She’d thought it would be exactly like the kind of thing Lane would love. But his face fell and he stared past her at their reflection in the restaurant windows. “Yeah, sounds great,” he said slowly. “If I could walk more than a mile without needing to rest. Or if I could even get up an incline as steep as a dopey bridge in a city park.”
“So that’s where my friend comes in,” Taylor urged. “She can help you get the equipment you need so you can do that kind of stuff, don’t you see?” Her palms were clammy—please let him say yes. Please let him see this was possible.
But Lane shook his head and poked at his salad again with his fork. “I can’t,” he muttered. “I can’t take charity.”
Taylor groaned in frustration. “Will you shelve your silly pride for a few minutes,” she urged.
It was the wrong thing to say. Lane’s head shot up and his eyes turned cold. “My pride is what got me through,” he said quietly. “It’s about the only thing I have left.”
“But it doesn’t have to be that way,” she said, on a roll now that she couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop. “You don’t have to just accept this is the way your life is now, there are still lots of things you could be doing, lots of adventures you could be having, if you’ll let yourself.”
“I’ll get there, Taylor,” he said firmly. “But on my own terms.”
She shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. “No you won’t. You’ll go on working in your stupid little office and struggling along and never doing anything you’ve dreamed about because you’re too stubborn to realize someone tried to give you exactly what you needed and you refused.”
His hand clenched around his fork. “You have no idea what it’s like,” he grated.
“You’re right, I don’t. What you’ve been through is beyond imagining and I have no frame of reference for it. But I do know what it’s like to be hurt ... so devastated that you think you’re beyond repair. I’ve been there, and it took a long time, but I learned you can’t let one terrible thing define you for the rest of your life.”
“It’s not the same,” he insisted. “You didn’t lose a third of your body.”
“That’s true,” Taylor said carefully, sensing dangerous territory. “Something horrendous happened to you, more awful than I can even imagine. But you’re more than your legs, you’re more than one day, one decision, one tragic accident. You have all kinds of things about you that have nothing to do with any of that, but you’re ignoring all the good things to focus only on this one bad thing.” She put her hand on his arm, trying to soften the words. “You can pay her back if that’s what you’re worried about, but don’t waste these best years of your life. Once they’re gone, they’re gone. Money is a renewable commodity, but time isn’t.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, looking as if he was on the verge of tears, just as she was.
“Please?” she whispered.
He shook his head. “I can’t.”
Chapter 12
Lane paused in the doorway as the rush of memories threatened to overwhelm him. It wasn’t the same physical therapy room, but it may as well have been. Same long, low tables, same type of exercise equipment in neat stacks, same kind of patients in wheelchairs and upbeat therapists rolling around on treatment stools. A woman worked arm weights in one corner while across the room, an elderly man struggled to climb the series of four wood steps, bracing himself on the sturdy rails.
Taylor sat balanced on an exercise ball, watching as a burly therapist led her grandmother through a series of gentle leg stretches. She wore a pair of black workout capris, a tight fitting blue tank top, and running shoes. Her long hair was caught in a low ponytail at the nape of her neck. She hadn’t seen him yet and Lane stopped in the doorway, taking the moment to study her, happy to have a moment to look at her, no, stare at her. Her beautiful eyes concentrated on her grandmother and Lane could practically see the intensity spilling from her in waves, as if she could transfer some of her own energy to her grandmother.
At that moment, she looked up and saw him. Their eyes met across the room and color rose to her cheeks. Lane found he was holding his breath and exhaled slowly. He made his way across the room, dodging pieces of workout equipment, his heart in his throat.
They hadn’t spoken for three days, since the restaurant. After Taylor’s outburst, they’d finished their meal and driven home in polite silence. He hadn’t tried to kiss her again when he’d dropped her off at the condo, though he’d wanted to. When she’d texted asking if he wanted to stop by the rehab center, his rush of relief had been immense; he’d been afraid he’d ruined his chances with her.
