by Jamie Craig
He only wanted one piece of information from the surgeon. The sooner the doctor got to that, the happier he'd be. “No, I just want to know what's going on."
"Right. Well...” Now, Stevens looked at the file. “Let's start with the neurological tests. I'm sure you know concussions are quite common for athletes, but what differs, is how severe they are. You suffered a grade three, which is the worst you can get. It caused your headaches, your disorientation, your mood swings, and those kinds of things. Because of the severity, we have to be extra diligent in following up. The brain's a tricky place. Any number of things might go wrong. In your case, much of your basic motor skills seem to be fine for now, but it's the future you've really got to worry about."
"What part of my future are we talking about? I feel better. I thought I was recovered now."
"I have no doubt you do feel better. Your CT scan came back looking remarkably clear. No swelling, no clotting. Very good.” Stevens folded his hands together and rested them on top of the file. “When I talk about the future, I'm talking about risk. Now, I know you know all about risk. Most athletes do, it's your job. You push your body to do things most of us normal people can't. But good athletes also recognize when the risk outweighs the benefit. In your case, your concussion is handicapping you in ways I'm sure you don't even realize. You don't go into the arena with the same odds other cowboys do, the ones who haven't had a concussion. No, what happens is after you've had your first, the odds of you having a second, triple. And if you have a second, those odds become eight times greater you're going to have a third.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “I'm sure you can see where this is going."
Spencer licked his lips. “But there are no rules against wearing helmets. Wouldn't that make a difference?"
"Helmets help, sure. And maybe if you hadn't hurt your shoulder, I'd tell you to seriously consider it. But I've got the results here from your surgical consult, too. And...I'm not going to lie to you, Mr. Cole. It's not good."
"What do you mean? Dr. Allan told me it'd be better after a few surgeries and some physical therapy. I know the physical therapy won't be fun, but I'm ready to do it."
"The surgeries should help, yes. Those will attempt to reconstruct the ligament, and then temporarily hold the clavicle in position while the ligament heals. But it's not definite. It can have complications. You might not get full range of movement back, or it could get infected, or it might not work at all. The point is, we just won't know for sure until after they're done, and even then, it can take twelve to eighteen months just for you to feel completely yourself again. Add in the increased dangers should you hit your head again...” His voice trailed off. He clearly wanted Spencer to connect the dots for himself.
"And you don't think I'll ever be able to ride bulls again."
Stevens inclined his head. “I think if you try, you might not come out of the hospital at all."
"So...that's it then? I'm just supposed to give up?"
"I can't tell you what to do, Mr. Cole. I can offer my advice, and inform you of the potential consequences of your actions, but ultimately, the decision is yours. If I had to make it? Yes, I'd retire. I think I'd prefer to live as healthy a life as I could than most likely finish out my days stuck in a bed, aware of my surroundings or not."
"But that's just a possibility, not a foregone conclusion. And bull riding is never without risk. I was perfectly healthy before, but I could have died on that bull. Or any bull. It's not like there are any guarantees..."
Spencer stopped, and Stevens continued to look at him with kindly, even patient eyes. Nothing he said to this man would change anything. He wasn't the one Spencer needed to argue with.
"Is there anything else?"
"No.” Stevens leaned back in his chair, closing the file in front of him. “I truly wish I had better news for you. I wish I could say, take the risk, but I just can't lie to you about your odds."
"Yeah, I know.” Spencer stood. “Thanks, Doc, but I've beaten the odds before."
Stevens might have had more to say, but Spencer didn't really feel like listening to more. And he didn't feel like sticking around for his next consultation. He just wanted to go home and try to do something about the pain threatening to burst completely out of his skull.
Rebecca stood outside the waiting room, heading in his direction with a smile as soon as she spotted him. “Please tell me you can leave soon,” she said, pitching her voice lower. “There's a little girl in the waiting room who is driving me crazy."
"Yeah, let's get the fuck out of here,” Spencer said, without slowing.
She whirled to follow him, matching his strides without a word until they were out in the parking lot. Then, she reached for his free hand, twisting her warm fingers through his.
"Are you still up for dinner?"
"No. I don't really feel hungry right now. Where did you park?"
"Over here.” She steered him over a row, leading the way toward her truck. “What did the doctors say?"
"Nothing. I don't know. A bunch of bullshit."
Becca nudged him with her shoulder. “But they did the tests, right? The nurse said you were meeting with the neurologist."
"Yeah, they tested me. Stuck me in a bunch of machines and told me not to move. And then a guy named Stevens told me what all that meant.” Spencer paused as Rebecca unlocked the truck. He didn't want to tell her what Stevens said. If he told her the truth, she would just freak out and they were in a good place. He didn't want to ruin that.
He was grateful when she didn't press, when they pulled out onto the street without another word spoken between them. But then she reached across the distance and rested her hand on his thigh, her fingers caressing him softly through his jeans.
"Something tells me you didn't like what he said."
"No, I really didn't. He said it could take eighteen months for my shoulder to fully recover."
