4. Hazel

Chapter Four

HAZEL

I can’t believe I agreed to do this.

There must be something seriously wrong with me.

I don’t know what possessed me to agree to still treat Knox Riley after he acted like such an asshole yesterday, but I did, and now I’m just going to have to live with it.

Yep .

I’m just going to have to live with the fact that the biggest jerkface jackass I’ve ever met will be my client for a month. The hottest and youngest client I’ve ever had, with his stupid thick light brown hair that has natural rust-colored highlights and is shaggy enough to curl around his ears and the nape of his neck. Those really stupid pretty dark brown eyes that look like dark chocolate surrounded by the thickest eyelashes ever. His stupid sexy lips, Cupid’s bow lips where the lower one is just a little fuller and both are the nicest shade of dusky pink. Gah, and his whole stupid handsome face, the thing basically chiseled from stone by Michelangelo himself, riddled with scars and a five o’clock shadow that made my hoo-ha all kinds of happy.

And don’t even get me started on his body.

Knox the Jerkface looks like... like... I don’t even know.

He has so many muscles. I mean, so many that I’m pretty sure his muscles have muscles, and he definitely has some that aren’t actual muscles. Not that I saw very much of him, but it’s my job to know the human body, and from what I saw of Knox’s, he’s got definition in places most people don’t even know exist.

Why do the pretty ones always have to be such jerks?

And why on earth did I agree to treat him?

Oh, right. Because I’m a gigantic push over and when Linda called me to apologize last night, she managed to talk me into it.

I didn’t need much talking, though.

Linda was so embarrassed, so upset and concerned I wouldn’t treat her anymore because of what Knox said that she probably could have talked me into giving her my kidney and I never would have second guessed it.

But I did manage to explain that she isn’t responsible for her son’s actions, and I would never make a decision based on her demon spawn.

We both laughed at that but then Linda all but fell apart, elaborating further what this means to her son, how depressed and angry he’s been since his last fight. She’s super worried about him and since coming to my clinic has been so good for her physically, spiritually, emotionally and mentally —her words, not mine—she’s hoping to achieve that for Knox, too.

Then she sealed the deal by basically crying for twenty minutes over how scared she is that Knox will permanently injure himself and retreat from the world entirely, scared she’s going to lose her son in a worse way than losing her husband. Because while it crushed her to have her husband pass so young, Linda is worried Knox is going to die on the inside , and he’ll be nothing but a super buff shell of himself.

Apparently, the shared love of MMA between Linda’s husband and their firstborn was so deep that Charlie was Knox’s coach, his best friend and biggest fan, and she’s convinced he still hasn’t fully recovered from his death.

I guess all he does now is work out and train to the point of exhaustion and pain, or take his dad’s fishing boat out on the water for hours at a time.

Linda said he orders everything online, and she cuts his hair, so Knox doesn’t even go grocery shopping or to the barber.

He refuses to do any of the required publicity for the CFA and just eats the fines.

The last time he went anywhere fun was when they flew to Georgia for his brother's last minute wedding, but even then, Knox wasn’t his usual sweet and social self .

Something I find hard to believe.

And because I’m nosy as hell, it’s made me super curious.

I know firsthand that losing a loved one can change you. Losing your support system can leave you totally lost and empty, but something tells me there’s more to his story because if I’ve learned anything from watching ridiculous amounts of his fights online, Knox Riley doesn’t back down from a challenge, nor does he go down without a fight.

Something more than losing his father changed him, something that made him more than just reclusive and sad. Something big that turned him into a raging asshole and my fucking nosy brain wants to know what it is.

But I didn’t snoop.

Nope, I ignored all the bios and news articles about Knox and just watched his fights to get an idea of what he does and how he does it, and where I need him to be versus where he’ll be when I assess him.

Let me tell you what. If I thought that six-foot-four, 280 pound bear was intimidating when I met him, then an up-to-fighting-standard and out-for-blood bear is even more so.

MMA is extremely gruesome.

In a strategic, skilled, and sort of beautiful kind of way.

