Disclaimer-Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

A/N- Special thanks to my beta, LisaCA707 for her betaing help! Much love XOXO! And don't forget to vote for me at the Writer's Coffee Shop Sport of Love Contest! It's at twcslibrary [dot] com [slash] index [dot] php

Well how do you do?
The kiss on the cheek
Its been a while
So I'll just beg, borrow
and steal all your time
we'll crawl dignifed
And now it seems to be cut and dry
So I know which way to run
You're tired my love
I feel the same

Well take it from me
What else could you do?
Where do you get off
And how can I get there, too?
All your time we'll call well dignify
And now it seems to be cut and dry
So I know which way to run
You're tired my love
I feel the same

-Percussion Gun by the White Rabbits

The next morning as I was walking into work after the gym, I saw Gary the bellhop carting a dolly of luggage by the front desk. Rose was standing there in a pair of jeans and hoodie, accompanied by dangerously high wooden heels, making her ass propped up to look even hotter. She was signing off on a form, handing over a credit card.

"Hey, Rose!" I cried.

She turned around. "Oh hey, Emmett," she said. There was no look of pain or caught-ya surprise on her face. This had to be bad.

"Rose are you… checking out?"

She shrugged. "Yeah, I am. Vacation's over."

"Damnit! I was just…" I was just what? Falling in love with her? That sounded stupid and needy. "Rose, I just got to know you… uh, you know so much about boxing—"

"Hey, Emmett, you know the rules about fraternizing with the patrons," Chris said, suddenly showing up behind us. Goddamn that snarky little son-of-a-bitch. I wanted to punch him in the face.

"I'm not a patron anymore," Rose said, signing the piece of paper Sheila pushed towards her. There was a hint of sympathy in her eyes- I hated that. "See you 'round, Emmett." I can't believe that fucking son of a bitch humiliated me like that. She turned to leave.

I felt myself getting angry, my blood boiling, not even checking if she looked back at me- I couldn't take it, not even look at him.

"Get to work, Swan," Chris said. "Unless you'd like me to dock your pay."

"Go to hell," I replied, squeezing my hands into fists.

"Excuse me?" Chris asked.

"I said 'go to hell,'" I repeated, snarling. "I'm fucking sick of you putting me down all the time, embarrassing me in front of everyone, including the fucking patrons of this hotel!"

A few people stopped, their jaws dropped. For a moment, Chris looked a little scared. I expected him to order me to his office, but the look on his face was showed that he was scared. Good.

"You are the most pompous, disrespectful asshole I've ever worked for!" I continued. "How in the hell did you ever get this position when you're constantly putting everyone down to get your rocks off!" I shoved a sheet of paper off the counter. I realized, a little too late, what I had just done and how stupid it was. "I'm going to the locker room. You can fire me there."

I had really done it. I took my pictures down out of my locker and put them in my bag. Shit. What was I gonna tell Dad? That I screwed it all up? I just threatened my boss? I had no real excuse. Once I had my locker emptied out, I looked around. No Chris.

I put my coveralls on and went to mop the North Corridor.

I finished with it. Still no Chris.

The garbage needed emptying in the downstairs restrooms and the office and the concierge's desk. I finished with that, but still, no Chris.

There was a call for a clean-up in a bathroom on the 2nd floor.

Still, no Chris.

When it came time for my lunch break, I went down to my locker, feeling pretty amused with myself. I told myself I had gotten off! And then, Chris was waiting at the door to the locker room.

"This way, Swan," he said, indicating the door to his office.

Oh shit, I thought. It was like going to the principal's office.

"Have a seat," he said, indicating the chair across from his desk. "So, let's talk about this morning, shall we?"

Sure Dickopotamus, I thought. "So, what do you want me to say?" I replied, feeling very, very defensive. I wasn't sorry for calling him an asshole and being disrespectful and referring to him jerking off. This creepy little cock was probably only getting love from his own hand every night and that was why he hated me.

"So, let's talk about the disrespect this morning," he said, fiddling with the contents of his desk, placing them across the desktop in a line, building a wall-- as if it would protect him from me if I suddenly got medieval on his ass. "You said some really strong things."

He wanted me to apologize? He had to be dreaming! "I'm not sorry," I said. "I was being honest. You can't really believe that the way you treat me makes me respect you at all, do you?"

His face went white. "Violent language is never acceptable in a professional work environment, Swan," he choked out. Ho. Ly. Shit. This cocksucker was trying to act like my outburst had been unprovoked? Unbelievable.

