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ChapterEight
HARLEY
“Harley?” a woman's voice called.
I stood from the chair in the waiting room at the doctor's office. “Right here,” I called as I hurried toward the reception desk where she was waiting.
She smiled at me. “Hi, I'm Dr. Quinn's medical assistant, Carla.”
“Hi, I’m Harley.”
She gestured to a door beside the desk. “Follow me,” she said as she held it open.
I followed her down a short hallway into an examination room. I liked Carla. She had an easy, comfortable manner to her. A few minutes later, she'd run through all the basics with me. I'd explained that I already knew what was going on with my heart.
“So, your previous doctor didn't prescribe any medication?” She cocked her head to the side, her gaze curious.
“I wanted to try to manage it without medication,” I said, my words halting.
She nodded. “Well, that's definitely an option. How often are you having these episodes?”
I wanted to lie. I really did. “Maybe once a week,” I finally said, forcing myself to be truthful.
She simply nodded and typed something. “Dr. Quinn should be with you in a few minutes,” she said before departing.
I waited alone in the room with anxiety spinning in my chest. None of my family or friends knew I had been diagnosed with a heart condition, supraventricular tachycardia, or SVT. That was a really long way of saying I had an erratic heartbeat, typically extra heartbeats.
Since I was a little girl, I’d experienced times when it felt like my heart went way too fast. Roughly two years ago, I’d passed out at work. Fortunately, I was alone at my desk where I worked for a tech company on graphics.
After the third time something like that happened, I'd finally gone in to see a doctor. They’d had me wear a heart monitor for two weeks and gently recommended I consider medication. My family would freak right out and worry like crazy if they knew anything about this. I didn't want anybody to know. I hated any sign of weakness. It was beyond frustrating that Grant had come in after I’d fainted the other night.
I still thought I had plausible deniability if he mentioned it to Diego. I would just say I had low blood sugar. I thought that was a good line of bullshit. A few minutes later, there was a light knock on the door.
“Come on in,” I called.
The doctor who entered the room was surprisingly handsome with amber hair, eyes to match, and a fit build. He smiled over at me. “Hi, Harley. I'm Dr. Haynes. You can also just call me Quinn.” He tapped his fingertips on his name tag, which read Quinn.
“Dr. Quinn, the medicine man,” I quipped.
He chuckled at that. “You'll see me in the grocery store, so it’s easier to go by first names. Looks like you work out at Walker Adventures.”
I nodded. “Yep. My brother is one of the pilots there, Diego Jackson.”
“Ah, I know Diego. Small world. I go to Gemma’s yoga classes too.”
I smiled. “I love her classes.”
He sat down on a wheeled chair that had a curved desk with a computer screen mounted on it. He tapped a few keys. “So, it looks like your prior doctor diagnosed you with SVT?” I nodded. “Let's cover the basics,” he added.
He checked my heartbeat, my lungs, and so on before returning to his chair. “I appreciate you making sure these records were sent over ahead of time.”
“Sure.”
“What prompted you to come in?” he asked.
“Uh, I had another episode.”
“You're having those about once a week?” he asked.