"Eighteen?” The number sobered her even further. “That's more than what the doctors in Park City said."
"Yeah. It is. And the surgeries aren't guaranteed to work."
"What does that mean? They operate again until it does?"
"I think it means if it doesn't work, it doesn't work. He was vague on the details and big on the warning."
Though her mouth compressed into a thin line, her hand continued to graze along his thigh, creating patterns of distraction he would have enjoyed a lot more before that awful meeting. “I'm sorry,” she finally said softly. “I know it's not what you wanted to hear."
Spencer rested his head on the window, looking out over the Salt Lake valley. In the distance, he saw the lake itself, shimmering in gold as it reflected the late afternoon light. He should have been in Colorado. He should have been preparing for the professional bull riding circuit. He could still go to Colorado, or anywhere else he wanted. He'd go with Travis, and try to get back to his normal life.
He could keep on running until all of this, even Rebecca, lingered behind him like a bad dream.
But when he shifted his gaze sideways, first glancing at her hand, and then seeking out her face, Spencer knew he couldn't do that to her. He wouldn't hurt her.
"You know what I really didn't want to hear? That if I land in the hospital again, and the chances are good I will, I probably won't get out."
Her gaze widened, true alarm showing there for the first time. “Crap. That's...why? Because of your shoulder?"
"Because of my head. The shoulder just complicates the situation."
"But you've been doing better. You don't get nearly as many headaches as you used to, and you remember most of what you're supposed to. What do they think is wrong with your head?"
"Actually, nothing is wrong with it at the moment. He said the swelling is gone and the scans look good. But he also said if I ride again, my chances of getting another concussion triple, and after the second one, the chances are even greater for a third. It'd be dangerous, but a helmet would help."
"Yeah.” Th
ough she sounded less than enthused. At least the worry was gone. Her forehead had smoothed again. “But it's good things are better. You can spend more time outside now, right? Fewer headaches. Nothing that's going to bug you."
"I guess that's what he meant when he said everything looked normal. Look...it's dangerous to ride bulls. You get on the back of a bull, anything can happen. I don't think this has changed anything."
"Maybe not,” Rebecca conceded. “But at least it's given you some time frames to think about."
"I could be ready to ride left-handed in a year.” But where he would live for the next year and what he would do to support himself were even larger obstacles. How he would get the required surgeries was another issue he didn't really want to think about.
"Travis won't stick around all that time, will he?” Her cautious question was unnecessary proof that she didn't care for the man. “That's a long time not to be on the circuit."
"No, he'll probably be leaving in a few days. And since my concussion is gone, he'll probably expect me to join him."
When she didn't respond right away, he glanced across to see the frown had returned. “The house is going to feel so empty when you're gone. I'm going to have to keep the TV going in the afternoon so it feels a little more normal."
"Do you...do you think it'd be best if I went with him?"
Her hand shook a little where it rested now on his leg. “No. If I had a vote, I'd ask you to stay. But I'm not going to be the one who tells you, you can't have your dream."
"I don't know if I can stay, Becca. I've never been the sort to settle down and live in one place. I've never had to try. I don't know what I'd be staying for."
"You could stay for me.” The words were soft and formless, like if she gave them more weight, he'd use them against her. “I know the past six weeks have been tough for you, but...” She swallowed. “I'd miss you. A lot. My life without you would be pretty damn lonely."
Spencer didn't know how to answer her. Nobody had ever asked him to stick around, and a part of him desperately wanted to be needed. He liked living with her. He liked the dozens of little things she did every day without realizing how special they were. But that didn't mean he'd be good for her.
"I need to think about things. I don't know...I've just got to figure things out."
"Yeah, of course.” She squeezed his leg one last time and let go, using both hands to steer them onto the highway. “You've had a lot of stuff thrown at you today. It's better if you give it some time to let it all sink in."
Spencer didn't know if giving everything time to sink in would actually help his situation. He didn't know why the decision was so hard. The rodeo was his life. Riding bulls was all he knew. The other cowboys were his family. It would be easy to go back. They would all support his decision to ride again. They understood. They knew the need to conquer fear, and the bull, for eight seconds. They knew the rush and the high. They'd help him.
But he just couldn't quite see himself going back there. And it had nothing to do with his injuries or his life. If he hadn't been prepared to die, at least on some level, he never would have climbed onto a bull to begin with. He was beginning to think he had something, somebody, far more precious at stake.
[Back to Table of Contents]
CHAPTER 16
Though the kitchen smelled wonderful—the garlic and sausage in the lasagna had Rebecca's stomach rumbling—the thought of the upcoming supper made Rebecca sick. Bad idea. It was a bad idea. There was no telling what her dad would say to Spencer. He'd promised her he just wanted to get to know the younger man, but sometimes Gil had problems telling the difference between getting to know and interrogating. This rescheduled dinner could either be completely innocuous and a relief to get over, or the worst catastrophe she had ever agreed to.
