by Raina Lynn
The therapist standing at the foot of the table bent Garrett’s leg at the knee. “Push toward me, Mr. Hughes.”
Garrett’s muscled body tensed from effort. White hot fire slammed up his back. He forced his mind away from the staggering pain. Three of the lines rose slightly then flattened. He’d used every force of will he could gather, but it hadn’t been enough to manipulate the weight of his own leg, much less put any pressure against the therapist’s hands.
“Again,” the man ordered.
They repeated the familiar routine for seemingly endless minutes, then switched to the other leg.
Determination and hard work hadn’t accomplished a thing except drive home brutal reality. Life in a wheelchair was no longer a fear. It was a fact. He’d never wake up one morning and leave the hospital under his own power.
“I’ve had enough for one day, George.”
The therapist looked up in surprise. “But we’re only about half finished, Mr. Hughes.”
“You may be, but I want to go back to my room.”
“Look, Mr. Hughes. I know we’re not seeing the progress we’d all like, but—”
Garrett exploded at the condescending tone. The man had done everything but pat him on the head and give him a cookie. “Cut the we crap! You’re not the one whose life was flushed down a sewer.” He ripped electrodes off his thighs, levered himself into a sitting position and grabbed for the ones below his knees.
The therapist stood off to the side, stunned. Garrett felt like a fool. His pain and frustration weren’t this guy’s fault. As he opened his mouth to apologize, he caught a motion out of the corner of his eye and glanced toward the door.
Rick stood there, his young face pinched with pity and disgust. Humiliation burned. “Well, son, you picked one hell of a time to show up. Thank you. I’m a little busy right now, so if you don’t mind, I’d like some privacy.”
Rick recoiled as if Garrett had punched him. He turned and fled.
Garrett shook his head to clear away the insanity. “Rick! Wait a minute.”
“I’ll get him.” George sprinted from the room, leaving Garrett to drown in remorse. How could he have done that?
A moment later, the man returned alone. “I don’t know where he disappeared to, Mr. Hughes, but I couldn’t find him.”
Garrett sighed. “Thanks for the help. I also owe you an apology.”
“No, you don’t. Patients blowing up comes with the job. You’ve been so even-keeled that I was beginning to wonder if you were superhuman or something.” He smiled. “Can I replace the electrodes so we can get back at it? We only have today and tomorrow left before you’re transferred, and I’d like to make the most of both.”
“Please.” Garrett couldn’t begin to imagine how he’d undo the mess he’d created with Rick, but he’d have to find a way.
The next day, Maggie braced herself to enter Garrett’s room. Accepting limitations had never been his strong point, and he was starting to crack. Tomorrow, he’d be released into the care of a spinal rehab center. She wondered if he secretly saw it as this hospital giving up on him.
Then there was the problem with Rick. Despite the boy’s adamant refusal to set foot in the hospital three months before, he’d come sporadically anyway. He kept the visits polite, but resisted every attempt she and his father made to get past the wall he’d erected around himself. Garrett believed the best course was to wait him out.
The emotional load it added to what Garrett already carried made her nervous. During the past week, his emotional state had taken a frightening downhill slide, and now they needed to deal with the fiasco that had erupted yesterday. How much more pressure could he take before he snapped completely?
She shut the door, her heart inextricably entwined with the man sitting in the bed, his eyes closed, his sensuous full lips pulled taut in a frown or grimace of pain; she couldn’t tell which. Popular myth aside; paraplegics often experienced a great deal of pain. Garrett endured it all with single-minded determination. Often the only evidence of the price he paid was the clenching of his jaw or breath a little too controlled.
Some days he spent in a wheelchair reading the newspaper or staring at the walls. It grieved her that the rooms here didn’t all have windows like at RPI. Some days—like today—he sat in bed, the TV on but unwatched, his thoughts closed.
