A card?
Curiosity spiked, although he suspected it might be from Kelsey. She’d texted him a couple of times since the accident, offering to help out. He wished she’d take the hint and stop trying so hard. She was nice enough, just not really his type. Still, he didn’t know how to shake her off without hurting her feelings.
He pulled the get-well card from its sleeve—a girly card with a picture of a branch with pink flower buds. At least the text was in a large, clear font. “Wishing you a quick and complete recovery.” However, the handwritten note gave him some trouble.
Using his index finger to track the words, he concentrated his best on the feminine, loopy scrawl. Two minutes later, he tossed it on his desk, surprised and frustrated.
“What’s that?” Trip asked.
“Best I can make out, it’s an apology note from Randall’s sister. You know how hard it is for me to read cursive. I can’t read her name.”
Trip picked up the note. “Avery Randall.” Apprehension edged Trip’s voice, which made no sense.
“Avery,” Grey repeated.
“This is either a real nice sentiment,” Trip began, setting the card back on the table, “or the cunning work of a woman trying to get on your good side so you won’t sue the shit out of her brother.”
Grey toyed with the TV remote and frowned. He’d never been a big proponent of litigation. Seemed like the only sure winners in any lawsuit were the lawyers.
But now everything he owned hung in the balance. He couldn’t work. He was bleeding money. He had a lot more medical bills to look forward to in the future. And God forbid this injury truly sidelined him from the demands of safely skiing the backcountry in the future.
His new lawyer, Warren Adler, advised him to hold off on accepting a payout from Andy’s auto-insurance carrier because Andy had only carried the minimum policy limits. Adler needed time to investigate Andy’s assets, and to determine Grey’s “maximum medical improvement” in order to accurately assess damages. He’d said it could take up to six months to determine the MMI. Six months! Grey just wanted the whole thing to be settled quickly so he didn’t lose everything in the process.
“You’re right about one thing,” Grey said, tossing the remote aside. “I need a good therapist.”
Trip wrinkled his nose. “Well, I asked around about the local PTs, but I doubt you’ll like what I have to say.”
“Why not?” Grey sat forward, grimacing when his knee accidentally bumped the edge of the table. “I thought there were good orthopedic therapists in this town.”
“There are two. One’s an old dude who’s temporarily living out of state with a sick parent.”
“So what’s wrong with the other one?” Grey crunched on the remaining bit of lollipop then tossed the tattered stick on top of last month’s Powder magazine. “Is he some kind of freak show?”
“She is not a freak show and has an excellent reputation.” Trip sat back with a smirk on his face.
“You think I can’t work with a woman?”
“Maybe not this woman.” Trip leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s Randall’s sister, Avery.”
“Get the fuck out.” When Trip nodded, Grey picked up the get-well card again, studying her handwriting as if that would make the situation more tolerable. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“’Cause after the accident, I dreaded giving you more bad news.”
“Well, isn’t that just peachy?” Grey scrubbed one hand over his face, using the other to tap the edge of the card against his thigh.
“It’s thorny. But honestly, Grey, she’s not to blame for her brother’s screw-up.”
“You think I don’t know that? Still sucks. That drunk asshole screwed with my future, and now I’m going to have to work with his sister each week?” He shook his head in disgust. “God, this is an unholy mess. Watch her blame me for her brother’s injuries. I bet she thinks he wouldn’t have swerved and hit the lamppost if I hadn’t been on the road.” Grey frowned, shaking off his own niggling feelings of guilt.
“You know it’s not your fault.” Trip sank deeper into the chair and crossed his legs at the ankles. “He’d been drinking.”
Grey pitched the card across the table. “I know. But if I hadn’t been out there on my bike, he might’ve made it home without hurting himself or anyone else.”
How many times had he replayed the events of that evening? Five minutes either way would’ve avoided the whole thing. Fate chose to test him instead. At least a physical test was one he had a chance of passing.
“We could look into PTs elsewhere. It’ll probably involve a thirty-mile drive or farther each way. Could be a problem until we get through the snow season.”
“No. This could work in my favor. Maybe I’ll learn something about Randall that could help move my case along faster. Besides, I want the best so I can get back on the mountain as early as possible.” Grey drummed his fingers on his thigh. Shaman trotted over and rested his head on the sofa cushion, waiting for affection from Grey, which he promptly received. Grey petted Shaman’s head, gazing at nothing in particular. “If she’s the best, then that’s the end of the discussion. I’ve dealt with tougher situations.”
“Of course, she might not want to work with you.” Trip cocked one brow.
Grey’s voice hardened as he glanced at the card on the table. “She’ll work with me. It’ll be her way of making up for her brother’s mistake.”
“That’s harsh—and unlike you.”
“I’m feeling pretty harsh right now.” Grey rubbed at his thigh again. “I’ve got very little in savings and a three-hundred-thousand-dollar loan hanging over my head. I could lose everything in a New York minute if I’m not looking out for myself. I can’t take any chances. And if I have to apply a little pressure to get what I need, then so be it.” Grey sighed at Trip’s shocked expression. “Don’t pull a face. You know I’ll be nothing but polite—compassionate, even—but Avery Randall will agree to work with me.”
Chapter Three
Grey exited the cab on crutches and lumbered toward the rehabilitation center, bracing for a confrontation with Randall’s sister. During the past twenty-four hours, he’d felt like two wildcats were wrestling inside his chest.
Working with Randall’s sister was either brilliant or plain stupid. Guilt over her brother’s actions could spur her to work harder, or make it uncomfortable and awkward. Gripped by indecision, he knew only one thing was certain: aggressive therapy.
He drew the crisp mountain air into his lungs before opening the door of the bustling clinic.
Inside, sunlight flooded through the large windows, bouncing off the wall of mirrors lining the spotless exercise area. State-of-the-art gym equipment filled the airy space. That and the citrusy-clean scent improved his mood considerably, although his muscles still twitched in anticipation of their introduction.
He trudged to the receptionist area, pleased to discover a candy dish filled with Jolly Ranchers set upon the station’s counter. After fishing around the bowl for a grape piece, he tossed it into his mouth. Lollipops were preferable to Jolly Ranchers, which always stuck to his teeth, but honestly, he’d never met a grape candy he didn’t like.
“Good morning.” A chipper young lady smiled at him. “Are you here to see Dr. Randall, Mr. White, or Ms. Hastings?”
“I’ve got a four-thirty appointment with Dr. Randall,” he replied. “Grey Lowell.”
“Super,” she said. “Did you print out and complete the paperwork?”