What Brings Tomorrow_Book Two

by RJ Heaton

  “STOP!” He slams on the brakes with no hesitation causing my body to fly against the seatbelt restraining me. Inertia, I think to myself; Once in motion always in motion. Shad looks at me impishly as I give him a death glare.

  “What, you said stop. In my line of business, stop means stop not, ‘oh, let me slow down and find a better spot’.” I laugh out loud at the way he changes his voice. The best description I would say it resembles is being an old man speaking so slowly you can barely make out what he is saying.

  “Okay, okay I get the point. I said stop.” I twist to face him and grin.

  “Yeppers, you sure did Ma’am.” His teasing does help calm the edgy flickering in my gut. “Are you ready Nik?” Not many people call me that. I take a long deep breath and then slowly push out all the air.

  “Are you ready Ramp?” Oh, heavens … that smile. Now my stomach is flipping to life for other reasons besides seeing Lance.

  Shad is much stronger than Heather and now that the ground is not so soupy, he easily pushes me across the lawn. We get to Lance’s resting place and we both stare in silence. Moments pass and Shad reaches into his pocket and pulls out a silver chain with what I can tell a bullet slug flattened and misshapen dangling from it. He steps closer and lays it at the headstone. “You didn’t even give me a chance to repay you for saving my life! I swear when I see you again, I’m going to kick your ass for copping out so soon.”

  It is in this moment of time that I realize I have no clue how close Shad and Lance really were. I had been so worried about blubbering my story to Shad that we never actually talked about the two of them and what they had been through together. I feel guilty for not knowing more, because that chain most definitely shows more. I was being self-consumed in my own pity party.

  “I might have to kick your ass for not introducing me to Nikki sooner too.” Shad turns around to look at me and then winks.

  “Have you ever thought maybe Lance wasn’t supposed to introduce us? If he had, I wouldn’t have given you two seconds of my time. Well, I would have played the proper hostess of course, but we might not have spent this much time together. I had Sean, remember?” I interrupt him.

  “I guess it's fate then.”

  “Maybe.” I think pensively. It’s true in a different place and time; Ramp and I would have no connection. I’d be obliviously married to a man cheating behind my back. Lance would be alive and still razzing me and the kids. I wonder if Lance knew what Sean was doing, or if Sean hid it from him too? I doubt Lance would tolerate that crap if he did know. So many questions and the answers stay silent.

  I look to the headstone and my eyes trail over the words transcribed into the gray hard surface, and then to the ground below. I try to picture Lance as he was before—just slumbering peacefully. I want him to crawl out and give us a boisterous laugh, “ha, just kidding—fooled ya’ll.” I let out a half-deranged laugh as my tears stream down my cheeks. Shad looks at me raising his eyebrows in question. He is probably questioning my sanity right about now. “I was just imagining him coming out of the dirt telling us that this was all just a joke.”

  “I know what you mean.” Shad steps back next to me, and gently places his hand on my shoulder. “I do know Lance wouldn’t want us to keep pining over him.” Shad’s right. Lance would want us to remember all our good times with him. Not crying over his loss every day. “Want to grab a beer?” I look at Lance’s grave again. “Can we buy one for him?”

  “Absolutely!”

  Thirteen

  I haven’t gotten that twisted up on alcohol for a very long time.

  My head feels like it’s being squeezed between two Mac trucks and then somehow someone worked their way in there and is taking a sledgehammer to the only piece showing. I roll to my side and groan from the pain. Low deep voices trickle down the hallway and make their way into my room booming acoustically in my ears. This is going to be a fabulous day, I groan. Movement out of my peripheral makes me swing my head around way too fast—“ouch!” I grab at the throbbing pressure to soothe the pain and my jaw drops to the floor. The floor where Shad is lying face up; his hands tucked under his pillow—shirtless and smiling at me.

  “Good morning sunshine.” He beams with enthusiasm. Obviously, he is unaffected by the alcohol consumption he partook of last night.