“Hi,” she said softly when he reached her side.
“Hey.”
They stared at each other for a minute. Taylor was the first to look away. “Uh, this is my Grandma, Maureen Barston, and her PT, Donald.”
Taylor’s grandmother was a tiny, frail thing. Her skin was pale and a little yellowed, and the sweatpants and t-shirt she wore were baggy. Dark circles shadowed eyes that were bright blue and sparkling.
“Taylor’s told me everything about you,” she said as she pressed his hand with her frail, birdlike fingers. “I’m very glad to meet you.”
Everything? What did that mean? “I’m glad to meet you too, Mrs. Barston. I was very sorry to hear about your fall.”
“Thank you. I was very sorry to have fallen,” she said with a grin. “But that’s over with and things are going much better.”
They shared an understanding smile and Lane knew Taylor told her grandmother about his accident and found it didn’t matter. He turned to Donald. “Sure I’m not going to be in the way?”
“Nah, you’re fine,” Donald said. “Mrs. Barston loves cheerleaders.” He jerked his head toward a couple more exercise balls like the one Taylor sat on. “Pull up a seat.”
Lane hesitated. His balance on his prosthetics was good, but not good enough to manage an exercise ball without falling flat on his rear.
“How about a chair?” Taylor instantly saw the problem and jumped up. Without waiting for an answer, she darted across the room to grab an empty stool and wheel it toward him.
“Thanks,” he gave her a grateful smile as he took a seat.
Taylor pushed her exercise ball closer to his chair and sat down beside him. Almost without thinking, he stretched out his hand and she took it, her fingers threading through his in a way that was at once comforting and exciting.
“How’s she doing?” Lane asked as Mrs. Barston resumed her stretches.
“Great,” Taylor replied. “I think she’s in more pain than she’s willing to admit though.”
He glanced around the room, letting the memories wash over him of a different therapy room with a different therapist. And him, learning to walk on two rigid metal sticks instead of his own legs.
Taylor’s touch on his arm startled him. “Hey, are you okay?”
“Yeah.” He forced his thoughts back to the present. “I’m good. Just thinking.”
Her blue eyes were full of concern. “I shouldn’t have asked you to come here. I’m sorry, I didn’t think about how hard it could be for you.”
He gave her fingers a squeeze. “Don’t worry about it. I’m happy to be here.”
“You’re doing great, keep going,” Donald said smoothly. Grandma Barston’s hands were white on the rails as she gripped them. Her lips pursed in concentration as she worked to drag one foot forward.
Taylor shifted uncomfortably. “He’s pushing her too hard,” she muttered to Lane.
Lane stayed quiet. He remembered his own days in therapy and how vital it was to have someone holding him accountable. He’d endured weeks of coddling and sympathy, it’d been kind of refreshing to have his therapist not cut him any slack.
“You don’t think so?” Taylor asked, correctly interpreting his silence.
“It’s important for her to know she can do it,” Lane said in a carefully neutral tone.
G
randma reached the end of the bars and Donald stood behind her while she slowly turned around. As she started back toward them, they could see the sweat shining on her forehead.
“Do you need to stop and rest?” Taylor asked, her voice laced with concern.
Grandma took another slow step and looked up at them, smiling. “I’m fine, sweetheart. No pain, no gain.” She reached the end of the rails and sank into her wheelchair. “Whew, what a workout!”
“You’re a rock star,” Donald said.
“Heck yes, I am,” she returned his high five.
“Yeah, but you don’t have to do this all at once,” Taylor said. “You can take your time.”
“I don’t have time to sit around feeling sorry for myself,” Grandma Barston insisted. “I’m going to be back out there line dancing in no time, you watch.”
Donald beamed behind her. “That’s right!”
Lane’s mind spun. He’d done his time, learned to walk again, but that had been it. Picking up the threads of his old life hadn’t even seemed like a remote possibility, so he’d concentrated on letting those threads go. But here was a seventy-year-old woman totally showing him up. He shifted uncomfortably on the rolling stool.