I did my homework, though; spent hours watching his fights, reading about the sport as well as the sub-sports that make it up, and I’m feeling pretty confident I can actually help Knox, given he’s willing to let me.

I just have to keep it super professional and to the point, dig my heels in and avoid looking directly at his face.

Lord help me when I have to touch him.

Scary or not, he’s still the hottest man I’ve ever seen and I’m going to have to double up on panties because I’m sure they’ll melt right off my body the minute we’re skin to skin.

Fight4It82: You feeling better today, Sunny?

Gah .

Butterflies

Silly little butterflies over my strictly online, friends only, friend.

No BUT I haven’t made any stupid decisions based on panic attacks or wonky sleep.

Steps in the right direction.

How’s macho man today?

Fight4It82: Meh. Could be better, could be worse. I’m alive so there’s that.

Oh dear.

Sounds like he’s in a rough place today.

What’s going on?

Fight4It82: Nothing for you to worry about. Just a little anxious is all.

Over...???

Fight4It82: Nothing, Sunshine. Tell me something good.

Yeah, my friend is definitely in a rough spot today.

Well... fur baby number one did NOT poop in my new sneakers.

Fight4It82: That’s good. How’s fur baby number two adjusting?

She got so nervous when I introduced her to her brother that she peed EVERYWHERE.

It’s ok though. She felt bad and shockingly, FB1 kind of took her under his wing. He sort of showed her around, got her comfortable and then they slept on the couch together.

I’m sure she’ll be pooping in my shoes in no time.

Fight4It82: It’s important for siblings to bond and find things they like to do together.

I’m sure it is. Just need to make sure I get FB1 fixed real quick or else he’ll try to make babies with his sister. I don’t condone incest.

Fight4It82: Glad to hear it. I’d have to reevaluate our relationship if you did.

Friendship .

He totally meant friendship.

Oh come on, macho man. You know me better than that. Have I ever insinuated that I’d encourage such horrible things between my fur babies?

Fight4It82: Nope. That’s why I love talking to you. You’re a good person, Sunny, and you always brighten my day.

Yep.

My friend is struggling right now.

Not that his compliments are so foreign it means he’s struggling, but he gets a little looser with them when he’s trying to find the good in himself, and that’s when he looks to me for it as well.

And yeah, despite where they come from, I swoon my ass off when he compliments me. Which proves how incredibly isolated, inexperienced, and na?ve I am.

Probably.

I’m really glad for that. I love talking to you too and while I wish we could keep talking, I have to get to work or else I’ll be late for my next session.

You maybe wanna chat again later?

Fight4It82: No worries, Sunny. I actually have a thing in a few minutes too. Depending on how I feel after, I’d be up for a late night ray of sunshine.

Gah.

Perfect. We can have beers and talk about whatever is bothering you.

Fight4It82: Beers good, talking bad.

Yeah, ok. Just message me if you’re feeling up to it. I’m always here if you need me.

Fight4It82: Ditto, Sunshine. Talk soon.

Talk soon.

Well, now I can add worrying about my only friend to the list of things that are making me anxious today.

Not that I have any time for that with the biggest source of my anxiety sitting in my waiting room right now.

Hopefully.

I swear, if Knox is late just to spite me, I’m going to scream.

It wouldn’t shock me, though, not after being a huge jerkface jackass yesterday.

So, with a deep, cleansing breath, I grab his file from the counter and head toward my fate.

“Mr. Riley?” I open the door to the waiting room and sigh when I see him sitting in a chair that is way too small for his huge frame. “Shall we?”

“Knox,” he grunts as he gets to his feet and slides his phone into the pocket of his basketball shorts.

Nope.

Not happening.

He can call me Hazel because I don’t like going by doctor or Ms. Hollis, but I am not calling him by his first name. It’s too personal and that’s the last thing I need to be with him.

Knox follows me into the clinic, stops just beyond the door and bends to start unlacing his bright green Nikes.

“You don’t have to take your shoes off if you don’t want to. Today is just the assessment, so we won’t really be getting into too much.”