"And it goes against the business code of conduct," he continued. "Normally, I should have fired you on the spot. But you know what, Emmett?… I… like you? So, uh, I'm just going to give you a warning. Next time, you won't be so lucky."

He was warning me?

"Aw, good," I replied. "Just know that I have the number to corporate and HR. Can I get back to work?"

He didn't say anything. Good. Silence is consent.

"Whats'a matter with you?" Bella asked as I climbed into the truck.

"Nothing," I muttered. She put the stick-shift into reverse and popped the clutch. I had to smile for the first time since this morning when the engine died and she had to restart it.

"So, what happened to you?" she asked.

"Nothing!"

"Did you get in a fight?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Look, just so you know, Dad had a bad day."

"What?" I cried. "Wasn't he taking his meds? We just refilled them!"

"Yeah, he did," she said. "But, the bed is bad."

"How can a bed be bad?"

"There's not enough support for his back. It's making it hurt worse. I almost gave him two doses this morning."

"Bells, don't," I said. I didn't want pain pill addict added to my Dad's list of ailments.

"Well, what else am I supposed to do?" she pleaded.

"Let's move the box springs and mattress from our rooms and see if it makes a difference." I sure as hell wasn't wasting the remaining four thousand I had just earned on a new mattress and box springs. There had to be another solution.

At home, Bella had made an awesome dinner of chicken and pasta—like real, boneless chicken breasts that weren't Grade D. I could smell it from the entrance of the house. I tried to tell myself so what if food stamps paid for it?. . . But it was still hard to accept.

"Hey Dad," I said.

"Hey Emmett," his voice sounded a bit sleepy.

"Dad, what do you want to drink for dinner?" Bella called from the kitchen.

"I don't think I want dinner," he said. He was definitely doped up. I saw the pill vial opened on the TV tray.

"Dad, did you take another one of these?" I asked.

Dad shrugged.

Shit. He did.

"I'm gonna sleep here tonight," he muttered.

I just couldn't take looking at my father, a drugged-up lump on a recliner in a ratty plaid robe and scruffy pajamas that were just as dirty as he was. I could smell him slightly—he hadn't showered in at least four days.

Bella set an empty glass out beside my protein shake powder tub. She looked a little guilty. "I should have taken the pills away," she whispered. "I hate seeing him like this. We need to do something."

I nodded. "I wish we could."

I thought that four thousand dollars would fix my Dad up. But it didn't. I mixed my protein shake and tossed my spoon in the sink. Money didn't fix everything.

"Em, I'm sorry," Bella begged. She needed me to tell her it wasn't her fault, even though it kind of was. She was Dad's main care-taker when I was working and hadn't been very careful. I wanted to yell at her for being so sloppy with him. But, I couldn't bring myself to scream at my little sis. She looked guilty enough.

"It's alright," I muttered, even though it really wasn't. Chastising someone for screwing up had already gotten me into deep shit today. I didn't want it flowing over into my home life.

But to buy Dad a new bed—a good one— would be at least fifteen hundred. This four thousand was only going to last us four— maybe five— months. That was if I could hold onto my job without telling off Chris again. I needed to take on another fight. That was my goal for next month—to participate in the next boxing event—and win.

"Emmett, you've got to keep your endurance up," Paul shouted as I ran through the sloggy rain. Cold drops stung my face in the usually unseasonably cold Forks summer weather as Paul ran ahead of me. He had been on the track and cross country team in high school and was a running fool, even now. That was the reason he was so skinny. "Your endurance is for shit, bro."

"Fuck you," I muttered. This was how I spent my day off.

"Almost to the beach, buddy. Once we get there, we turn around and swim the rest of the way back to the gym!"

My foot splashed into a puddle. Damnit, I'd be squishing all day at work tomorrow. The clothes dryer wasn't fixable and we needed a new one, and these shoes would never air-dry in time. I felt like I was going to die when we ran past the expensive beach side houses. Why anybody would want to live on a beach on the Olympic Peninsula was beyond me. It was always cold and raining here. It wasn't like a beach in Florida.

Mom and Dad took Bella and me across country to Mobile, Alabama when we were kids. Dad rented a Winnebago and took turns with Mom driving. This was back before personal DVD players and iPods. We stopped all across the country, seeing different historical sites. Bells and I drove our parents crazy, fighting and arguing until Bella buried her nose in a book and I read Clive Cussler novels to entertain myself.

