Chapter 4
Rita
I opened the door of my apartment. My head fell backward as I let the stress and pain in my body run its course.
I rolled my shoulders and closed my eyes while letting out a breath.
I couldn’t help being pissed at myself that I had let a patient see me in pain, but it hadn’t felt as wrong as it should.
Perhaps it was because he was a doctor. Maybe it had to do with the fact that his touch felt like satin against my skin.
It didn’t matter. My job was to help others with their problems. Not pull them into mine.
I hung up my jacket and kicked off my tennis shoes.
Today was a warmer day. That was the only reason I had gone for basketball, but then again, this was Colorado.
One minute it might be sunny. The next you could look up and the whole world might be white all around you.
It was one of my favorite things about living here.
I liked the unpredictably. Too bad my mother had been different. She’d hated it here.
I shuffled through my small two-bedroom house until I made it to the shower.
The warm water hitting my bones felt like heaven.
I let it run over my skin and closed my eyes as each muscle relaxed.
My mind went back to the last few minutes on the court with Stewart.
I meant Major Harris. It was better not to get attached.
The last thing I needed to be thinking about was the intensity of his eyes or the way he supported me as we walked to my car.
The kindness of him making me promise to go to the clinic if I didn’t feel better.
It was a promise I had no intention of keeping.
They couldn’t do anything different for me than what had already been done.
With my shower finished, and some warm sweats on, I went right for the ice cream and the documentaries.
I let my hand run over the folded flag sitting on my bookshelf as I walked over to the couch and grabbed the remote.
I flipped through my streaming service until I found a good one and leaned back.
Ice cream might not be the best idea for lunch, but I really didn’t care.
As much as I tried to focus on the television, my mind kept coming back to Stewart.
I mean Major Harris. I couldn’t stop thinking about his eyes or his smile.
That smile should be lethal. If I didn’t get a hold of these thoughts running through my head, I was definitely going to have to pass him off to Aspen.
She’d make sure he was good to go before signing any paperwork, and she would do it the right way.
I relaxed a little more, and before long I was asleep. I didn’t wake up until I heard my phone ringing. The sound rattled me so bad I spilled the melted ice cream all over my floor.
“Shit.” I jumped up. Shaking the bit that landed on my pant leg. The phone continued ringing.
I walked over to the counter in my kitchen where I’d left it and picked it up without looking at the screen.
“Hello?” There was no hiding the irritation in my voice. I went to grab the paper towels.
“Hi, Ms. Fontaine.” A voice I didn’t recognize spoke up. “I have one of your patients in crisis on the other line, and they are asking to speak to you directly.”
“Did you tell them to call 911 if this is an emergency?” I rarely had patients call our hotline.
“Yes, ma’am, but he is insisting that it’s very important he speak with you.”
I only had about four male patients, and I couldn’t think of which one might be this insistent. I blew out a breath and went to my knees to clean up the ice cream on my floor.
“Fine. Put them through.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
There was a short pause and then another voice.
“Hello?”
“This is Rita.” I sat back on my legs. “How can I help you?”
“How are you feeling?” The male voice asked.
“I’m sorry?” Why would they be asking how I was feeling? I wasn’t the one in crisis.
“Is your side still hurting you?”
My brows drew together. “Major Harris?”
“Stewart.” He corrected.
“Why are you calling?”
“I wanted to make sure that you weren’t still in pain,” he said it like it was everyday one of my patients called to check up on me.
“You can’t call the hotline for non-emergencies.” I went back to scrubbing the floor. “That number is for people who really need to talk to someone in a moment of weakness.”
“Why are you out of breath?” He completely ignored everything else I said. “Are you still in pain?”
“Are you always this focused when you are treating someone?” I put the damp paper towels in the ice cream container. I’d gotten up most of it, but I would still need to mop so that the floor wasn’t sticky. Thank goodness I had hardwood floors and not carpet.
“Yes.” He chuckled. “I do tend to be a one-track mind kind of person.”