Maggie pasted a perky smile on her face and stepped toward him. During the past three months, the broken vertebra had healed and, through herculean effort, he’d retrained his lower back muscles so he could sit unassisted. He’d always been such a dynamic man. Having such a simple thing as that be a major accomplishment half killed her. “‘Morning.”
His head snapped around. He hadn’t noticed her—odd for him. He always seemed so aware of his surroundings that she’d often accused him of having eyes in the back of his head.
Longing flickered across his square features but vanished as quickly as it had appeared. She wanted to throw herself in his arms, to feel the satin of his skin against her own, a shield against the ugliness their world had become. The ferocity of her love terrified her. It always had.
He said nothing, choosing instead to feign interest in the TV’s morning news.
“Garrett, we have to talk,” she said gently.
“About what?”
The disinterest daunted her, but she pressed on. “Yesterday, among other things.”
Another kind of pain tightened his features.
Easing down onto the edge of the bed, she took his hand. It remained passive to her touch, but she refused to let him isolate himself. She squeezed his hand and waited him out.
He sighed heavily. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes as a parent.” His gaze remained fixed on the TV, his voice brittle with self-condemnation. “Yesterday was the worst. And I don’t know how to undo it.”
“All things considered, losing control now and then is to be expected,” she said firmly.
“Expected?” He speared her with a black look. “Does Rick understand that? Maggie, after three months of being dragged here against his will, he came to see me—on his own. He even tracked me down in rehab. I’m finally reaching him. So what did I do? I threw him out!” He pulled his hand from hers and curled his fingers into a fist. “What excuse can there be for that?”
“I’ve heard Rick’s version,” she murmured. “Tell me what really happened.”
A blanketing silence fell.
“Garrett?”
He drew in a long breath. “Week after week I’ve lived for the next therapy session—lived for it and dreaded it.”
“I know,” she replied silently. Few patients have your internal drive to give to their recovery. You’re impressing people, my love. “There’s a reason we call it torture.”
“I’ve lost ground.” He faltered.
“That happens sometimes. Three steps forward. Two steps back. Just keep in mind that nerve signal is getting through to your legs. There’s hope.”
“Not much,” he murmured. “Of either.” After a long agitated pause, he went on in a rush. “Yesterday! It all suddenly seemed so pointless. I felt like a side of beef, not a man. I got frustrated, angry, and took it out on the therapist. About the time I got myself together enough to apologize, I looked up. Rick was standing in the doorway. He’d seen it all.” Garrett’s voice cracked with self-loathing. “His anger I can handle. But seeing pity and disgust on my son’s face—”
“No,” she said quickly. “What you saw was confusion. At that moment your paralysis became real to him.”
A snort of humorless laughter erupted from his chest. “Nice try, babe, but I know what I saw.”
“Another thing, Garrett,” she continued doggedly. “You’ve always been larger than life to him.” To me, too. “Yesterday, he saw you as a human being, not a hero who’d let him down.”
Garrett’s breath hissed in through his teeth. “And I threw him out.”
“Cut yourself some slack. It’s not the end of the world.”
“Look, Maggie, somehow I have to find a way to handle this.” He indicated his legs with a sweep of a hand. “I won’t risk making a worse hash of things than I already have.”
A wave of impending doom swept through her. “Meaning what?”
He gave her a long level look. “I need to spend my energy on learning to walk again, and I can’t seem to do that without hurting my family.” The declaration cracked with the finality of a judge’s gavel.
“Meaning?” Air sat in Maggie’s lungs like rocks.
His expression softened. “Babe, why’d you agree to marry me? Were you granting a dying man’s last request? One you thought you’ve never have to honor?”
She blanched. “Partly.”
Rather than answer, he brushed the back of his damaged right hand down her cheek, a not so subtle reminder of the changes and all they represented. His hand couldn’t move beyond closing in a weak, clawlike motion.
“Babe, for thirteen years love wasn’t enough. You said so yourself. And now our lives are in an uproar.”