  “What are … why?” I stammer, confused to why he is half-naked lying on my bedroom floor.

  “Fun night last night, huh?”

  “My head is pounding!” I confess with a voice too loud for my aching head.

  He smirks at me, “I figured as much by the way you are squinting your eyes, and trying to hold your head from rolling off,” he begins laughing.

  Seriously, the man is infuriating. I can’t believe he is making fun of me. I’m not in the mood. “Did we … you know?”

  His smug smile returns, “Oh honey, if we had, you wouldn’t be having to ask me that.” A surge of relief washes over me. Getting drunk is one thing. Getting drunk and hopping in the sack is another. Nikki Cooper doesn’t behave like this. She is rational and thinks everything thoroughly through—multiple times over. Getting out and having a little fun—doesn’t fit her repertoire.

  I sit up needing to escape into the bathroom, but when I do my blanket falls to my lap revealing that I am in nothing but my bra. Quickly, I grab the edge of my comforter and bring it to my chin. “Where’s my clothes?”

  Shad hasn’t moved a single muscle, he continues to stare up at me like this is not awkward at all, “I had to get you out of them.” He says nonchalantly.

  “What?” I gasp.

  “Well, I didn’t think you’d want to sleep in them after you vomited all over them.”

  This day is starting out stupendous; headache from hell, half-naked man on my floor and me half-naked because I puked all over myself—absolutely wonderful. I’m going to have to have a serious sit down with myself and stomp out this absurd behavior. “Anything else I should know about?” I hiss.

  “Hmm,” he ponders for a moment before continuing. “You like my ginormous arms.”

  A faint recollection of me saying those words swirl around in a dense fog of memories. “I’m sorry.” I immediately apologize. “It’s not like me to act like that.” I feel the urge to need to explain my actions.

  “Why not? I think it was pretty cute.”

  “Cute?”

  He nods, “Yep, cute.” I feel my cheeks heat up as they blush. Not today. I can’t do this today.

  “Can you turn your head while I get up?”

  “You weren’t this shy last night.” He raises his eyebrow challenging me.

  I don’t intend to, but I am a woman after all. My eyes roam over his shoulders and down his perfectly etched torso. His chest is squarely defined and his lats spread out like wings with his arms tucked up under his head. His abdomen is rock hard with distinct edges separating every single one of his abdominal muscles making me realize I have never seen anyone so muscular—this close. And then … I see a prominent scar, laced into his sinewy skin near his left shoulder, a little lower and it would have pierced right through his heart. Was he shot?

  “Do you approve?” My eyes come up and lock with his.

  I shrug my shoulders after being sucked into a mesmerizing daze for a moment. “Yeah you’re pretty fit—I guess.” Trying to feign how he makes me really feel. I know he can tell I’m playing it off. I see the humor in his eyes as the skin crinkles in the corners as he smiles.

  “I’ll turn away.”

  “Thank you.”

  Who would have thought me, a soon-to-be divorced, thirty-eight years old, mother of three still has game?

  I scrub my hair absentmindedly letting the suds bubble and slide over my skin as I sit on the makeshift shower stool Joe put in here for me. I really enjoy Shad’s company, but I still have something internally nudging my insides to talk to Ethan. In reality, I don’t know either man that well. Shad seems extreme and likes to live life on the edge. He’s a
lways ready for the next thing. Ethan is relaxed, calm and settled. Ethan is more like me even though there’s an age gap between us. I can’t remember clearly, but I think Shad is about the same age as me. I laugh out loud into the steaming hot shower. He does fit his nickname, Ramp. The guy is seriously ramped all of the time. Holy cow, could I ever keep up with that kind of energy? I doubt it.

  “Sorry to barge in, but you’re taking forever, woman.” I let out a squeal as Shad scares the soap right out of my hand.

  “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I had to take an epic piss.”

