The Hightowers
Although all the Hightower men shared the same mahogany complexions, dashing good looks and athletic builds, he and Lawrence had often been mistaken for twins when they were growing up. He used to hate that.
He decided to ignore Lawrence for the moment.
“It’s not like you walking up there every five minutes is going to make your therapist come any faster,” Lawrence offered.
When he realized Joel was not going to respond, Lawrence shrugged and went back to flipping through the Vibe magazine he’d gotten from the humongous pile of reading materials on the coffee table.
“I’m sorry I’m late. I’m Samantha Dash, and you must be Mr. Hightower.”
He turned to set eyes on a curvy chocolate goddess with flashing brown eyes, flawlessly smooth skin and jet-black hair. She wore her hair in one of those natural styles with twists, and it reached her shoulders. Then there was her smile…With a smile like hers she could probably get away with anything.
Anything but keep him waiting.
Forget how captivating she looked. “Do you always disregard your patients’ time like this, or is it just me? Because if this is the way you conduct yourself, then maybe I should look into getting another therapist.”
She tilted her head, and she took a step back, placing her hand on her hip. She glared at him for a full minute before saying a word.
Joel glanced at Lawrence for some moral support and saw his brother had buried his face in the magazine.
No problem. He didn’t need backup for this. Right was right and wrong was wrong.
“Like I said, I apologize. We’re down one therapist today, but that’s not your problem. The gift of understanding isn’t something everyone is born with. So, I’m sorry for giving you the opportunity to exhibit your extreme lack in that area. Now, if you’ll just follow me, we can get you started.” Her smile took on a decidedly false appearance, and gone was the warmth and kindness that seemed to exude from her just a few moments ago.
Oh, well.
That wasn’t his problem. He was there for one reason and one reason only, to get his life back, and if this hand-on-hip, smart-mouth spitfire of a woman had to be checked from the door in order to ensure he got what he needed, then so be it.
Well, pictures certainly are deceiving. Samantha led Joel Hightower back into her office in the clinic. She had been a little nervous when she found out she was the therapist assigned to the hero firefighter. The fact that she had thought of him often over the past six months made her think she might be risking her usual professional distance with him as a patient.
Meeting the incorrigible, surly man in person let her know right away she had nothing to worry about. She didn’t have to worry about being attracted to him. Hell, she didn’t have to worry about even liking this man. He was nothing like the playful, mischievously sexy stud she had conjured up in her imagination.
That guy would probably always have a funny joke and a smile. That guy had sex appeal for days and would make a woman run hot, not with anger the way she was at the moment, but with passion.
That guy didn’t exist and in his place was this jerk.
“First off, I’d like to tell you a little bit about what you’ll be doing here for the next three months.” She kept her tone even and flat as they sat in her office.
It was a small office with an even tinier window, but it was hers. At twenty-seven years old, she liked the fact she had worked hard and secured a position with excellent growth opportunities at such a high-profile clinic attached to a renowned hospital and medical center.
One day she would have a bigger office and even more patients, but for now, she made this one cozy with lots of earth tones and faux plants. She would have loved real plants, but her first efforts of using real greenery to beautify her space ended in carnage. It would have rivaled the destruction of the rain forests if she hadn’t performed a self-intervention and embraced her lack of a green thumb.
During her first time meeting with a patient, she liked to give them a sense of what to expect. So she talked with them in her office for about twenty to thirty minutes depending on her first impression of the patient’s personality and the injuries each had sustained. At the end of each session, she spoke with them to wrap things up.
“My job is to help improve the function and mobility in your back. To help you begin to walk more fluidly. I’m also here to help relieve the pain and teach you exercise and pain-management techniques. We’ll run some general exercises today, testing your strength, balance, coordination, posture and muscle performance.”
He sighed and rolled his eyes.
Oh. No. He. Didn’t.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hightower, but am I boring you? Does the discussion of how I plan to help you with your back bother you?” She knew her tone was snappy, but she couldn’t help it.
