Page 122 of Black Light: Cured

“Then we’re good here?”

Pausing, I narrow my eyes and stare at him for a moment. “Are you sure it’s just the massage?

Nothing else like physical therapy? Cortisone shots?” Something science can back up?

“Haven’t needed any of it. The first few sessions were a little rough, but bit by bit it’s getting

better. Coach is even talking about letting me play soon if it keeps up.”

“Well, sounds like you have everything well in hand. I’ll let you get on with your day.”

“Thanks, Doc.” After he flashes me a grin, he moves to step out of the room but I lift my hand,

motioning for him to wait.

“One more thing… Do I have your permission to contact your massage therapist and talk to her

about your treatment?”

“Sure.”

“Wonderful, just a moment.” Going back to my computer, I pull up a HIPAA right of access form

and print it out, setting it on the desk for him. “Go ahead and notate what you’re okay with her

knowing about your care here, and what she can share with me. If you want me to only talk about your

shoulder, then that’s it. I’ll ensure your privacy will still be protected.”

Laughing, he skims it over before filling it out and signing. “I don’t care what you two talk about.

It’s not like I have anything to hide. That girl knows nothing about basketball, though. The first time I

came to see her, she had no clue who I was. The front desk girl was freaking out, but not Lila. I was

just a normal client to her. When I told her I played basketball, she responded that it was a fun

hobby.”

I shake my head, sharing in his amusement. Of all the things Lila seems to be good at, sports are

not one of them. It does make me happy to know she wasn’t fawning all over him like a hardcore fan.

Once more, I shake his hand and watch as he leaves, clutching the form in my free hand.

Tomorrow’s play session just got a bit more interesting.

RIGHT OF ACCESS FORM IN HAND, I MAKE MY WAY THROUGH THE BLACK LIGHT ENTRY PROCESS, GIVING

Danny my membership card to sign in. Once he opens a locker for me, I put away my electronics and

head inside, going straight to the bar.

Spencer is lurking there, probably bothering his wife, Klara, but he frowns when he watches me

approach—but tonight it feels like his normal grumpy look, not anything hostile. “I don’t have you

down on the list for a massage. Why are you here so early?”