“I can tell.” I sat back down on the couch.
“Are you still in pain?”
I took in a deep breath. “No.” I told him, a little touched that he cared enough to check on me. Sometimes it could get lonely living here by myself.
“Good, but then why were you out of breath?”
“If you must know, it was because I was cleaning up spilled ice cream.” I shouldn’t be telling him this. In fact, I should end the call right now. This was completely unprofessional.
“Spilled ice cream?” He laughed. “And you got on me about not having breakfast. You do know that isn’t an appropriate meal.”
“I earned it.” I replied. “I had to spend the afternoon with this Major who did his best not to answer any of my questions.”
“Sounds like an ass.” He kept laughing.
“You said it. I didn’t.”
More laughter. “I’m sorry if I was difficult.” The laughter faded. “I’m not normally like this. It’s hard. Being away from my unit. Not being able to do the thing I love.”
I understood that sentiment. “We can talk about it at your next session.”
“Do we have to have another session?” he asked. “I promise that I’m fine. I don’t need therapy, and I don’t trust you on a basketball court.”
“What does that mean?” I questioned.
“I looked you up.” He answered. “You might want to tell people that you were on a state championship basketball team your sophomore year of college before you challenge them to a game of horse.”
“That was a long time ago.” I shook my head. A really long time ago. “And where would the fun be in that?”
“They would know they were on the court with a ringer for one thing.”
“Nope. It’s better to keep that information to myself.”
“That also explains the football banner in your office,” he said. “I take it you are a sporty girl at heart.”
“Something like that.” I leaned back into the couch.
“Why the Storming Cobras?” We’d moved way past him checking up on me. “Not that they aren’t good, but why not Kansas City or Philadelphia? Or even a basketball team?”
I shouldn’t have answered. We were getting really close to that line I never crossed.
“I used to go to the games with my dad.” I glanced over at the flag on my shelf.
“That’s sweet. My dad, my brother, and I were more into baseball.” He told me. “We went to quite a few games back in Georgia.”
“Is that where you’re from?”
“Yep. Born and raised.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “I thought I would stay there and work in my father’s office until I finished med school.”
“What changed?” Now that I had him talking I didn’t want him to stop.
“I don’t really know.” He paused. “I’d always been involved in the service in some way or another.
I was in the reserves at that time. I went away for my weekend and when I came back I knew this was where I wanted to apply my medical degree.
” Another pause. “Did you always want to work with soldiers?”
“I should let you go,” I said instead of answering.
“Why?”
“You know why.” He was a doctor.
“Yeah, I do.” I heard him take a breath. “But if it’s so wrong, why does it feel so comfortable?”
“I don’t know, but you can’t call me like this again.” I had to set some boundaries.
“Not even to make sure you are taking care of that injury?”
I bit my lip to keep from smiling. “Not even for that.”
“What about the next time the Cobras have a game and I need someone to talk about the highlights with?”
“Stop.” I let my head fall back on the top of the couch. My eyes closed. It had been so long since I’d had this. I’d been alone so long I’d forgotten how good it felt to have someone flirt with me.
“You know if you sign my paperwork, you wouldn’t be my therapist.” He threw out there. “Then this wouldn’t be wrong.”
“That wouldn’t change the fact that I was your therapist.”
“I don’t think one game of horse and a few questions should really count.” He argued.
“But they do.” At least that was what I was trying to convince myself.
“Again, you could sign the paperwork and then we could find out.”
“Is that the real reason that you called?” I lifted my head back up. “Is this some sort of manipulation in order to get me to let you go back to work?”
“Rita.”
“It’s Ms. Fontaine, and I will see you next week at your session.” I couldn’t believe that I had almost believed he was really interested. “Goodnight, Major Harris.” I hung up the phone and tossed it on the couch beside me.
God, I was such an idiot. I dropped my head back to the couch willing myself to forget our conversation and focus.
I was his therapist, and he was a patient. That was all we could ever be.