He sighed again. “I heard all of this from my doctor. I know what a physical therapist is supposed to do, so can we get to it and just do it?”
Oh. Yes. He. Did.
How could she have been so wrong about a person? This impatient, irritable man was nothing like she had imagined, nothing like the man she had dreamed of him being. She almost wished she had never met him. At least then she would still have her sweet version of him to think about.
She plastered on her most professional smile. “Fine. I can explain as we go along.”
You surly sourpuss of a man!
Once she started working with him, things went somewhat smoothly. As long as they didn’t try to have a conversation, they were fine.
After working with him on balance, coordination and trying to get him used to moving around without the cane, she decided to try another shot at small talk. They had three months of therapy to get through, after all. It would be nice if they could build at least a cordial working relationship.
Basketball!
What man didn’t like to talk about sports? And the Nets and the Knicks were both having great seasons. As a Jersey guy, he was bound to be a fan of one of those teams.
Being a Chi-town girl, she personally liked the Bulls over all teams. She had been a fan since the days of Michael Jordan and she believed he was the greatest player to have ever played the game.
No one compared. No one.
And she included the Bulls in her prayers at least once a week—two or three times during the play-offs—in hopes the team would return to its former glory.
But she could squelch her fandom to reach out to a patient. She didn’t hate the Nets or the Knicks. She could tolerate those teams and their fans. As long as he wasn’t a Lakers fan or God forbid a Phoenix Suns fan, they could have a nice conversation.
“So, what do you think about the Nets?”
He shrugged. “I don’t think about them. I’m not really a fan of the team.”
“Oh, so you’re a Knicks fan?”
“Knicks? No way. That’s my brother Lawrence’s favorite team. I can’t stand them. They invent new ways to lose a game. Sorriest team in the league, well minus the Chicago Bulls, who haven’t seen a good year since that highly overrated ball hog Jordan left.” He laughed.
The hair stood up on the back of her neck and her lip twisted to the side.
Did he just call Jordan overrated and the Bulls sorry?
Her mind did a rewind as she replayed his blasphemous words in her mind. Sure, she’d wanted him to lighten up so they could connect, but…
“Actually, I’m a former Lakers fan. Now it’s all about the Suns. Shaq Diesel will go down in history as the best to ever play the game.” He flexed an arm muscle and nodded.
She could only assume he was trying to convince himself that the nonsense he was spouting was somehow true.
“On what planet? You must be delusional. Even if Michael Jordan had never played the game, Shaq would hardly qualify as the best to ever play it. And really…the Lakers? The Suns? That just lets me know you don’t have a thing to say about the sport worth listening to.” As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she winced.
She turned and looked at him and saw he was staring at her with a perplexed expression.
“So, because I like a different team and don’t think Jordan hung the moon, then I just need to shut up?”
Well, when you say it like that, it does sound kind of harsh.
She took a deep breath.
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Mr. Hightower, “yes, shut up!” He made her mouth go on extra-overload saying things she would have never said to a patient, ever.
Her father used to take her to see the Bulls when she was a kid. After he was gone, she still watched all the games on television when she could. It had been the one thing she could do to remain close to him.
However, she could maybe, possibly, put her feelings on hold for a minute.
“No, of course you don’t need to shut up. You can certainly voice your opinions, no matter how woefully misguided they are.”
Now, see, you could have left off the woefully misguided part, Samantha, she told herself.
“How about we just leave basketball alone?”
“That’s probably a good idea.” She used her fake but very professional smile again. “So, I want to try a little electric stimulation today. It’s one of the methods we use to relieve pain.”
It was better to just stick to the basics with this guy. The only thing they seemed to have in common was getting him well.
Chapter 2
Driving back to his town house in Passaic Park with his brother, Joel couldn’t stop talking about his physical therapist. She was certainly great at what she did. In one session, she had put him through more activity than he’d seen in months, and it seemed like the more irritated she became with him, the more she did.
He had a feeling Lawrence was a little bit tired of him talking about Samantha Dash, but every time he thought he was done, he would remember something else.
