plop down on the couch and run through everything I need to do for this assessment. I pull up my record-keeping software on my tablet to start the new file for Lennox, making sure to note how his incision looked last night.
“Have you been waiting long?” Lennox’s voice is gruff, causing me to jump in shock. I didn’t even hear his crutches as he hobbled down the hallway .
“Umm, a couple of minutes, barely anything,” I rush out, my heart still in my throat from the scare.
My eyes go from his scruffy jaw, to the faded long-sleeve park ranger T-shirt that stretches across his chest, and down to the basketball shorts he’s wearing. The easier access to his quad doesn’t go amiss, but my focus quickly turns to the reason I didn’t hear him come down the hall.
“Where are your crutches?” My accusing tone makes his eyes narrow.
“Doc said I needed to start being more self-sufficient after three days. Figured this was the way to do that.”
“Jesus,” I mutter as I tip my head back.
A shuffling draws my head back down as I see him awkwardly attempting to walk.
“Stop!” I jump up, running to him. I hook my arm around his torso, taking on as much of his weight as I can.
“I’m fine,” he grumbles, but he leans into me more.
“What did I ask the other day? That you listen to me about your leg. Did I say you could go rogue and try to walk down the hall without your crutches?” I’m lecturing him. I hate lecturing grown-ass people, but when you act like a child, this is what you get.
“The doc said I needed to be mobile ASAP.”
“Mobile, yes. Walking unassisted? Hell no.” We make it to the couch, where I untangle myself from him as he sits down.
I glare at him when his eyes meet mine, and instead of cowering, he matches it. “Let’s get this over with,” he mumbles.
“I need you to promise me you’ll continue to use your crutches until I tell you otherwise.”
“I was fine,” he says through clenched teeth .
As I look at him in disbelief, my mind tries to connect the Lennox from the last couple of days to this one. It’s like he’s an entirely different man. Anger flares in his eyes, telling me my hard work is only just beginning.
“Promise me, or I’m gone. If you want to jeopardize your leg and its healing, go for it, but I won’t be here while you do it. This is non-negotiable, Lennox.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I stare at him. I’m not sure what happened in the last twelve hours, but he’s going to learn quickly that I won’t put up with this shit. He can be mad at the world, mad at life, but when we’re working on his leg, he needs to put one hundred percent into it. Being mad at me won’t solve any problems.
He doesn’t budge.
“If I’m putting in the effort, you need to as well. Nothing I do will matter if you aren’t invested. If you don’t want to get better, tell me now. I’ll explain to Ledger that things didn’t work out, and I’ll be on my way. No harm, no foul.” I’m fully prepared to walk out. Would it suck to only have moved here with Ivy and immediately need to find something else? Sure, but it’s nothing we haven’t done before. I refuse to stay with a patient who wants nothing to do with putting in the work. We may have come to a hesitant agreement a couple of days ago, but now that the work begins, he’s seeing just how tough this will all be.
“Fuck,” he grunts before he sighs, resting his head on the back of the couch. I watch the gears work in his head. “I’ll use the crutches until you tell me to stop,” he begrudgingly agrees.
It’s not a promise of full effort, but I have a feeling that’s all I’m getting today. I’m willing to work with him, really take the time to work through things, but he has to meet me halfway .
“Being stubborn doesn’t make you a hero,” I mumble as I grab my tablet and pull up his file.
His lack of response doesn’t surprise me, but it does disappoint me for some reason. I don’t want to delve into why that is, though.
“So, today is baseline,” I repeat for what feels like the millionth time. Reinforcing what I’m doing with a patient is standard; however, with Lennox it feels like harping on him continually. “I’m going to take some measurements when you bend your knee. I’m going to try and get everything I need in one go, but I might need more. Then I’m going to push on your leg to see what your strength looks like in pretty much every direction. Be prepared for some pain, but it shouldn’t be excruciating. You’ll be in the brace for at least three months, no matter how hard you work, so don’t push it more than I tell you. Please,” I add before looking up.
His head is down, and I’d think he wasn’t listening to me, but the tick in his jaw tells me otherwise.