We saw all sorts of Old West Ghost Towns and the Grand Canyon, camping every chance we got. Secretly, I enjoyed it all. Mom was still her beautiful self and everybody took a second glance at her when she walked by. But looking back, I could see the cracks in their marriage. Dad used to joke that she was too beautiful for him and she finally figured it out. But, he always said that with a pinch of hurt in his voice. And Bells looks just like her even more everyday.

Mom was barely nineteen—how old Bella is now—when she married Dad and it was because she was pregnant with me. Every time Bella meets a boy who is nice to her, I dread the day she gets knocked up and doesn't finish her college degree, just like Mom. Dad left for POST the day after they got back from eloping in Vegas. We lived in this cramped, dirty little apartment until the day I got the news that Bella was on the way. With that, Mom insisted on a house and Dad bought this three bedroom, one bath house in rainy little Forks, not far from his job.

Mom was always flighty: starting new projects every once-in-a-while to satiate her boredom as a housewife. She wasn't much of a mother, anyway. She tried to write a book, tried basket-weaving, tried ballroom dance, tried aerobics . . . nothing did it. Forks was a boring town, not much happened here.

When we went to the beach in Mobile, I think that was the first time I saw it: Mom flirting with a man who wasn't Dad when she thought we weren't looking. I was just old enough to be able to spot it. I felt violated, knowing what she was doing.

Our trip ended up with Mom and Dad arriving home, announcing they were calling it quits.

Mom stuck around Forks for a while longer, while Dad slept on the couch in an effort to keep our family under the same roof. Mom got a job as a waitress at the local diner, but it all went to hell when the the Phoenix Diamonds passed through town. According to her co-workers, she was so flattered people thought she was younger than she actually was that when a 20-year-old baseball player named Phil asked her what college she went to, she fell for him. She ran off with him when they came back though from Vancouver a few months later and that was the last I ever saw of my mother-- until she became Mrs. Phillip Dwyer and had us flown down to Phoenix when she could afford it. She never accepted Dad's offer to help out with the costs.

And we rarely saw her. She was enjoying her life as a 'younger' wife with a big, semi-pro baseball player. The last thing I heard was that she had gotten pregnant and was going to try the 'family thing' once more. I didn't know if she'd had my little half brother or sister yet, and frankly, I cut her out of my life so it didn't hurt any more. Mom could take a hike for all I cared. It kept me from reliving that violated feeling of my family being torn apart.

"You zoning out on me, man?" Paul asked over his shoulder.

I recognized the stitch in my side from trying to run so hard. And, my usual aches and pains in my stiff neck and shoulders were there, too. "Yeah," I wheezed. I slowed down and paced myself. We had made a loop from the gym, coming down the beach and we'd come out closer to the gym when we came off the beach trail. I just had to run though all these rich people's beaches and by their houses.

The rain sort of lessened when we passed into the more rocky section of the beach.

I ran behind, trying to keep up with him. This was the last leg and he was killing me.

A woman in a parka was coming out from one of the houses. She wasn't half-bad, her legs were long and lean. Just like how I liked them—and that ass—goddamn, why did rich women have such perfect asses?

"Let's pass her," Paul said.

"I like the view from here," I responded.

"Nah, let's do this," he said, picking up the pace.

Damnit, Paul. You have to ruin everything.

Paul ran and I tried to keep up with him. She did too, glancing back at us, I thought she heard him. She started running faster to stay ahead.

Paul wasn't giving up.

Her stride lengthened. I couldn't see much aside from that voluptuous heart-shaped behind bouncing in those tiny little low-rise booty shorts. I could run behind her all day, but Paul had different plans.

She lengthened her stride even more, picking up the pace.

Damn, this chick was hard-core.

At this point, I really knew I really shouldn't pass her, not at this point. But, Paul had every intention of passing her. I had to keep up with Paul or he was going to keep on ragging me about how bad my endurance was and shit. What a choice.

"Emmett, come on!" Paul shouted.

At that moment, I tripped over something—it might have been driftwood or a rock. I tried to catch myself, but my leg wouldn't come around fast enough to the front to put my foot down. I felt my knee hit the rocky sand and the world went vertical, my face smashed into the sand. A grunt came out of my mouth from the base of my chest. I braced my torso for the fall with my hands. I was on all fours before I realized it. I cursed as I landed.

"Emmett!" Paul cried, slowing down and stopping. He ran back to me.

I heaved, aching all over. "I told you not to pass her," I growled.

"You hurt?" Paul asked.