By the time they were sitting in his living room watching a basketball game on his large flat-screen television, he remembered the horrified look on her face when he had made his comment about Michael Jordan. You would have thought he’d said the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus should be executed at the firing range.
She rebounded quickly though. Yes, Samantha Dash seemed to be quite the trouper. He smiled.
“What are you grinning about now?” Lawrence studied him a little too intently before shrugging. “You got anything to eat in this place? How’re we supposed to watch the game with no snacks?”
“There’s some stuff back there. You know Mama and Aunt Sophie have been trying to outdo one another by keeping my fridge and my cupboards full.”
Lawrence’s eyes lit up. Although all of his brothers loved their mother’s cooking, Lawrence swore by it. In fact, he vowed he wouldn’t marry a woman if she couldn’t come close to his mother’s cuisine. Since they didn’t make them like Celia Hightower anymore, Joel figured the proclamation was Lawrence’s slick way of remaining a bachelor forever.
“Okay, what did Aunt Sophie make and what did Mama make?” Lawrence called back as he darted into the kitchen.
“I’m not sure. You’ll have to taste and see.”
“Aww, man! You know Aunt Sophie can’t cook. You’re supposed to make note of stuff like that. Why’re you keeping her food anyway? You’re supposed to throw that stuff right out in the trash. I swear, some of her food is toxic,” Lawrence yelled from the kitchen.
Joel laughed as he heard Lawrence gag and curse. He must have sampled one of Aunt Sophie’s masterpieces.
By the time Lawrence came back with his plate of “safe” Mama-made food, Joel thought he’d finally finished thinking about his physical therapist.
Then he thought about the sparks that flew out of her eyes when he snapped at her about being late. For a moment she’d looked at him as if she wanted to rake him over the coals. She was a full of fire for sure.
Little Miss Spitfire. That’s what she was.
He smiled again.
“What do you keep smiling about?” Lawrence asked as he placed his plate on the dark oak end table and leaned back in the deep burgundy leather recliner he always sat in when he came by.
Normally, Joel preferred the recliner for himself, but in the spirit of being a good host, he always allowed Lawrence to sit there. Ever since they’d been kids, Lawrence had pretty much ignored boundaries. If you let on something was your favorite, he took it over.
Favorite cup, ink pen, hat, whatever. Once Lawrence found out, you’d find him using it. He liked to irritate folks. It was easier to ignore him, but Joel was the only brother who could really do it. Both Patrick and Jason pitched fits when they found Lawrence using their favorite cup or pen. Joel let it slide. So, he made the matching leather sofa his spot whenever Lawrence was around.
“I was just thinking about how interesting the next three months will be working with Samantha. She’s excellent at her job, but she sure is opinionated. Man!”
Lawrence shook his head. “I guess you would be the best person to call it. Takes one to know one as they say.”
Joel frowned. “I’m not that opinionated.”
“Yeah, whatever. So, did she say what she thought your chances were for going back to the fire department?”
“No. We didn’t get to that, really. Plus, my doctor and the department will be the ones to make the call.”
“Have you thought about Hightower Security at all? It could be—”
Oh, no, he was starting again. For the past four months, his family had been trying to get him to think about other options just in case he didn’t get a clean bill of health to return to firefighting. He couldn’t get them to understand he wasn’t ready to consider other options.
He needed to believe he would be able to go back to the fire department.
“You know, I appreciate you taking your day off to go with me to my first physical therapy session, but I really don’t want to talk about this. I just want to get better and get back to my normal life.”
Lawrence nodded.
They watched the rest of the game in silence.
Samantha sat on her sofa, flipping the channels without a desire to really watch anything. After her horrendous day at work, she just wanted to veg out.
Joel Hightower was nothing like she had imagined him.
Why did that bother her? It shouldn’t have. He was a patient.
She’d dealt with difficult patients before. As a professional, she just had to do her job.
When her phone started ringing, she contemplated not answering it. She wasn’t in the mood for talking, especially if it was her mother on the other line.
