Chapter 31 31
Harmony's POV
That same Monday, Dr Sherman was waiting for me at the entrance of the clinic when I arrived, which told me that he had been watching for me.
"Miss Sinclair," he said, falling into step beside me as I walked in. "Welcome back. I trust the week was productive?"
"Very much," I replied.
"And you've had time to think about your... ah, priorities?"
"I have." I kept my eyes forward. "It won't happen again, Dr Sherman."
He nodded, satisfied. "That's very good. That's what I wanted to hear." He peeled off toward his office and I continued down the corridor toward my workstation, shrugging off my jacket.
I was wiser now. That was what I had told myself every morning for the past seven days, and I was still telling myself now, even after the slipup last night. Roman Foster was a disruption, a very attractive, very aggravating disruption, but a distraction nonetheless. I had indulged in it once, and paid for it with a week's suspension and a conversation with my supervisor that I never wanted to repeat. I was done with him for good.
But I was also still thinking about the sex, which was deeply inconvenient. I couldn't stop, so I told myself it was merely physical. After all, it had been my first time.
I pushed through the door to the treatment room and found my first patient of the morning already seated on the examination table. She was a girl of about nineteen, with dark hair and a look on her face that showed that she was trying very hard not to cry. Her right wrist was cradled in her left hand.
"Hi," I said, pulling on my gloves. "I'm Harmony Sinclair. What is your name? What happened?"
"My name is Sasha. I twisted it during practice this morning," she replied. "I'm on the tennis team. We have a match in two weeks and I can't even hold a racket right now. I'm fucked!"
"Not yet, Sasha. Let me take a look." I examined the wrist carefully, rotating it gently, watching her face for the exact points of pain. It was a moderate sprain, and thankfully there was nothing torn. But it needed proper strapping and at least ten days of rest from play.
"Good news is that it's not broken," I told her. "Bad news is you need to stay off it for a while."
"How long is a while?"
"Ten days minimum, before we even think about light practice."
"Fuck!" She groaned and dropped her head back. "Ten days. I have a match in fourteen days."
"Which gives you four days of light practice before the match, if you follow the protocol properly and don't try to rush it." I started strapping the wrist. "It's doable, but you have to be disciplined."
She was quiet for several seconds, watching me work. Then she said, "You're Roman Foster's student therapist, right?"
I paused, wondering how that was relevant. "For a time, yes."
"Is it true that Roman Foster is going to be back for the match on Saturday?"
I kept my eyes on the strapping. "I wouldn't know."
"Because I heard he had a patellar fracture, which is way more serious than a wrist sprain. But if he can heal that fast, then maybe I can heal faster too." She looked at me hopefully. "Right? I mean, he's playing in five days."
"A patellar fracture and a wrist sprain are two completely different injuries," I replied, with more patience than I felt. "You can't compare them. And we don't know that Foster is going to be playing at the game yet."
"But Roman Foster is literally back on his feet in like three weeks. That's insane! He's so talented, honestly, I've watched every single one of his matches since freshman year, the way he moves on the ice is just crazy!"
"All done!" I said in an unnaturally loud voice, smoothing down the edges of the strapping. "Keep it elevated when you're resting, ice it for twenty minutes every few hours, and come back on Thursday so I can check the swelling."
She looked down at her wrist, then back up at me. "Do you think he'll play well on Saturday? Roman Foster, I mean. Given the injury?"
I pulled off my gloves. "I said I have no idea. I'm not his physiotherapist anymore."
She opened her mouth to say something else about Roman Foster, but thankfully I was saved by Nurse Patricia appearing in the doorway.
"Harmony dear, Dr Sherman is asking for you when you have a moment," Patricia announced. "I can take over here if you're done."
"Perfect timing," I sighed, possibly with more enthusiasm than was professional. I handed Patricia the girl's notes, told her the strapping just needed checking and left the room before the tennis player could ask me another question about Roman Foster.
Dr Sherman's office door was open. I knocked on the frame, and he looked up from his desk.
"Ah, Harmony. Come in, sit down. How's the morning going?"
"Fine," I replied, sitting across from him. "Good, actually. It feels good to be back."
He smiled. This was the familiar warm version of him that I had been relieved to see return, after the stern stranger who had dismissed me a week ago. "Good. That's good to hear."
He folded his hands on the desk. "I wanted to talk to you about something before the day ends."
I waited.
"Roman Foster's private nurse, a Sarah Caldwell, contacted the clinic yesterday," he told me, and my stomach dropped about three floors immediately. "She's requesting a full copy of Roman's physiotherapy progress notes and his recovery plan. Given the stage his recovery was at when he left us, she wants to make sure she's working from an accurate picture."
"That's very sensible of her," I said carefully.
"It is. And since you were the one managing his case, you're the only person here with the complete picture of where things stood." He peered at me from above his glasses. "I'd like you to go over to his apartment tomorrow and brief her personally. Hand over the documentation, walk her through the plan and make sure she understands the protocol."
Oh, hell no! There was absolutely no way I was getting thrown back into a situation with Foster like this!
"Dr Sherman, I can't." I told him, in a voice as calm as I could manage, "I have three patients scheduled tomorrow morning and two in the afternoon, and I'm already behind on documentation from my week off, so realistically I don't think I'm the right person to...."
"Harmony, this Is not up for debate."
"I just think that anyone with access to his file could do the briefing, it doesn't specifically have to be me, Nurse Patricia has worked here for years and she's more than capable of..."
"No, it has to be you," he argued. "You know that case better than anyone here. Sarah specifically asked for the person who managed his treatment, and that's you."
He gave me a look that was kind but firm. "It'll take an hour or two at most. Your morning patients can be rescheduled. And since you said that you have learned your lesson, surely you have nothing to be scared of? Just pop in there, drop the documents, do the briefing and leave."
That was easier said than done.
I looked at Dr Sherman in despair, but I knew that the battle was lost. There was nothing left to argue with.
"Okay," I finally agreed. Shit, shit, shit!
"Thank you, Harmony." He picked up his pen, which was his way of ending a conversation. "Tomorrow morning. I'll send you the address."
I stood up, walked out of his office and pulled his door shut behind me.
"Fuck my life," I said quietly to the empty corridor.