  “Oh my god,” I yell, but all I hear is a light chuckle as a response. I wait to see if I can hear when he leaves, but I hear nothing but the water spraying down on me. After a moment I assume he must have left and start rinsing my hair. Another gasp escapes my lips when he pulls open the shower door. His eyes search over every last inch of my naked flesh down to my toes and then back up—while I try to cover the important parts, speechless.

  “MMM,” he hums. “Need any help?”

  “No! Now get out.”

  He stands with the shower door open for a minute watching me. “Are you sure? I could wash your back for you.”

  “RAMP!” I groan.

  “Just checking,” and he hesitantly closes the door with a gigantic smile adorning his lips.

  Quickly, I finish my shower, praying he doesn’t come back in.

  Fourteen

  Thank god Ramp got up and left while Heather and Joe were in their bedroom. I am not ready to explain why he was here. Hiding out in my room to re-coop from a gnarly hangover sounds like my best option today. I still can’t believe I drank that much. I don’t remember him even bringing me home. This is bad. Cleaned up and in fresh pajamas, I climb back into bed planning to hide in the dark for the rest of my Sunday.

  The headache has dissipated finally. I peek at my clock and it brightly says 4:54. Once again I have hidden myself in this cave of a room for an entire day. This habit needs to change. I wheel myself out into the kitchen where Heather and Joe stand side by side. Garlic and onion smells waft through the air and make my stomach grumble with desire.

  “What’s for dinner?” I hear him ask as he spins around looking at the pots on the stove.

  “Hey Jizzle, your food is right there,” I say loudly and they both turn around as I point at the dog dish filled with kibble.

  Heather pushes past him. “I made some pork loins and we will have mashed potatoes and green beans with it. Now, why don’t you make yourself useful and grab the plates and set the table.” I watch as the two of them work together finishing up our meal. They make me jealous. Even when I was with Sean, we never synchronized like that. It was me in the kitchen doing all of it on my own and he would sit and watch TV in the other room bellowing at me, ‘is it done yet?’ I wonder if I will ever have what these two have.

  “Nikki, tomorrow you have a follow up with your doctor and … an appointment at the therapy clinic.”

  I gulp in a big breath of air. This is my chance. I keep talking about it and now I just got to do it. I fill my starving belly and head straight back to bed.

  If I see him tomorrow what will I say? I grab my pillow and pull it over my face—and scream. This shouldn’t be weird. It’s not like we really hooked up or were actually dating. We shared a few kisses—no biggie. I bite down on the pillow and growl. I feel like I have walked out on thin ice and the sounds of cracking and popping echo through my ears as I fall through. I’m internally flailing for air. I need to catch my breath and pull myself out of this cold shock. He was always so sweet to me. UGH! I peek out from under the pillow to look at the time. Holy cow it'sit's only 3:17 in the morning. My alarm isn’t set for another three hours and thirteen minutes. One thing is for certain, no matter who shows up for my therapy session tomorrow, I’m going to be exhausted. If I go …

  ***

  “Hello, Mrs Cooper. How have you been doing?”

  I stare at him with a deer-in-headlights look. I don’t want to tell him that I have gone backwards. Not just backwards but basically back right to the beginning—all over again. Will he blame me for not trying hard enough?

  “That good, huh?” He jokes lightly and chuckles.

  I return a shy smile at him. “I guess you could say that. Everything kind of … just stopped working.”

  “Just stopped working?”

  “Yeah. I woke up one morning and nothing.”

  “Aw, I see. Well let’s take a look at a few things and we will go from there, okay?” I nod in agreement. He takes my arm and does a couple of passive movements and tests to see if I have any resistance strength. I’m extremely weak. When he asks me to press against him, I’m unable to force my arm to resist in any way. It refuses to cooperate. “Have you been under a larger amount of stress?”

  I laugh. “Who isn’t under stress doc?”

  “True.” He smiles. “But sometimes some stresses, like what to have for dinner, or needing more gas in the car, are not so straining on our emotions. When I ask if you are under more stress, I’m talking stressors that might be taking up more brain power than they should be.”