She might not have worried so much if Spencer hadn't been distracted ever since his latest consultations with the doctors. He wasn't sullen or snapping like when he'd first got out of the hospital, but his mood had definitely sobered. He spent long hours working on his left hand, and when Travis came around, he disappeared for even more time. When Rebecca asked, he confessed to going out to his trailer and just poking around, but he didn't offer too many details and she didn't press. It didn't take a genius to figure out he was getting ready to leave. She was simply going to treasure the time they had left together.
The timer went off, announcing the completion of her lasagna, and Rebecca grabbed a towel in order to pull out the pan to check it. Heat flushed her cheeks as soon as she opened the oven door, but when she gripped the hot dish, her pinkie slipped off the towel and pressed firmly against the searing metal.
"Crap!"
Rebecca dropped the towel and kicked the oven door shut with her foot as she twisted for the sink. She shoved at the handle and gritted her teeth against the pain when cool water washed over her skin.
"Becca? What happened?” He hurried to her side—he definitely moved faster lately—and gently took her wrist. “Did you burn yourself?"
"Yes.” She hissed as the angle shot fresh pain through her fingers. “Stupid pan."
"Do you have a first-aid kit around here? Or any burn cream?"
"There's stuff under the sink in the bathroom, but..."
There was no point in finishing the sentence. Spencer took off like a shot, leaving her with her hand half out of the water. She turned back to the sink and adjusted the temperature, even though she knew she wasn't supposed to make it too cold. Too bad. It felt better under the cold water.
He returned within a minute with a roll of gauze and ointment. Before taking her wrist again, he grabbed a clean towel and smiled apologetically.
"This is probably going to hurt a bit, but I have to dry your finger before I put the cream on."
Rebecca gritted her teeth against the pain, but let Spencer work. He was becoming quite adept with his left hand, she noticed. He used his right for certain tasks or to help his left, but the sling restrained him from much mobility. The realization should have made her happy; Spence was getting stronger, recovering, moving on to compensate for his injured shoulder. But it also meant he was more likely to try his hand at riding again, which would entail him leaving.
There was nothing happy about that.
"I'm just thinking too much about dinner,” she confessed. “I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing."
"You're worried about your old man?"
She shot him a guilty look. “Yeah. Sometimes, he can be a little...gruff."
Spencer untwisted the cap on the cream with his teeth and squeezed a long stream of it onto her finger. “If it makes you feel better, I promise not to pick a fight with him."
"It's not you I'm worried about. I just wish he'd realize I'm all grown up now. Coming here to interrogate you is like I'm back in high school and he has to quiz me on all my dates."
"Is he going to ask me what my intentions are?"
Her laughter rang throughout the kitchen. “Oh, I don't think so. More along the lines of how long you're going to stick around so he doesn't have to worry about you taking advantage of me."
Spencer began bandaging her finger, working carefully not to apply too much pressure to the burn. “Am I taking advantage of you?"
"No, but he doesn't see it that way. He doesn't want to think I might actually fall for a cowboy, which is a load of crap because then he shouldn't have let me go to all those rodeos."
"I can understand his concern. If I ever had a daughter, the last thing I'd want her to do is fall for a cowboy.” He kissed the tip of her pinky. “We're a bad sort."
Forgetting her burn, she stretched her hand to cup his face. “I like your sort."
Spencer wrapped his arm around her and pulled her tighter against his body. “When is he supposed to be here?"
"Too soon.” Tipping her head up to brush a kiss across his mouth, she added, “And I still have to get the lasagna out of the oven before it burns."
"It'd be a shame if you burn
ed the lasagna because of me.” He released her and she couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. “Do you mind if I take Jake for a walk before dinner?"
Grabbing her towel again, Rebecca turned back to the oven. “No, go ahead. I just wish we could both take him out and leave Dad to eat lasagna all by himself."
"Well, we could, right? Leave him a note. We'll drive up to the lake."
"How about we go up to the lake after he leaves?” she countered. “It'll be our treat to ourselves for surviving supper."
"I still don't get why we have to sit through dinner with a guest you don't want, but I have no problem with going after we eat.” He leaned over enough to kiss her cheek. “I'll be back soon."
Rebecca smiled at him as he left, and resumed pulling the lasagna out of the oven. She still wasn't looking forward to dinner, but knowing Spencer felt about it the way she did helped. He would be there to back her up, no matter what her dad said. It was just going to be a matter of grinning and bearing it.
She was brushing olive oil over the garlic bread when she heard the front door open and close, her dad calling out to announce his arrival.
"In the kitchen!” Rebecca shouted back. “Just have a seat! I'll be right out."
Instead of sitting down like she instructed, Gil wandered into the kitchen and took a Coke from the fridge without comment. It always made her grit her teeth when he did that. For one thing, the sugar wasn't good for him. For another, this wasn't his mother's house any longer. He didn't need to act like he had every right to take what he wanted without at least paying lip-service to politeness.
"Where's your cowboy?” he asked, popping the top open.
"Out for a walk."
"And I'm back again,” Spencer said from the doorway. “I left Jake outside in the shade. Can I help with anything?"