“You must be good for her; I haven’t seen her smile like that in a long time,” Grandma confided to him later when the therapy session ended.
Lane shot a glance at Taylor, who was across the room collecting their things.
“She’s been pretty good for me too,” he murmured.
Grandma gave him a satisfied smile. “But you’re not going to take off and flit around the world with her, eh?”
“I ... can’t.” He stammered. “Sorry, I thought Taylor told you about my legs.” Hadn’t Mrs. Barston said Taylor told her everything?
“Oh, she did. But that doesn’t matter,” Grandma Barston said, her eyes crinkling in a smile. “She mostly told me how handsome you are, how much fun you two have been having.”
“Are you ready?” Taylor came back with Grandma’s jacket and draped it over her shoulders.
“Thank you, dear.” Grandma reached up to pat Taylor’s hand.
Lane followed behind them as Taylor maneuvered the wheelchair through the PT room and down the hallway. His legs, or rather his lack of legs, had consumed the better part of his thoughts for two years but it really didn’t seem to be a big deal for Taylor. Could they ... maybe there was a chance all his hopes weren’t only a fantasy.
But she was leaving and he’d ruined it by refusing her friend’s help. How could he ever explain how important it was to him that he earn his own way?
“Are you coming?” Taylor noticed him lagging and turned around.
“Yeah, I’m good,” he said quickly and hurried to catch up.
Later that night, at home in his room, Lane slipped off his prosthetics and did something he hardly ever did. He looked at his legs. Usually he rushed this process, hurrying through a shower or a change of clothes as quickly as possible so he could avoid looking at the ugly stumps of his residuals. But tonight, he sat still on the edge of his bed and just looked.
The right leg was slightly longer, but not by much. The stumps were shrunken, the white thighs tapering to fleshy ends cut by pale scars.
He’d been trapped under the truck for hours in an inferno of pain so great that he prayed to die, right there on the road. Finally, after an eternity, the ambulance arrived and the EMTs had given him morphine. He remembered the looks on their faces as they worked frantically over him; they did not expect him to live.
Then came life flight and wind and a brief glimpse of the sky as they moved him from the helicopter. The fluorescent lights in the ER flashed by in a juddering stream as they whisked down a hallway on a gurney, what seemed like hundreds of people crowding around, yelling instructions. There were missing hours from his memory and the next thing he remembered, he was waking up in the ICU to the news they’d cut his legs off; they’d been crushed beyond repair. “There was no other choice, sweetheart,” his mother choked through her tears.
Lane thumped his fist into the mattress, his jaw clenched so tightly he could hear his teeth creak. Taylor had been right, he was letting life pass him by. But the shame of having caused this because of his own stupidity cut to the core. He didn’t deserve anyone’s help.
Did he?
Taylor’s grandma would be out there line dancing again in no time, he was sure of it. And if she could do it, why couldn’t he?
He reached for his phone and called Taylor. “Hi,” he said when she answered. “I know it’s kind of late, but could you come over?”
Lane heard the doorbell from where he waited on the back patio. His mother answered and showed Taylor through to where he sat, in his wheelchair. He wore shorts and no prosthetics and his legs shone whitely in the light from the fire his dad lit in the fire pit. Taylor sensed the mood and wordlessly took a seat in the patio chair at his side. They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the fire.
Finally, Lane cleared his throat. “If I do this, I figure you need to know what you’re getting into,” he said, gesturing toward his legs. “My residual limbs are skinny and lopsided, and ugly and covered with scars. I have phantom pains that sometimes keep me up all night. I have lots of doctor appointments, even now. I’m slow, I tire easily, and I travel with a ton of crap.” For the first time, he looked at her. “Knowing all that, if you are still willing, I would be very grateful to talk to your friend about getting new prosthetics, and I would love to travel with you.”
