Chapter 33 Zara
Chapter Thirty-Three
ZARA
“I’m so conflicted,” I say as I stretch out like a starfish on the giant king-size bed in our luxury suite. “On one hand, I’m exhausted, so the break is much needed, but on the other—”
“You’re a workaholic who can’t take a vacation when it’s given?” Hendrix offers with a cocky grin as he walks toward his suitcase. He’s naked, still glistening from his shower as he rubs a towel over his damp hair.
“I am not a workaholic,” I argue with an exaggerated huff. “I just feel slightly guilty taking a whole week off when we’ve only been on tour for a month.”
“We’re halfway through the US leg of the tour. I know it doesn’t feel that way ’cause you’re now living your new best life as my super-hot girlfriend, and the days are just flying by, but we do actually deserve some time off.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”
He winks at me over his shoulder, and now I’m staring at his ass. “Yeah, but your parents love me, so I think it’s best you keep me.”
Hendrix is always a good-mood type of guy. Never one to sulk or bring down the temperature in the room, but lately he’s just been extra.
Extra happy.
Extra funny.
Extra horny.
Just when I thought our sex life couldn’t get any hotter, he’s finding ways to prove me wrong.
Like last night, when he snuck into my clinic before the show, flipped the lock, and then fucked me hard and fast against the door.
Or this morning, when he decided to play a game of let’s see how many orgasms we can give Zara before she passes out.
We got to five before I tapped out, and that is why I’m currently lying on the bed while he happily whistles to himself and struts around naked.
“Are you planning on getting dressed anytime today?”
“Says the woman still sprawled out on the bed.”
“Hey.” I point a finger at him. “I’m getting up. Eventually.”
“If you want to lie naked all day long, I’m okay with that. In fact, maybe I’ll join you. We could just call this Naked Wednesday. We’ll order room service, watch a movie, have some more sex. Then, rinse and repeat.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
His grin is so wide, it’s infectious. “I mean, who wouldn’t?”
I sit up, and I don’t miss the way his gaze lingers on my breasts. “And this wouldn’t have anything to do with the appointment we have with my friend today?”
He raises his eyebrows and pretends to be surprised. “Oh, that’s today?”
I tilt my head, looking unimpressed. His acting skills are subpar at best. “You know it is. You were there when he called and everything. Blasted me with at least a dozen questions afterward on the exact type of relationship we had in med school. Jealous much?”
“Lost time, Cupid,” he says, the playful tone of his voice fading. “Lost time.”
“We’re making up for it now,” I remind him with a tender gaze. “And that means I’m going to take care of you. Even when you don’t want me to.”
“I just feel like we’re making a fuss over nothing, you know? My hand doesn’t even hurt. And it only ever happens when I play, so I doubt it’s serious.”
That’s what I’m worried about. But I don’t say anything for at least a heartbeat or two. I just smile and nod and try to project a positive attitude. “It’s still good to get it looked at. You never can be too careful.”
It must work, because his next words are, “Okay, but then Naked Wednesday?”
I smile. “Whatever you want.”
Clearly, luck was on Hendrix’s side that day because just as we were about to head to the clinic to meet Eric, my phone rang, and it was his office calling to reschedule.
He had an emergency appointment that morning and couldn’t meet us during his lunch hour as planned. Because of the discretion required for Hendrix’s appointment, we had to wait until Saturday to find another time when the office would be empty enough to sneak him in.
I feel bad that Eric has to come in during the weekend, but I guess he’s used to it. He does run a concierge-style clinic that caters to high-end clients who pay in full for his services, and I bet they are needy as fuck.
I suppose Hendrix is now one of them.
While we waited for Saturday to arrive, we spent our days being tourists in Seattle.
We visited Pike Place Market and the Space Needle.
We got caught in the rain and sought refuge in bookstores and quaint little coffee shops.
He drank coffee, of course, while I sipped on chai.
We took a ferry to Bainbridge Island and walked hand in hand along the beach.
It was perfect.
And the whole time, I tried not to think about this day.
But now that it’s here, my stomach is in my throat, and I’m trying to remind myself that it’s totally normal for musicians to experience pain in their hands.
Even my mom had to visit an orthopedist after a while.
Totally normal.
“You okay?” Hendrix asks as we pull up to the clinic. We decided to rent a car for the week, even though we’ve left it in the hotel parking lot for the majority of the time. But it has its advantages.
And this is definitely one of those.
Hendrix doesn’t get recognized often. If he does, it’s usually more of a double-take, like people are trying to figure out where to place him. It’s not until we’re in places like restaurants or in a crowd that they really start to make the connection.
An Uber is a risk neither of us wants to take right now.
With the long list of bands waiting for a decision, he doesn’t want it getting out that there might be an issue with his ability to perform.
“What? Yeah.” I nod, probably with a bit too much enthusiasm.
Seattle is dreary today. Kind of like my mood. The clouds are gray, and the temperature is unseasonably cool. I pull my cardigan a little closer as we step out of the car and head to the clinic.
