Kit opened the passenger door. “You are a menace.”
“And don’t you fucking forget it.”
We exited the car, and I pointed him toward the MRI suite, then shook my cell phone at him. “If you need anything, I’m only a few steps away.”
“Thanks, Sky.”
I kissed his cheek, and we parted ways. I walked into Dr. Kleinfeld’s office a few moments later, and she looked up from her desk, smiling. “Skylar! How are you doing?”
“It’s been an adventure.”
“I’ve been watching your notes come in. You are hitting it out of the park with this business model.”
“You think?”
“I know. I recognize some names because I’d already beaten my head against the wall trying to get them to come in. Whatever you’re doing out there, keep doing it.”
“I had a good mentor,” I said, thinking of both her and of Kit.
She and I discussed my cases, which didn’t take long because there weren’t that many—yet—and, according to her, I’d done a fantastic job of both diagnosing my patients’ issues and documenting them. Right as we finished up, a notification popped up on her computer.
“Oh, your Mr. Baker’s scans are already done.”
She’d had the radiologist prioritize his images, and she was reading through the notes as they came in. I gripped the edge of the desk when she clucked her tongue. “Looks like he’s been in pain for a while.”
“Yep. He’s a stubborn cuss, that’s for sure. I’m guessing torn meniscus,” I said, crossing my fingers in my lap.
“Not a guess,” she said primly. “An excellent diagnosis. And it looks like he’s the perfect candidate for arthroscopic surgery.”
I let out a breath . . . and then a groan. “Now the hard part. Getting him to agree to it.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” She paused and held my gaze. “Don’t be too disappointed if he pushes back. Some of these guys need to be in pain for a little while longer before they agree to the surgery.”
I shook my head. “Book the appointment. I’ll make sure he gets there.”
She laughed, then set the appointment for the first available time slot, which was a month out. “I’m only doing this as a favor to you.”
“I’ll owe you one.”
Her phone rang, and she picked it up. Smiling at me, she said, “Thanks, Alyssa. Have Mr. Baker come into my office.”
Kit shuffled in a few minutes later, looking pained and irritable.
“How’d the MRI go?” I asked, even though I could guess.
“They made me take off all my clothes. Didn’t know I was gonna have to get down to skivvies.”
“Don’t Wranglers have metal rivets in them?”
“Yes.”
“And were you hoping to be permanently attached to that big magnet or . . .?”
He let out a grunt and Dr. Kleinfeld chuckled, then gestured to the open seat. “Why don’t you have a seat, Christopher?”
“Christopher?” I looked at Dr. K’s screen while Kit shook her hand. “How did I not know...?”
He blushed as he gingerly took a seat. “I was named after my daddy and grandaddy. Kit was just a childhood nickname that stuck.”