She glanced at the caller ID. Seeing it was her friend, Jenny, the receptionist from the clinic, she picked up.
“Hey, girl. What’s up?”
“Girl, I had to leave before you were done with your last patient.” Jenny’s bubbly voice came through the phone line. “And you know I had to call you and find out how it went. I’ve never seen you almost snap on a patient before. Girl, I thought you were going to rip his head off. His fine-as-he-wants-to-be head off, I might add.”
Samantha hissed. “He’s rude, and he’s a bear.”
And truth be told, his stank attitude hurt your feelings and shattered all the little idealized images of him you had in your mind.
“Whatever. He’s something to look at, and he had his other fine brother with him.” The distinct sound of smacking lips followed by “mmm” interrupted Jenny’s adulation. “Girl, I was glad you were late. I got to sneak glances at those two fine Hightower men the entire time. You know, I went to high school with the oldest Hightower brother, Patrick. Every girl in Paterson wanted to snag one of those Hightower boys—”
“I can hardly imagine why. Joel Hightower is a surly, opinionated jerk. In fact, I’m going to start calling him Mr. Surly.”
Jenny laughed.
“What’re you laughing at? It’s not funny.”
“I just think it’s funny you find him so opinionated. Tell me, is that your expert opinion, since you can be a little opinionated yourself?”
“Ha, ha, ha. The difference is my opinions are usually right, and his…Oh, forget it. I don’t want to talk about Mr. Surly.”
“Hmm…I’ve never seen you get this worked up over a guy before. Interesting.”
“And I think you might be in need of a shrink, because clearly you’ve lost your mind.”
“Right. We’ll see what the next months shall bring, now won’t we?”
“No, we won’t, and I’m not worked up over Joel Hightower. I don’t get worked up. That’s not my style. I’m an easygoing, laid back, live and let live kind of a girl.”
It was all she could do to keep her voice calm because she didn’t like the fact that Jenny had called her on her less-than-cool response to the surly but fine-as-all-get-out Joel Hightower.
“Yeah, you’re easygoing, all right. You easily let some of the finest men in North Jersey go on about their business once they get tired of trying to work their way into your world.”
Samantha also didn’t like the tone of Jenny’s know-it-all voice that was hitting a little too close to home. So what if she hadn’t met a guy who could successfully hold her interest for more than three dates? So what if she preferred to keep her options open and not get too serious at this point in her life?
“Oh, please tell me this isn’t going to turn into another why-don’t-you-settle-down talk. I like my life the way it is. I’m twenty-seven, I have a career I love, and I get to meet all kinds of guys and go out when I have time. I’m cool with my life.” Was that a little whine in her voice she heard? She cleared her throat and sat up a little as she clutched the phone.
“You don’t let anyone get close.”
“I let you get close, and believe me, I rethink that every day,” Samantha joked through tight lips.
“Ha, ha. You know that’s not what I mean. If I didn’t know you better, I might start to think you don’t like men, but I think you just don’t trust them. You’re a serial dater, and you don’t let guys stick around long enough to get close.”
“That’s not true!” Not really…
“What about my cousin Paul?”
“Paul? The cop?” Samantha shook her head as she remembered the brash rookie cop. He had been handsome without a doubt, but not handsome enough to make her forget her vow.
“Not my type. You shouldn’t have even set me up with him. I could have told you that wasn’t going to work. I’m not into guys with dangerous occupations.”
“Mmm, hmm, and all other guys fit under the two-or-three date rule. You cut them loose after a few dates.”
“That’s because I’m particular about things like, oh, I don’t know, conversation. I’m looking for someone who will make me think, make me laugh and who has a nice, safe, uneventful job. I’m not picky at all.”
“So, you’ll just keep dating and leaving all the most eligible guys in the area until there are no more left to date, without really giving them a chance?” Jenny’s tone was exasperated.
“If they don’t fit the criteria, I have to keep it moving. Time waits for no man, and neither do I. No need dragging out the inevitable. I prefer to think of it as power dating until I find the right one.”
