A Love Like This. Kianna Alexander
put the magazine down and stood, approaching the nurse.
As he walked up, she looked up from her clipboard. Her eyes immediately grew five sizes larger. “Oh. My. God. You’re that Devon Granger?”
Despite his discomfort, he managed a smile. He had a lot of genuine gratitude for his fans—their support had given him a very good life. “Yes. And you are?”
Blushing, she looked away, seeming to struggle to remember her name. “I’m...uh...Marla. It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Granger. I loved you in Reach for the Sky... It’s my favorite movie of all time.”
“Thank you, Marla. And please, call me Devon.”
A giggle he’d expect to hear from a teenager erupted from her lips, and she stifled it. “Oh my goodness. Let me stop holding you up. Follow me to your exam room.” She started walking down the narrow corridor leading to the rear of the clinic.
He followed her, still a bit amused by the encounter. A few seconds later, she escorted him into a room complete with the typical doctor’s office setup: a counter with a sink, a short wheeled stool, a chrome and plastic chair, and a paper-covered bed.
As he took a seat in the chair, she spent a few moments taking his vital signs. That done, she headed for the door.
“Dr. Stinger will be in to see you soon.” Still smiling, she departed, closing the door behind her.
The hard seat and backrest of the chair made him nostalgic for the one in the waiting area; at least it had been padded. The stiff material wasn’t helping his pain any, so he got up and moved to the bed, which was set in the upright position.
He was scooting his hips onto the paper-covered surface when the door swung open.
Dr. Steven Stinger, dressed in dark slacks and a white medical coat embroidered with his name, entered the room and closed the door behind him. A Black man in his late forties, Dr. Stinger wore a pair of black-framed glasses perched on the end of his nose, as well as the traditional stethoscope draped over his neck. “Mr. Granger. What brings you here today?” He took a seat on the wheeled stool and looked Devon’s way.
Settling back against the bed, he released a breath. “My back. I have a herniated disk, and I can’t deal with the pain anymore.”
Dr. Stinger slid the clipboard holding what Devon assumed to be his medical chart from beneath his arm and jotted something on it. “Which disk?”
He swiveled to his left, gesturing to his tailbone region. “It’s in the sacrum area.”
“Oh. That’s a particularly uncomfortable spot.” He scribbled some more. “How long have you had the injury, and how have you been dealing with the pain so far?”
“It’s been about a month. I injured myself doing a stunt on my last film...”
Dr. Stinger’s expression changed, becoming less serious. “Destruction Derby 3, right?”
“Yes.” He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that the doctor would ask, given the immense popularity of the series. Still, he wanted to steer the conversation back to the pain that had brought him to the clinic. “Anyway, I’ve been treating it with hot and cold therapy and some turmeric capsules my trainer gave me.”
Still making notes, Dr. Stinger nodded. “Is there a reason you didn’t get a prescription from the doctor who diagnosed you? In most cases like this, a prescription is offered.”
Straightening, Devon scratched his chin. “My doctor did offer a prescription, but I wanted to try the natural remedies first. I’m not the biggest fan of pharmaceuticals, so I avoid them when I can.”
“I can understand that. A lot of my patients feel the same way.” Dr. Stinger set his pen and chart aside. “Let me examine you to get a better idea of how I can help you going forward. How long will you be in town?”
“Until just after the New Year.”
Dr. Stinger adjusted the bed until it lay flat, and then instructed Devon to lie down on his stomach.
The doctor left the room and returned with a portable X-ray machine and the nurse. Once the examination was complete, and the nurse and equipment were out of the room, Dr. Stinger readjusted the bed so Devon could sit upright again.
“I’m going to recommend a nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory for you. Considering your attitude toward medication, I’ll start you at a low dose.” The doctor quickly wrote on his prescription pad. “Also, you’ll need to remain active—walking will help keep the joints lubricated and lessen your discomfort. Where are you staying while you’re here?”
“I’m in a rental town house on Rising Tide Drive.”
Dr. Stinger’s brow hitched. “Two story?”
He nodded.
“You’ll need to stay off the second floor. Walking will help, but climbing stairs several times a day will put undue stress on your injury. Can you make arrangements to do that?”
“I guess so.” He knew that would involve calling MHI and probably interacting with Hadley again.
“You may also need some help around the house. Standing in one spot, such as for cooking or washing dishes, is probably not going to be comfortable. You should consider hiring someone for that kind of thing.” Tearing the prescription from his pad, he handed it over.
Devon accepted the prescription, tucking it into the hip pocket of his jeans. “I’ll look into it.” The housekeeping staff already kept the place clean for him, but he’d still need to make some adjustments. Plus, he’d planned to cook for himself, since he didn’t want to spend two and a half weeks eating takeout. Now he’d have to see if Hadley could spare a staff member to be at his disposal.
As Devon left the clinic, heading for the pharmacy two doors down, he inhaled, letting the ocean breeze fill his nostrils. The air in Los Angeles was notoriously dirty, and deep inhales there often involved suffering through some unpleasant odors. Here, all he smelled was the salt, the sand and the grass.
Coming here once a year did him a world of good. It wasn’t just about escaping the busyness of life in LA—it was about returning home to the place that had shaped his youth. Doing that gave him a sense of peace, and he’d sorely needed that when he lost Natalie.
As he swung open the door to the pharmacy, he contemplated what he would say to Hadley when he called the office to make his requests. She’d said to call if he needed anything, and now he’d have to take her up on that.
Friday afternoon, Hadley was stretched out on the love seat in her office with her head resting on one of the arms. She held her cell phone to her ear, listening to her mother on the other end of the line.
“Hadley, say something, honey. We need to decide what we’re serving so I can send out for the groceries.” At fifty-six, Viola Monroe was still as fastidious as ever when it came to her holiday menu. While she loved to cook, she hated to shop and always arranged to have the groceries delivered to the house.
“I know, Mama. I like what you’ve mentioned so far.” Hadley tossed one jeans-clad leg over the other, resting her ankles on the opposite arm of the love seat from where she reclined. “We should definitely do a glazed ham. It’s tradition, and I don’t think anybody wants to change it. And the turkey breast was a big hit with the guys last year.”
“We’ll keep those things. But we need to decide on some side dishes to go along with them.” Viola paused a moment before launching into a list. “We need at least three vegetables, two starches, desserts...”
While her mother went on and on about the menu for Christmas dinner, Hadley found her mind wandering. That was common whenever Viola started obsessing about the minutiae of the holiday meal.