He finishes, then stands and toes them off before lining them up perfectly parallel to the wall. “Ma said it’s a rule.”

“You really don’t?—”

“Is it?” he asks as Knox pins me with brown eyes so dark they almost look black. “A rule?”

I shrug and clear my throat. “Kind of. It’s better for the integrity of the floor, and I encourage my clients to be as comfortable as possible while they’re here.”

He nods. “And I’m a client?”

“Yes...” Great . It appears he’s still going to be difficult. At least he’s not growling at me.

“Then I’ll follow your rules.”

Okay then. “Very well.” I turn with an arched brow and head toward the rolling table. I’m not sure if I’ll have him use it today, but it’s closest to my ultrasound machine and I’m going to need that. “I was able to get your file from the surgeon thanks to the release you signed this morning. He sent over everything, including the initial x-rays right after your injury as well as post-op and the ones from a couple months ago. Since that was the last time anyone looked inside your shoulder, I’d like to do an ultrasound to peek for myself, but depending on what I see, I might have to send in an order for current x-rays.”

“Where do you want me?”

“The rolling table is fine for now.” I pull open the drawer next to the ultrasound machine, the one that has a light and tray in it, so I can set up the x-rays and compare them to the ultrasound as I go. “Would you like anything before we get started? I have coffee, tea, and water. Fresh pastries from the bakery next door. Like I said, today is just so I can evaluate things and...”

My words fail me when I turn to face Knox again.

Knox, who is now shirtless.

Oh, dear god.

Shirtless.

Shredded.

Tattooed.

Sweet baby Jesus, he even has chest hair.

This man very literally might be my wildest fantasy come to life.

But when I realize shirtless Knox is white knuckling the table on either side of his thighs—his massive tree trunk thighs—and his feet are bouncing out a rhythm against the step stool, it can only mean he’s possibly going to have an anxiety attack so I switch from sex deprived woman to compassionate healer in no time flat.

“Hey.” I set his file down and stand in front of him. “There’s nothing to be worried about. I’m just going to get a feel for things, see what we need to work on, and come up with a plan. Everything is going to be okay.”

He looks me in the eye, searching my face in a way that makes my heart hurt for him, then he blows out a shaky breath. “I have a lot riding on this.”

I nod. “Linda told me, but I promise I’m going to do everything I can to help. My specialty is sports medicine and I did a lot of research on MMA last night. I’m pretty confident I’ll be able to get you back in shape before your fight.” Then I smirk. “As long as you listen to me and try to trust what I tell you.”

Knox nods and sighs. “I haven’t worked out in a while. Been resting my shoulder, using ice and heat. I’m trying to listen.”

“That’s a good start.” I smile, one that hopefully conveys my confidence and calm. “Would you like anything before we get started?”

He shakes his head.

“Are you sure? I can start with the questionnaire if you’d like, maybe let you ease into things before I take a look at your shoulder?”

“I guess I’ll have a coffee then.” I can visibly see his tension ease a bit. “You said there are pastries?”

“Fresh ones. Scones, donuts, croissants, coffee cake. What sounds good?”

Knox licks his lips and shit, my mind just took a nosedive and landed right back in the gutter. “What kind of donuts?”

In order to avoid eye fucking my very anxious client, I turn and start making his coffee. “Glazed, chocolate, bear claws, crullers?—”

“Bear claw,” he grunts.

Figures .

“How do you take your coffee?”

“Black.” Another grunt but then, “Please.”

With his breakfast in hand, I turn, make sure Knox is satisfied with it, then grab his file. “I’ll leave it up to you, Mr. Riley. Ultrasound or questionnaire first?”

“Knox,” he says with a mouthful. “Just rip the band aid off.”

“Ultrasound it is.”

Once his entire left shoulder is covered in gel, I grab the wand, then frown. “You’ve had this surgery before?”

He nods as he chews. “Couple times.”

“I didn’t see it in your file.”

“Release only covers the current injury.”

“Right.” But the evidence of previous surgeries is clear.