"No," I scoffed, rolling over to sit on my butt. I looked up to see that hot little runner coming back to me. Oh God-- great. She was coming back to see me wallow in the sand, crying over falling.

Just perfect.

"Emmett?"

I heard her voice, it was familiar. I recognized the beautiful face and pillowy pout. Oh shit.

"Rose?" I asked. I didn't know what else to say. "Uh, hi…"

She knelt down beside me. I saw her face under the hood and felt stupid for ever trying to pass her. No wonder that ass was so hot; it was Rose's. "What were you clowns doing?" she snarled, her eyes narrowing to slits at gazing at either one of us.

"Trying to get back to the gym," Paul answered.

"You were trying to pass me! That wasn't very polite, I heard you!"

"His idea," I said, trying to pass the blame. I had been perfectly content with the scenery the way it had been.

She looked pissed off. "Are you hurt?" she asked.

I rolled up my nylon pants and checked my knees. There were scrapes; I had obviously landed on rock. "A little?"

"Come on, let's go back to my house," she said, helping me up.

Score.

"You've got a work-out to complete," Paul said.

"No he doesn't! Emmett, have you ever been adjusted by a chiropractor?" she asked.

"Uh… no. Aren't they witch doctors?" I joked.

"No, my Dad is not a witch doctor or a Voo Doo shaman, although he's heard it all before," she said, her eyes narrowing. Oh shit. "Look, Dad'll take a look at you."

"No way," I said, holding up my scraped-up hands.

"He's an MD and a DO," she said. "He was the sports physician for the Cincinnati Bengals. He knows athletes."

"Who else do you know?" I snorted, thinking of famous football players he must have worked with. Ah, the irony.

I followed her to the McMansion overlooking the beach. It was a log mansion with a big porch facing the ocean.

I took off my soaked hoodie, following her lead as she hung it on one of the rungs and bent over to remove her shoes. Paul did the same. My nylon pants were soaked, so I removed them, leaving my gym shorts on and kicked off my soaked sneakers, but not before taking a gander at those plump little tambourines up in the air.

"Dad?" Rose called, opening the door. "Dad, are you home?"

"Huh? Rosie, I thought you were going for a run," a masculine voice responded.

As I looked around I recognized the rustic cabin theme that had obviously been taken up a few notches with its expensive and glamorous upgrades—these people must be loaded. "No, Dad, there was an accident on the beach, can you look at them?"

"What accident?" A tall, burly, strong man asked as he came into the room. He was wearing sweatpants and a tank top with a bandana around his head. He was almost as tall as me.

"I fell," I said sheepishly.

"Just bring home every wayward pup that needs a home, huh, Rosie?" he joked.

"Uh, Dad," Rose sighed. "He just fell, that's all. Dad, this is Emmett."

"Nick Hale," he said, extending a hand to me. "Nice to meet ya. Come on, let's see the damage. Need a towel?"

"Yeah," I admitted. I toweled off my dripping hair with the towel he threw me.

"So, looks like you fell pretty hard," he said. "Rose, go get the first aid kit. Come on, sit down Emmett." I sat down on the couch and Rose came back with the first aid kit. "So, what are you two running for?"

"I'm um…"

"He's an underground boxer," Rose answered.

"Thanks," I told her.

"Anytime," Rose replied.

Nick's eyebrows raised. "Really?" he asked. "That's not a great idea, kid."

"He wins," Rose said. There was no expression on her face- she was waiting for her dad's reaction.

"Rosie, what have you and Jas been up to?" He tried to sound like he was joking, but I knew he really wasn't.

"Forks is pretty boring when all you can do is hangout by an indoor pool," Rosalie answered. "There's not even good shopping here!"

"Oh really? Do you know how dangerous underground sports can be?" he shot back to her.

"Would you prefer for me to do drugs instead?"

"Don't be a smart-ass," he said, bandaging my cleaned wound on my knee. He was pretty good at it. "So, Emmett, how's your back? Getting any aches and pains in weird areas on your body?"

"My neck mostly. I think it's just old age," I joked.

"Anything else?"

"A stitch in my side when I run."

"Huh. Have you ever been in a car accident?"

"Well, a few," I said. "Nothing too severe."

"Tell me about it." He got out a clipboard and started taking notes.

"Uh, I was going down Spartan Avenue when Jack Mallory t-boned me."

"How fast were you going?"

"Uh, probably like forty miles an hour?"

