Bad Rep

FIFTEEN

The next day, I stand at the curb of my apartment once again waiting for Rhodes to come pick me up for our session, not wanting to keep him waiting. As promised, his truck rolls up right on time and I climb in.

"Eager?" he repeats himself from the other day, and I throw him an exasperated look, making him chuckle.

"As eager as you were to take my twenty dollars last night," I mumble, making the small smirk on his face disappear, a scowl replacing it, giving me a tingle of satisfaction.

He shifts in his seat, clearly still agitated about the move I pulled last night. "Like I said," he states, putting the truck in drive and pulling away from the curb once my seatbelt is on, "you better not pull that shit again."

I make no such promise and the rest of the ride to the gym is filled with silence, minus the slight hum of the radio.

Rhodes puts me through a brutal workout, probably channeling some sort of punishment for shoving that twenty in his glove compartment last night. Why he's being so sour about it I don't understand. He can't seriously expect to keep picking me up and dropping me off with nothing in return.

I walk out of the locker room, wincing as I throw my gym bag over my bad shoulder, the muscle still sore from yesterday's workout plus today's.

"That shoulder still bothering you?"

I look up to find Rhodes putting away equipment, a slight frown on his face as he observes me.

I wave a hand dismissively. "It's fine. It just bothers me every once in a while."

He doesn't seem to like that answer. "What have the doctors said about it?"

Instinctively, I adjust the bag on my shoulder, the weight of it and his questioning making me uneasy. "There's not much they can really do," I admit.

His frown deepens as he puts away the last of the weights before walking towards me, gesturing for my bag.

"I got it," I insist, refusing to hand it over.

Not listening—per usual—Rhodes swipes my bag off my shoulder and tosses it over his own before brushing past me, walking towards his office.

"Rhodes!" I argue, following after him.

Ignoring me and my complaints about how I can carry my own bag, he ducks into his office where he grabs his keys and his own gym bag, tossing it over the same shoulder my gym bag is on. He turns off the lights and locks up, and I follow him out to the parking lot. Unlocking his truck, he opens the passenger side door for me, making me roll my eyes. He only smirks in response, finding my annoyance amusing.

Once I'm in the truck, he closes the door and tosses our bags in the back seat before climbing into the driver's seat and navigating his way back to my apartment.

Mindlessly, I roll my shoulder and the joint pops loudly in the silence of the truck, making both Rhodes and I cringe.

"Are you sure you shouldn't get a second opinion on that shoulder?" he asks.

Cheeks now turning a shade of red, I shake my head. "It's fine," I say. I feel like I've seen enough doctors this past year to last me a lifetime. I don't need another one.

Rhodes purses his lips, the silence stretching between us once again for a long beat until he hesitantly says, "I don't mean to pry, but how did the accident happen?"

My throat suddenly becomes dry and I quickly cast my eyes down to my hands in my lap, embarrassed and ashamed. "I, uh—I was driving home from my parents one night," I explain, surprised and even more embarrassed by the slight shake in my voice. I attempt to clear it before continuing. "I was taking the back roads and it was pitch dark and raining... A deer jumped out and I swerved..." I trail off, not knowing how to finish.