Maggie’s heart twisted in her chest.
“Proposing when I did was a mistake. I thought I’d wake up from surgery and get on with my life. Either that, or I wouldn’t wake up at all. Saddling you with a cripple for the rest of your life never entered my mind.”
Her stomach twisted into knots. No! No!
“I’m being transferred to the rehab hospital in Vallejo tomorrow. I think that’s a good time to go our separate ways.”
Separate ways? Angry hurt flooded her. She’d tried so hard to protect herself from getting too wrapped up in his life again, and now the tables had turned. “If you don’t want this reconciliation that’s one thing, but don’t make decisions for me. ‘Saddling’ as you put it—”
“Don’t be noble, babe. Neither of us can afford it right now.”
“Noble? What do you call what you’re being?”
He didn’t answer.
A strange unnatural calm settled over her. At that moment it seemed as if nothing could ever hurt her again, but a corner of her mind recognized the condition as only temporary. Hysteria, she assumed, oddly detached. Emotional whiplash of epic proportions was just around the corner. “It’ll be a little hard to avoid each other.”
He arched a brow in inquiry.
“Blake and I pulled every string known to man, and we finally got you a bed at Rutherford-Petrie. That’s where you’re going in the morning, not Vallejo.”
His eyes Hashed blue fire. “And no one thought to tell me?”
“I just got the word. You don’t want to go?”
“What I want,” he growled, “is to be consulted I’m not a child or mentally deficient.”
“I’m sorry. I guess you’re not the only one who makes decisions without asking. We’d talked about it before, and I thought you still wanted RPI if we could get you in.”
He stared at her, frowning. “You don’t sound like yourself. Are you all right?”
“Sure.” She shrugged, determined to salvage some pride if nothing else. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
His eyes narrowed in skepticism, and Maggie broke eye contact, drew the engagement ring from her finger and laid it on his palm. Her fingertips brushed his skin. The accidental touch shot fire up her arm.
He pushed the ring back at her, but she stepped out of reach. “I called it off, babe. You keep the ring.”
She shook her head, no longer trusting her voice, and backed away. “I don’t want it.” I only want you. Then she turned and walked to the door before she broke down in front of him. “By the way, you’re stuck with RPI. I don’t have the nerve to waltz into my boss’s office after all the groveling and say ‘Never mind about the bed, he changed his mind.’ Learn to live with it.” She left before he could answer.
The emotional whiplash she dreaded held until she reached the relative privacy of the parking lot. Then a violent trembling settled in, and she stabbed ineffectually at the door lock with the key several times before she got the car unlocked. Once inside, she braced her elbows on the steering wheel, lowered her face into her hands and let the tears do their worst.
Separate ways. Separate ways. Garrett’s words echoed relentlessly, tormentingly. She’d lost him yet again.
Four years ago, she’d pushed him away out of fear. It had been better to lose him at a time of her choosing rather than never knowing when or if he’d be taken by a drug dealer’s bullet. Now he was gone, and she had no one to blame but herself.
What was wrong with me? He’ll never return to police work. Never. He’d be safe. Why couldn’t I have embraced the chance to rebuild our lives? I had the chance. But I held him at arm’s length until now he doesn’t want me.
His words sliced bloody paths in her heart as they swirled in ever tightening circles. Separate ways... Separate ways...
Blake’s observation long ago in the pizza parlor came back. He had been right. She’d spent her whole life rejecting people before they could reject her. Now, starting tomorrow, she’d be in the same building with Garrett nine hours a day, five days a week, wanting him and not being wanted in return.
If she hadn’t gotten the divorce, she and Rick would have moved back east with him, Rick wouldn’t be so messed up, and the plane crash wouldn’t have meant anything more to her than an impersonal tragedy because Garrett wouldn’t have been on it.
And it’s your fault, Hughes. All your fault.
“Aren’t you going to see Dad tonight?”