"Let me check your range of motion. Come on, my examining table is in the basement." Isn't that was serial boy rapists told people? There's candy in my basement? Hell, I was determined to retain my anal virginity.

"It's fine, I got my first chiropractic adjustment when I was only two days old," Rose said.

I followed the big, muscular man down to the basement, Paul went with me.

"Look, I gotta call Embry and Seth and let them know we're on our way back," Paul said on the stairs. The downstairs opened up to a white-walled, white-carpeted area with lots of exercise equipment and a padded table.

"Sure thing, let 'em know," I said.

"I like to get x-rays and full exams done so I know what I'm working with as a chiropractor, but I'm going to just adjust you so you feel better."

"Nah, I'm fine," I insisted.

"No just let me try it," Nick said.

I shouldn't decline. It was a nice offer. "All right, just this once," I said.

"Sit here," he said, indicating the blue padded table.

He took measurements of how I could bend and stretch and rotate my head.

"Yeah," I said.

"Let me try to adjust it," he said. "Lay down on your stomach."

I heard a lot of shuffling around and then the phone rang. "I'll get it," Rose said.

I felt his fingers poking around my back, and then his hands pressed down on the small. "You're really tense in the lower back," he said. "I want you to breathe out, hard as you can." I exhaled and suddenly, he pressed down. I grunted in surprise, hearing a crack in my back. His hands came up to my mid-back. "Breathe out." He pressed down, another crack. His hands went up to my upper back. "Breathe out." Again, another crack. I wasn't sure if I liked it or not, but then, he did my neck. "All right, on your side." He positioned me so that I was holding my fist, my lower leg that I was laying on was bent. He pressed down on the side of my hip and there was a sensation I had never felt it before—something literally popped back into place in my back.

Something had been out of place for a long time and I had just thought it was part of just getting older. I flipped over and he did it again on the other side. "Whoa," I muttered.

"See?" he asked.

"Yeah, I do. That actually… it actually feels kinda nice."

"Good," he said. "Let's adjust your neck and head." He put me in a chair and took my head in the snap-his-neck position. "Relax. Relax…"

"I'm not so sure about this," I said.

"Injury from chiropractic adjustment is very, very rare," he said. "You know, Aristotle said that the key to all ailments was in the spine. Let's try this. Your lower back feels great, doesn't it?"

Well, it did. I relaxed my head and neck, and he snapped it to the side. It was a popping sensation, similar to what he did while I was on my side. I yelped in surprise. He took my head again, "Relax, relax…" He snapped it in the other direction. "All right, how do you feel now?"

I stood up and rubbed my neck. The stiff sensation was gone. So was the stitch in my side.

"Wow," I muttered. "I actually feel good."

"No meds, no surgery. Now, let's discuss this underground boxing."

"Nah," I said. Rich people tended to get really chummy with the police, us po'folk were screwed.

"Look, I'm not going to get you busted," he said. "I did boxing for a while in college before I starting studying medicine, along with weight-lifting. You have my word."

"I love it," I insisted. "I make more money in one night than I do in a month at my day job."

"What do you get for it?"

"Well, ten-thousand if I can last ten rounds," I said. "Four thousand if I don't."

His lips twisted. "You know, you can make upwards of a hundred thousand if you do it professionally."

"Sure, after I fight my way up over two years in matches that barely pay a thousand a night, just hoping that someone will notice me. No thanks. I got too much to worry about it."

"Look, um…"

"Emmett," I said.

"Emmett, you're going to get yourself killed. Nobody adheres to rules in these underground boxing fights," he said. "If the cops ever bust you, you'll never get the chance to fight in a professional boxing match, then."

I sighed. "No, I'm going to keep doing this," I said.

"So, you're in it for the money?" he asked. "Come on. The money will come with time and patience."

"I need money now, lots of it!"

"You're not doing steroids are you?"

"No! No! Never! All me," I flexed my arms and posed for him. I checked behind me, almost imperceptibly, to see if Rose was watching the gun show. She was writing something down in a notebook while on the phone and wasn't looking in my direction. Damn.

"What's the real story, Emmett? Come on, I can send you a bill for an adjustment if you don't talk."

I sighed. Blackmail. "My Dad's back is thrown out. He can't get disability anymore and we're on food stamps—"

"Bring him by!" Nick boomed. "I'll see what I can do for him."

"No, my Dad's not that well off," I said. "I mean, he's sick. He's so depressed, he only showers like, twice a week because it hurts him to stand up for that long."