Tears shone in her eyes and she nodded. “I’m willing,” she said softly. “More than willing.”
He blew out a huge breath and managed a small smile. “Good. Then I just have one more question.”
“What’s that?”
“Can I kiss you again?” he said softly.
The tears slid down her cheeks as she gave a gulpy little laugh. Then she reached for him as he reached for her and their lips came together with an urgency that surprised even him, their mouths fitting perfectly together as if it was always meant to be this way. He tasted the saltiness of tears on her skin as he rained kisses on her mouth, her nose, her cheeks, her forehead, every part of him yearning for her. The fire died down, taking with it much of the light and heat, but Lane didn’t notice. All he knew was the warmth of this woman in his arms.
Finally, they broke apart. Lane put his arm around her and Taylor nestled her head onto his shoulder. He wanted to stay this way forever.
Taylor gave a long, contented sigh. “I’m so glad,” she murmured against his neck.
“I can’t believe you’re willing to take me on,” he confessed with a sheepish smile.
Taylor lifted her head so she could see his face. “Because it’s going to take a little extra time and effort? Believe me, that will be cake compared to what—” she broke off abruptly and even in the dim light, Lane saw her cheeks color.
“Compared to Brent?” he asked quietly.
After a long moment, she nodded, her eyes fixed on the dying fire.
“Do you want to tell me about it?” Lane said.
The pain was raw on her face and he feared she would refuse. But then she sighed and hunched forward, away from his encircling arm. She ran her fingers through her hair, gathering it into a ponytail at the back of her head. “I don’t know why I fell for him, I was so stupid. But he’s got this ... I guess the word’s charisma. It’s hard to say what it is exactly that draws people to him, but whatever it is, it’s strong. He’s always been the center of attention, the most popular one at the party ... whatever you want to call it.”
Lane shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t like the idea of Brent’s charisma. “I remember when you met him,” he said.
Taylor gave him a wry smile. “Yeah. I fell pretty hard. But you know what the weird thing is? I didn’t even really know why. He was great looking and had lots of money, but so what? I’d never been the kind of person who really wanted that kind of thing. It was just ... I don’t kn
ow, maybe I was in love with the idea of being in love more than anything. It all happened so quickly, we were married within three months of meeting, how can you really know someone at all in such a short time?”
Lane nodded. He remembered.
She sighed. “So for a while, it was great. We went to Cancun for the honeymoon, moved into a big house, he bought me a fancy car, clothes ... I felt like I had it all, you know?”
“But you were unhappy.” It wasn’t a question. He remembered. They’d run into one another on campus a few months after her wedding. She’d dropped out of the outdoor club and it was the first time he’d seen her since her engagement. She wore expensive clothes in the latest style and her hair was different, with highlights from a pricey salon, but it seemed unnatural and flat. But worst of all was her demeanor—the bounce was gone from her step and the light in her eyes had died.
“Yeah. Do you remember what you told me?”
“I told you it was okay to admit you made a mistake,” Lane said immediately. “You didn’t like that.”
It was true. At his words, she’d flipped to coolly polite and ended the conversation shortly afterward. He hadn’t seen her again and heard through the grapevine she’d dropped out of school.
“No, I didn’t,” Taylor said, shaking her head. “But it stuck with me. You were the only one who was willing to tell me the truth. Well, you and my Grandma. Everyone else told me to give it time, be patient, marriage was tough, stick it out, work harder at it, be the woman he wanted me to be.”
“What did your Grandma say?” Lane asked softly.
Taylor’s fingers tightened around her hair. “She told me to get out,” she finally admitted.
Lane felt a surge of satisfaction, an endorsement he hadn’t known he wanted. But that day on campus had only been a few months into the marriage, yet she’d stayed for a while longer.
“What finally made the difference?”
She hesitated, he could sense her reluctance; these memories still had the power to hurt her.
The Adventurous One: A Billionaire Bride Pact Romance Page 9