  “Oh you mean like … going through a divorce, missing a kid’s graduation party, finding out your ex is getting remarried before the divorce is even finalized, being called a cripple, and thinking maybe you can move on with your life just to find out that you’re completely delusional and kidding yourself. Do you mean that kind of stress?”

  “Yup, that could do it. I’m sorry Nicole. Your life has definitely changed since the night of the accident.”

  “You think?” I guffaw.

  “I had a feeling after you got out of the hospital we would have a few setbacks, but I am telling you right now we can get through this.” His words are calm and reassuring, but I don’t believe that I will be able to move on and ever have a somewhat normal life ever again.

  Fifteen

  My thumb nervously works over the canvas strap to my purse. I’m in shambles. I tried to eat before we left, but my stomach is curling in on itself. I am being ridiculous. Heather softly touches my left arm to reassure me that she’s here and everything will be alright. My eyes follow up her arm and to her soft, sympathetic green eyes and I give her a half smile. When we pull up to the hospital my heart rate picks up even faster—if that’s possible. I’m scared that at any moment the few contents I did eat are going to make their way back up. I swallow hard trying to push the lump down.

  Seeing Dr. Mitchell this morning did settle my nerves a smidgeon. He didn’t seem all that concerned that I took a gigantic leap backwards. To me, the world stopped revolving, and there was no glimmer of hope of me ever walking again. He quickly smacked those thoughts down to a miniaturized size, but now I have to face another concrete wall.

  Heather helps me get into my chair and my left leg starts nervously bouncing. Everything happens in slow motion; the door opens to the physical therapy ward of the hospital and the smell of chlorine predominantly assails my nose as my sister wheels me to the front desk in the waiting room. A male in his late forties takes my name down as I sign in. It feels like it’s been ages since I last came into this waiting room. I look around and see the wood waiting chairs lined up in the middle of the room and along the side walls. They are covered with a soft maroon and beige coloring, muting the room in warm neutral tones. A few art prints in the same tones hang on the walls, but I doubt many people sit and study the scenery in the pictures. Has it really been two weeks? I had hidden out in that hotel room for a week and then another week at Heather’s house. I feel terrible and I fear that I’m in worse shape now than I had been when I started. I have regressed almost to the point of where I was when I first woke from my coma. I wiggle my fingers and look down to see the lack of movement.

  “Nikki,” A voice brings my head up from staring at my disappointing hand. Oh goodie—it’s nurse bubbly. I think to myself.

  “Oh hey, it’s been awhile since
I’ve seen you around.” I just give her a little shrug. I don’t owe her any explanation of my pathetic life.

  “I’ll be back in an hour Nik. Good luck.” Again I’m giving my sister a half grin—half grimace. “Thanks.”

  For the life of me I can’t think of what my nurse’s name is, but at this moment all I care about is her either spitting her damn gum out or choking on it. She still is smacking like a damn horse, maybe it’s even the same piece of gum. Our conversation is limited to her telling me to shift, turn, lift and a whole lot of grunting. Thankfully, the ordeal of getting my bathing suit on doesn’t take too terribly long. Miss Gum-Smacking, bubbly nurse rolls me to my usual spot and I wait.

  My eyes scan and search the entire pool area. There’s no sign of Ethan, yet. A familiar woman walks out of the grey metal door. She looks over the room and her gaze stops on me. I silently say a little prayer of thanks and let out an audible sigh. I never thought I would be happy to see Laura, but today I am. She starts making her way forward and my smile grows. I feel so relieved, and then I about jump out of my chair when a gentle hand touches my shoulder. Instinctively, my head flies up to see who’s touching me.

  Steely blue eyes, full of concern and compassion peer down at me. My breath hitches. “Ethan,” I whisper. He steps around and comes right in front of me and kneels down so that we are eye level. I missed his face. He’s young but his eyes tell a different story. Ethan gives the impression that he’s older and it seems that these blue eyes have seen a lot more than I could know. Right now, it’s clearly written, not only in his eyes, but all over his face … that he cares about me.