“Nope.” Maggie didn’t dare look up from the paper. If Rick saw her eyes, he’d know something was wrong, and she couldn’t talk about it, not yet. “Since you have the night off, are you game to risk your reputation and see a movie with your mother?”
She made a very obvious show of scanning the listings. Rick, rather than firing off a wisecrack as she expected, gave her a probing look so much like one of Garrett’s that a strangling lump formed in her throat. How often had Garrett watched her that same way, silently trying to unravel her thoughts? How often did you shut him out when he came home with a torn uniform and you couldn’t bear to hear the details?
Rick ignored her movie question completely. “Why aren’t you going to the hospital?”
Unconsciously, she shook her head. “I saw him this morning. Now, are you coming with me, or do I brave the snack bar alone?”
To her horror, he zeroed in on her left hand and grabbed it. Newsprint fluttered to the floor. “Where’s that ring?”
Maggie reclaimed her hand and bent to pick up the scattered paper. “I told you nothing was settled.” Her voice caught, and she froze. He couldn’t have helped but hear her pain. She wanted to swear, but there wasn’t a word vile enough.
Rick’s eyes narrowed, and she felt the sixteen-year-old’s version of Gamett’s hard-eyed stare.
“He dumped you?” His bewildered outrage threw her. “He can’t do that!”
She swallowed past the heartache of Garrett’s rejection and took a shaky breath. How to explain? “Your father was dying when he proposed and I accepted. His recovery has been a dictionary definition of a miracle, but the life-and-death battles are over now. Emotions are—” she almost said “normal” but caught herself “—not as out of control. We both had reservations, and this was a good time to take a few steps back.” She forced a chipper smile. “There’s a thriller playing in an hour. You want to come or not?”
“He dumped you.”
If I told you how much like your father you are you’d take it as a mortal insult. She sighed. “Yes, sweetheart, he did.”
His young face darkened with fury. “He can’t do that.”
“Why not?” she asked, dazed. She’d have thought Rick would be overjoyed. “I divorced him once. One good dumping deserves another.” Even to her own ears, the weak attempt at humor sounded strained, near tears. Swell.
Rick dragged his car keys from his jeans pocket and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?”
; “To see Dad.” The squeaky wooden door slammed behind him before she could reply.
For a moment, she nearly went after him, then decided against it. Maybe a good row was what he and Garrett needed.
A touch of black humor overtook her, and she chuckled tremulously. “Two cases of testosterone poisoning in the same room. That ought to liven up the neurology ward.”
Chapter 5
“You really hurt Mom.”
Garrett whipped his head around so fast he thought his neck might snap. His heart constricted at the sight. Rick stood just inside the doorway, an enraged half-grown pup determined to defend his turf. But he’d come on his own. Again. After yesterday. “I’m glad you’re here, son. I owe you an apology.”
Rick’s flexed his fists and stepped forward. “This is about Mom, not you and me.”
You and me? The words slammed through his brain like a bullet. Once, “you and me” meant a team. “I didn’t raise an ill-mannered, self-centered hothead. Now, if you want to act like who you are, fine, but check the attitude at the door.”
Obviously startled, Rick gave him an evaluating look as unnerving as it was long.
Now, where did you learn that?
His shoulders lost their combative set. “You’re right, Dad. I’m sorry.”
Stunned relief flooded every fiber of Garrett’s being. A concession. Not the whole war, but a start. “Pull up a chair.”
Rick did so, raised his eyes and said without rancor, “You really did hurt Mom.”
“Holding her unfairly hurt her worse.”
“Unfairly?” His brow furrowed in confusion, and not a little suspicion. “I thought since you’re getting better you figured you didn’t need her anymore.”
I need your mother like I need air to breathe. “What gave you that idea?”
Rick hunched down miserably in the chair. “If that’s not it, then why?”
Garrett groaned silently. She deserves better than someone who’s less than a man. “She told me once she didn’t want to love me. That I always shredded her life.”