toward us. The PT guy grabs my hand to help me off the table and then I sit, giving him a better view of my neck. His hands massage into my spine, asking me to tell him when it hurts. When I don’t say anything at all, he asks me the last time it did hurt. “It aches every now and then,” I tell him.
Two short raps sound on the door, and Johnny jumps into an offensive stance as it opens. The nurse on the opposite end screams as Johnny fills her line of vision.
I press my lips together to keep from laughing. Johnny apologizes profusely, giving her the lame excuse that she startled him, but I saw his hand dip into the waistband of his pants. He was two seconds away from pulling a gun at the intrusion, and I’m not sure Magnum was far behind him.
The nurse giggles warily and hands the doctor a folder. He quickly shoos her out of the room and then places my x-rays on the wall, flipping on a light so they illuminate from behind. He studies the pictures for a few minutes while we all look, too, acting as if we know what we’re looking at. I mean, they look good to me. I see vertebrae that move into a neck that holds my skull. That’s good, right?
“Huh,” he says. He turns, his finger pressed against his lips as he regards me. “Honestly, you seem fine. You don’t have much pain. Your x-rays look good. I asked your previous PT place if they could send over your previous images. The ones they sent were from when the accident occurred. You say you’ve been going to the specialist all along?” he asks.
“Yes. When I moved back here, they’d just started this electric shock therapy, as well as the exercises I was doing previously.”
The PT guy shrugs. “What they did worked.” He turns to peek at the x-rays again. “What I see here, and based on my examination today, I don’t believe you need to see a physical therapist, Kyla.” He launches into a spiel about doing the exercises they showed me if my pain ever flares up again, including what kind of pain medicine I can take when—or even if—that happens.
“Are you sure?” Johnny interrupts.
“Quite sure,” PT guy says. “Your girlfriend is well. That doesn’t mean you can’t come see me again if you have increased pain that lasts a few days. That might be a trigger that you’re regressing, but as of right now, no, I don’t see a reason to treat her. I’m honestly surprised they treated her for so long.”
Mag and Johnny share a hard look. The doctor shakes all of our hands again and walks out the door. In his absence, I release a breath. Johnny hands me my things, and I turn away from Magnum to put my bra on. Not that I wouldn’t mind getting dressed in front of him, but the next time he sees my breasts, I’d rather it be because we were two seconds from jumping in the sack together.
I pull my shirt on next just as Mag says, “Reynolds.”
“Huh?” I ask, turning.
“Reynolds,” he says again, moving his glance from Johnny to me. “Reynolds kept you in PT so he could keep an eye on you. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“Fucking asshole,” Johnny spits.
“No wonder why those guys hated me,” I muse. I imagined it was because they saw me on the news or read my file or because they’d been briefed on who they were dealing with, but maybe the Crew isn’t the only group who has people in their pocket?
The police do too.
26
Johnny plants me on his lap in the backseat while Mag drives us to Jax and Finn’s boxing gym after the PT appointment. If anything, he’s being more touchy feely than usual, which is fine by me. Except, I don’t like knowing why he’s acting like that. It’s as if he’s trying to provoke Magnum, who, as always, is as cool as a cucumber. Johnny won’t be cracking that tough exterior anytime soon, try as he might.
Magnum pulls into a parking spot in front of the gym, and Johnny follows me out of the car. I turn to say goodbye, but I run right into his chest before backing up. “You’re not heading right to Candy’s?”
Johnny threads his fingers through mine with a small grin. “Jiko’s going to pick me up here, so Magnum can stay with you.”