"I bet he's got a ruptured disk," he said. "You feel better, don't you? Let me see what I can do for him."

The idea that he was promising some kind of miracle seemed stupid to me. "Look, I made my money. I've got this huge house on the beach and I'm retired at fifty . . . I've got to do something to keep myself out of trouble. Let me try to help him. Haven't you tried everything else?"

"Yeah. The doctors said there wasn't much they could do for him."

"That's because chiropractic has been frowned on by western medicine for thousands of years. Just bring him by. I'm not going to charge him. What did he used to do before his back went out?"

"He was the Chief of Police in Forks," I said.

He nodded. "That's a huge fall from what he used to be, isn't it?"

I had to agree. "Yeah."

"Bring himby- the football players on the Bengals almost never needed surgery for their injuries because I was adjusting their joints. It'll help you heal and last longer. Just have him come by sometime."

"Sure," I said. "You got me. I'll drag him down here as soon as possible."

"I'm available this afternoon."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I'm just going to go shopping for a new grill cover, that's the highlight of my day."

"Okay… sure, I'll drag him down here."

"Alright, see ya."

On my way out, I saw Rose wasn't downstairs anymore. She was chatting with Paul when I got upstairs.

I felt a pang of jealousy. She was laughing and talking to him. And I thought about how Chris humiliated me the last time we saw each other.

"Hey man," I said to Paul.

"Hey," he said, looking up.

Rose looked up too, she was in sweaty, damp work-out clothes and she was still freaking gorgeous. She smiled at me.

I wish I knew how she felt about me after Chris had humiliated me. I couldn't.

"So, you two are going to go back to the gym?" she asked.

"Yeah," Paul said. "We were due back about forty-five minutes ago. Come on, let's get ready to go." He left out the beach-front door.

Rose grabbed my arm as he went outside.

"Well, Emmett, you can come back anytime," she said. She smiled at me.

"Yeah, sure," I said. "See you around."

After I finished my workout, I realized that I worked out better, harder.

Paul gave me a ride home and Bella was making lunch. "Where have you been?" she cried. "Paul, come in-- I'll make you a sandwich."

"No thanks," Paul said. "I'll see you later, Bella." I saw the son of a bitch wink at her. He was never getting into my sister's pants. Ever. I'd castrate him myself if he did.

"Got side-tracked in my workout. But, it was a good one."

Bella took the sandwich she made into the living room. Dad was a lump on the recliner still. "Thanks, Bells," he said.

She set a bologna sandwich down in front of me. I took a bite.

"Mmm! Cheese!" I cried, surprised.

"Yeah, aren't food stamps great?" she asked, rolling her eyes, sitting down beside me. "Mmm," she said, taking a bite. "This is really good. And I got chips, too!"

"Where!?" I cried, like a ravenous wolf. I tried to smell them out in the cabinets.

"In the cabinet by the fridge," she said.

I proceeded to tell her about meeting Dr. Nick on the beach and how he adjusted me while I inhaled some crispy Lay's potato chips.

"He didn't snap your neck?!" she cried.

"It was really great," I said. "Nothing hurts!"

"I'm so sure. Look, you stink-- go take a shower."

"Just let me finish off this bag…"

"Forget it!" she cried, snatching it away. "Let's make this last!"

After a shower, I had renewed energy. Downstairs, I sat down on the couch across from Dad so I could talk him into going to see Nick.

"Hey Dad," I said.

"How's it going, Em?" he asked.

"Good," I said. "Dad, I met a doctor today… uh, he'd like to meet you."

"Another doc? What kind?" he grumbled.

"He was into sports medicine and chiropractic. He's retired, but still has his license to practice; he adjusted me and said he'd like to meet you to see what he could do for you."

"Ugh, Em," he scoffed. "Those guys are Voo Doo doctors. They break people's necks all the time."

"I'm feeling really good since he did my back this morning," I said. "Give it a try?"

"I'm fine right here. I'm not needing so many of the pain meds today," he said.

"Dad, please?" I begged, desperate to see some improvement in him. He was my father, for God's sakes.

"He'll kill me!"

"He didn't kill me! Just see if he can make a difference."

"Em, no."

"Dad—"

"Emmett!" he barked. "I said no!"

I realized what he was saying. I had no chance here. Damnit. "Fine, just sit on the couch in four-day-old clothes. I guess you're comfortable like this," I snapped, getting up. "Way to take care of your family."

"Emmett!" Dad yelled as I walked away. "Emmett!"