It’s an impressive building, sleek and modern, with floor-to-ceiling mirrored windows. Eric meets us at the entrance and quickly lets us in with a wide smile and a handshake for Hendrix. Eric is completely unfazed by his celebrity status, which immediately puts him at ease.
When he turns and pulls me into a full bear hug, even lifting me off the ground, that probably causes his blood pressure to spike a little.
“Valentine!” He finally releases me and steps back. “It’s so good to see you.”
“You too, Lin.” I glance around the lobby and give an approving nod. “This place is pretty fancy. Are you going to offer me a cucumber water or maybe a gold watch while I wait?”
It’s more than fancy. If I had walked in here off the street, I wouldn’t have guessed this is a doctor’s office.
There aren’t any rows of tacky upholstered chairs or harsh lighting.
Instead, it feels more like a spa with a small check-in desk, expensive leather sofas, and fresh flowers and plants decorating the space.
He chuckles, and the sound instantly takes me back to our residency days.
Endless shifts, grumpy attending physicians, and bonding over pizza at two in the morning.
He gave me the support Tanner should have during those stressful years.
“Gold watches come later. I can offer you an overpriced bottle of water and my charming personality, though.”
I shrug. “I guess that’ll have to do.”
He gives us a quick tour of the facility. It has everything from physical therapy to a full lab that includes X-rays, a CT scanner, and more.
“This is amazing, Eric.”
“You don’t think I’m a sellout?” he asks, a crease forming between his brows.
“What? Why?”
“I remember you and Tanner arguing about what kind of practice you wanted to open. He wanted something like this, and you wanted—”
“A clinic that would be accessible to low-income families. I remember. We settled for something in the middle.” Or rather, his parents did.
Good for optics, I remember his father saying.
Just like me, apparently. “But that has nothing to do with your career. And whether or not I would choose this path doesn’t diminish its success, Eric.
This is incredible. I bet you get a ton of professional athletes coming through here. ”
He grins, shoving his hands in his pockets as Hendrix watches our exchange. “Best part of my job.”
“You’re only saying that because you’ve never worked with a rock star,” I tease as he shows us into an exam room. It’s just as nice as the lobby, with soft lighting and upscale furniture designed to put patients at ease.
“Can’t say that I have.” He winks over his shoulder. “Why don’t you both take a seat, and we can get started.”
Hendrix looks a little nervous until I take his hand and settle beside him on the leather sofa.
Eric fits his wiry frame into a chair opposite us, an iPad in his lap. He’s dressed more casually than I imagine he usually is for the office, in jeans and a zip-up cardigan. He’s always balanced the preppy, cool look well.
“For transparency, I do have a nurse here who will be coming in later to draw labs if necessary. All my employees sign an NDA since we work with high-profile clients. Now…” He exhales and smiles. “Let’s start from the beginning.”
And he does. Hendrix explains when he first noticed it, the subtle change in how his right hand behaved when he played, how it started to happen more often, and how it’s worsened since he began traveling with the band.
With each question Eric asks and Hendrix’s response, I feel a tight band forming around my chest.
When I look at Eric, however, he’s the epitome of calm. Nothing but tranquil waters painted across his serene face. I try to emulate his facade and not jump to conclusions.
Because I am. Jumping. Skipping. Fucking leap-frogging to conclusions.
And I need to chill, because this is so not like me.
I’ve had hunches before when it comes to patients. All doctors have. But I don’t let them overrule my critical thinking skills. I’m a data girl. A numbers girl. I’m the person who overanalyzes every detail until I reach a conclusion. I never jump. And I certainly don’t leap.
This might be nothing.
Please be nothing.
After he gets caught up on Hendrix’s pain history, he switches places with me and performs a physical exam.
It’s similar to what I did that day I witnessed him playing in our hotel room, but more comprehensive.
He tests his range of motion, grip strength, and conducts several specific tests to rule out carpal tunnel, which he passes with flying colors.
That’s fine, I tell myself. I didn’t think it was carpal tunnel anyway.
“Okay,” Eric says after the physical part of the exam is done.
I already know what he’s going to say, and I try to keep my face neutral.
Positive. “I think it’s best that we go ahead and draw some labs, get an MRI to check for any tendon issues, and just to be safe, we should run a nerve conduction study and order an EMG.
” When his suggestion is met with silence, he adds cheerfully, “Might as well get it all out of the way while you’re here, right? ”
Hendrix looks over at me, and I give a slight nod. “Okay,” he says. “Sounds good.”
But none of it sounds good. Not really.
And as we leave the clinic thirty minutes later, after getting his blood drawn, he asks, “Should I be worried?”
“No,” I say, downplaying the situation, instead of doing what I should be doing, explaining what each test means and what will happen if one is positive or negative. You know…my damn job. “Like he said, it’s just more convenient to get it all done at once.”
“Promise?”
I swallow the guilt building in my gut and nod. “Promise.”