Several scars a little bigger than the size of a quarter dot the top of his shoulder and there are mirror image scars on front and back that start close to his armpit and curve in a crescent toward the joint. The one on the front is new, though, and it’s angry, which means Knox definitely didn’t follow doctor’s orders this time around.

As soon as the wand makes contact, he tenses again and despite wanting to be professional, I also don’t want to be an asshole and have him freaking out the entire hour he’s here.

“I’m going to guess you played football.” He glances at me, something I see from the corner of my eye because I’m watching the image on my machine. “High school and college?”

“Defensive end.”

“Ah. Explains the previous bumps then. Got knocked around quite a bit on the field, Mr. Riley?”

He turns and stares at the side of my face. “Played hard, hit harder.”

I smirk. “I believe that.” My fingers click the keyboard every few minutes as I essentially take pictures of the inside of his shoulder and start printing as I go. “You play all through school?”

“Six years total.”

“And then you got into mixed martial arts.” I roll the wand slowly along his scar, still clicking away. “Where’d you go to college?”

“University of Miami.”

“Good school. Get your degree?”

“Marketing and finance.”

I grin wider because I never would have guessed that. “Got any advice for a small business owner whose small business has taken a hit lately?”

Knox frowns. “You’re struggling?”

“It’s fine.” I shrug. “All businesses go through dry spells. If my rates were higher, I’d do better, but it’s not about that for me. I just like helping people feel better.”

“Hazel... about what I said yesterday?—”

“Well,” I blurt because nope, we aren’t going there. What’s done is done and we don’t need to make amends because we are nothing more than doctor and patient. “It actually looks like your shoulder is closer to 80%. Seems like that rest did you some good.”

He sighs and rubs his palms over his thighs. “So, it’s not worse?”

“Nope.” I start wiping the gel off and try not to groan at how firm his muscles are. “Probably about 77% and no further damage beyond the original injury. I think it might still be a good idea to get x-rays done, just so I know exactly what I’m working with in terms of the joint itself. Do you have time to do that today if I send in the order?”

“Yeah. Schedule is pretty wide open these days.”

“Excellent. Give me a few minutes and we’ll go over the questionnaire.”

“How did you get into this?”

My eyes meet his analytical ones, those deep brown pools still a tad skeptical. “My parents.” I smile, probably a little too sadly as I put away the machine. “Dad was from London but lived in France and played rugby for Toulouse. That’s where he met my mother, who was a full-blooded Italian woman with a fire in her belly, the mouth of a sailor, and an affinity for rugby. Love at first sight.” I sigh dreamily because it really was, and their relationship is exactly why people write books about love. “Dad played until I was about four. That’s when he took a hit and landed wrong. He was paralyzed from the neck down and my mom became his caregiver.”

“Hazel... I didn’t mean?—”

“It’s okay. Their relationship, the way they still loved each other so much that it didn’t matter how they did it, that’s a big part of why I got into this.”

In probably the sweetest gesture ever, Knox reaches out and hooks his pinky with mine while making less intense and incredibly understanding eye contact. “Is that why you wound up in Jupiter? His injury?”

“Not exactly.” On reflex, I squeeze his pinky tighter as I chew my cheek. “When I was six, we were in an accident while traveling from Nice to Paris. A truck jackknifed our car and my mom lost control. She died on impact, but my dad made it about two and a half weeks.”

“Hazel...”

A tear slips down my cheek but I smile through, give his finger one more squeeze, then pull myself together. “I went to live with my nona in Venice after that, but she moved us to Jupiter once I recovered, and I’ve been here ever since. Went to school, figured out how I wanted to help people like my dad, and take care of people the way my mom did. I may not remember much, but what I do remember is how happy they were, despite what happened.”

I wanted to bring the sunshine to other people’s souls the way my parents said they did for each other, and people like Knox need something like that in their lives.

“Anyway.” I try to smile. “Between the sports injury and the accident, I found my calling and, thanks to Nona, I made it into what it is today.” I spin toward Knox’s file so I can ignore the sad look on his face. “Let’s get you evaluated.”

So much for staying professional .