Saks opened his and groaned. Because it was taken a week after he got out of the hospital, his face was ashen and drawn. He’d been in pain and looked like it.
“Let me see,” Luke said with a grin. He reached in to take the passport.
“No,” Saks said, jerking the document back, and then moaned when he wrenched his shoulder.
“That’s what you get when you try to aggravate your boss.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be working on a bike or something?”
“And aren’t you supposed to be at the physical therapist’s?”
Saks grumbled. He didn’t see much point in going. It was a twenty-minute trip for a half-hour appointment. And the therapist didn’t seem to work him hard at all. In his mind, actual work would’ve been far more productive.
“Do you need a ride? Should I call Emily and have her take you?”
The last thing he wanted was to inconvenience Emily, who was dealing with a stressful early pregnancy and an energetic toddler.
“No.”
Luke’s expression got serious, and Saks prepared for the lecture to come.
“I didn’t mind putting off Suzuki school because of your injury. But if you won't attempt to get well enough to perform all your duties, I need make other plans.” It meant he’d lose his new promotion, and the guilt of that would weigh heavily on Saks if he let it happen.
“Okay, okay. I haven’t felt energetic since...” Saks’ voice trailed off, because he didn’t want to say what he’d really been thinking: that so much more of it had to do with Chrissy than he wanted to let on.
Damn it. She’d walked away from him. Chrissy Serafini had climbed into that damn plane and flown off with that rat, James Pearson. It should’ve made him angry and filled him with fire, and it did, but it also left a hole in his gut that refused to fill.
Luke shook his head. There was understanding in his eyes, but the tone of his words wasn’t kind. “Get it together, Saks. I need you front and center, so I can take this business to the next level.”
“You’re right.”
“Of course, I am. I’m the boss. So, get out of here and make that appointment.”
“Sure, Luke. I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Do you see the time?”
Saks checked the clock to see it close to three in the afternoon. “Yeah.”
“And you didn’t take lunch. Just get out of here and open tomorrow.”
“Sure,” he grumbled. He pulled his leather jacket off the pegs by the door and slid it on.
“Oh, and remember Hawk is moving in to the clubhouse this afternoon. Remember to give him the security codes.”
It had been four weeks since Hawk was admitted to the hospital. Four weeks since he’d been shot just trying to pick up some prescriptions for Saks. Somehow, he’d managed to pull through the nasty gunshot wound, and was about to released. Since the people who ordered the hit were still at large, Oakie had made a decision. Saks, and now Hawk, would live in the clubhouse, with its high gates around the property and its security system.
Around the back of the building, Saks stopped for a moment before the beater car he used in the wicked Connecticut winters. With one shoulder jammed up he couldn’t ride his bike, and the old car would have to do.
Which was another reason, he supposed, to make his physical therapy appointments.
But he just didn't want to. Not today. Nope. Because today was a Monday. The fourth Monday since Chrissy got on the damned plane.
Disgusted with himself, he drove toward town to the physical therapist’s office. He called the office on his phone.
“Hello? This Anthony Parks. My appointment is at three, but I just got out of work. Is it okay if I’m fifteen minutes late?”
“Let me check.”