She blinked when Joel Hightower’s bold and daring face popped into her head. Those brooding brown eyes would challenge her without end. That insufferable personality wouldn’t allow him to agree with a thing she said and would probably make conversations riveting and interesting, to say the least. And those irritatingly witty little snipes of his would keep her on her toes. She tried to shake his smirking face from her head.
When that didn’t work, she imagined him in his fireman uniform. The image didn’t disappear, but at least it reminded her that no matter how much she found herself oddly attracted to him, he was not the one.
“And I think you might have met the right one today if you don’t wimp out and give the sexy Hightower a fair look.”
Samantha rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. What was it with Jenny and this Joel Hightower guy?
“Whatever, girlfriend.” She yawned. “Listen, I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.”
“Bye, Hightower Fan-Club President…”
Samantha sucked her teeth, hung up the phone and tried to get Joel Hightower out of her head.
The next morning, the phone woke Samantha up. She glanced at the clock. Seven o’clock. It was time to get up and start getting ready for work, anyway, but dang.
She cleared her throat and tried to do a halfway decent job of getting the frog out. “Hello.”
“Hello, Sammie, did I wake you?”
“No, Mom.” She tried to clear the cobwebs from her brain so she could get a read on her mother’s voice. It was too early in the morning for Veronica Dash to be drunk, but that had never stopped her before. More than likely, she was getting an early start to her drinking day.
“I figured I would catch you before you went to that little job of yours. When I call you in the evenings, you never really have anything to say.”
That’s because the only thing I want to say to you is “Mom, stop drinking,” but I can’t say that because then you’d get all huffy and drink even more.
“Anyway, I know you were just home a few months back, but that was only for a week and a half. I just think it would be nice if you got a job in Chicago, or at least a little closer. So, I was looking through the want ads—”
“Mom, I’m happy with my job now. I like it here. You had to know I couldn’t stay in Chicago forever.”
This Samantha-come-home conversation was getting old.
“You act like it’s so horrible for a mother to want her child closer to home.”
Why? You haven’t really paid me any attention since I was twelve and your drinking spiraled out of control.
But she couldn’t say anything without starting World War III and sending her mother on a drinking binge.
Today, she opted out instead.
“When are you going to stop these little games of yours, Samantha? When are you going to stop or trying to punish me?”
Samantha sucked her teeth. Her mother would be the one to paint herself as the victim.
“Mom, I am not trying to punish you. I have a life and a career. I’m just trying to live my life, that’s all.”
“You’re trying to punish me by staying away. Just like when you were a snotty little kid, who thought she could hurt someone by walking around not talking…Hmmph…Like I needed to hear you complain and tell me that I’d had enough to drink…What kind of child walks around the house for months, not speaking to her mother? I’ll tell you what kind! A vindictive little snot who’s trying to punish the parent instead of staying in a child’s place.”
Enough of this!
“How about a child who is trying the best way she can to get her mother to stop trying to kill herself with a liquor bottle? Or one who was afraid she would say something that would send her mother on yet another drinking binge. Take your pick, Mom, because I’ve been both!”
As soon as the words fell out of her mouth, she regretted them. The last thing she wanted to do was argue with her mother. In fact, she avoided the battleground at all costs most times. She ran her hand across her face and finished wiping the sleep out of her eyes.
“Listen, I’ve got to go get ready for work, Mom. I’ll call you this weekend—”
“Don’t bother!”
Click.
Oh, yes…Getting hung up on by one’s mother…What a glorious way to start your day!
Samantha softly laid the phone down and headed for the shower.
“All I want to know is if I work hard enough and do what I’m supposed to do in physical therapy, is there a real chance that I can go back to firefighting?” Joel tried to get a straight answer out of his doctor.
“And as I said, making your back stronger and getting the most out of physical therapy is what you need to be focusing on.” Dr. Lardner kept his eyes on his pad.
“Also, the fire department’s physician would be the one to give the final go-ahead about you going back to work. I will say that a back injury as extreme as yours will take a lot of work in order for a person to go back to such a physically demanding job.”