“Are we okay to begin?” I try to soften my tone. I don’t think it will make him amenable, but I’m hoping it helps him cooperate.
“Yeah,” he whispers.
I kneel down to unlock his brace. “Have you been icing this regularly? Taking an anti-inflammatory?” I ask as I gently prod around the tendon. He hisses as I hit a spot that’s bruised to shit. I would bet this is where the bulk of the tear was, and the bruising was only made worse with the surgery.
“No,” he grunts.
I jolt back immediately, taking my hands off him. “You haven’t done either?”
“Don’t need pain pills. ”
“And ice?” I ask incredulously. No wonder his knee feels more swollen than I expected. The amount of pain he has to be in is mind-boggling.
“Don’t want to get up a million times,” he clips.
Dear whatever deity I need help from, please help me not kill this man.
I take a deep breath, wondering if I have enough patience to deal with Lennox after all. Ivy challenges my patience on a regular basis, but she’s five. Lennox is a grown-ass man acting like a child. I don’t have a lot of sympathy for the overly stubborn.
“Okay, that changes today. You should be taking an anti-inflammatory in the mornings at a minimum. You’ve got to be in a lot of pain. Ignoring it won’t make it better. If you will only take those in the mornings, you need to be icing pretty much around the clock. Aim for once an hour for fifteen to twenty minutes at a time.” I continue on with his brace, trying desperately to channel whatever calmness I can as he sits silently with his arms crossed.
I grip his calf in one hand and then add my other to his thigh for support. “Whenever you’re ready, we’re going to see how far you can bend your leg. We’re not going to push past sixty degrees right now, but I honestly don’t think you’ll get that far today.” I can feel his entire body tense. “Which is a good thing,” I add quickly. God knows I don’t want to anger the beast more than necessary right now.
His leg starts to move, and I hold the bulk of the weight in my hand on his calf. He gets about ten degrees before his hands unfold, gripping anything he can gain purchase on. I glance at his hands and watch as his knee bends a little more. His knuckles are getting whiter by the second. The tautness of his body can be seen a mile away, and I quickly make a mental note of the measurements.
“And we’re done.” I get his brace adjusted properly as I bring his calf back up to level before locking it again.
He exhales as the weight lifts off him. Waiting until he’s steady again, I let go of him and grab my tablet, quickly documenting his range of motion before putting it back down. I make quick work of everything else we need to do, watching as his complexion gets paler and paler by the minute. Once I’m done, I stand up without saying anything and head to the kitchen. Looking in his freezer, I don’t see any ice packs, so I search around for a Ziplock bag and make my own. I’ll have to order the ready-made ones so it’s easier for him. Maybe then he’ll actually ice his fucking leg.
By the time I make it back to the living room, the aggression from earlier is gone from Lennox’s face.
“Ice.” I hold it out for him. He takes it gingerly like it’ll bite him or something, and I snort at his reaction. My eyes widen with horror as I cover my mouth.
I can’t believe I just snort-laughed at my client. How much more unprofessional can I be?
“You can laugh; I would if I were you.” His words come out softly, opposite of everything he’s shown me this morning. He makes eye contact with me, and I see his mask slip a little.
No. Do not dig any deeper with this man.
I clear my throat, and my head. “Ivy and I are going into town. Do you need anything? We won’t be back until later.”
“Umm, no, I think I’m good here. Thank you for asking.” He dips his head like he’s embarrassed. I understand it, though; it’s hard to surrender any amount of control, much less all of it when dealing with an injury .
Stupid, stupid endearing man. We’re only three days in, and staying on task is already difficult.
“Well, we’ll be back later. You have my number if you need anything. Ice the hell out of that knee and don’t take the brace off. I’ll check it again when I come back and see how the swelling is.” I linger a second too long, but it’s enough to see the shame in his eyes.
I sense he doesn’t want to be angry and fight things, but it’s his way of coping with everything that happened. Coming to that conclusion only solidifies my need to keep this strictly professional.
Because I can’t afford to put my life aside to help someone figure out their own. Not when I barely have mine figured out. I have too much at stake and can’t get caught up in a man like Lennox.