“I’m scared, really fuckin’ scared.”
“That’s it’s gonna hurt?” Ryan shakes his head. “Of course it’s gonna hurt, it’s physical therapy and you have screws and plates in your leg. But you have to move it. You can’t get a blood clot or let the muscles atrophy.”
I hold up my hand, stopping his rant. “I’m scared I’ll never be the same again. What if I can’t make the five-mile run in twenty-five minutes anymore? What if I have a limp? I’m not disabled discharging from this bullshit,” I hiss through clenched teeth. It hasn’t hit me until today that physical therapy may not work.
Realization washes over his face, and I see him let out a deep breath. “Damn brother, I never questioned whether you would come back from this. Besides the PT they’re giving you now is just going to keep your strength up, it’s going to have nothing to do with your leg until you get the okay to use it.
I punch my hand against my chest. I ignore the annoying comment and talk about the one that’s bothering me. What if I can’t come back? “I have; I am – and it’s freaking me the fuck out.”
“Have you talked to Blaze or the department-appointed shrink about this?”
I shake my head. “Haven’t seen the shrink yet, and I’m not laying this on Blaze. She’s got enough shit to go through because of me.”
Ryan moves forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Blaze also loves you, and when you love someone, you don’t get to pick what you let them go through with you. They’re your partner. If you don’t treat her like one, you’re going to lose her the same way you did before, you stubborn fuck.”
I hear what he’s saying, but it doesn’t help the anxiety I have in my chest, or the dread that’s settled into my stomach. The girls come back in and I can’t say anything else, instead I spend the rest of their visit brooding in my own head.
* * *
“You don’t have to come in with me,” I relieve Blaze of her babysitting duties. My tone is clipped as I spit the words past my lips like sunflower seeds on a long road trip.
“I might not have to, but I want to,” she fumes as she finds a parking spot.
“What, no letting me out at the front door? I’m an invalid, didn’t you know?” I gesture to my leg.
“You’re not an invalid, and I don’t know why the hell you’re acting like this, Trevor. I’ve never known you to be such an asshole. Your heavily pregnant sister came to see you to make sure you’re okay. I’m doing my best to help you out, and you’ve been nothing but an asshole to me today. I can see you’re pissed, but it doesn’t excuse the way you’re treating people,” she slams her SUV in park. “So no, I’m not coddling you and parking at the drop off. You’re so fucking determined to do things on your own? Get your own damn crutches. I’ll see you inside.”
She gets out, slamming the door so hard it jars the vehicle, making it sway slightly. I watch as she stomps off for the front of the medical building. She doesn’t even look back to check on me. If I’m being honest, I totally deserve this. Reaching behind me, I snag one of the crutches, but it’s too big for me to pull around me. Shit, this just pisses me off more. Opening the door, I lean on the seat as I fight with the piece of metal, almost shoving it through the windshield before I get it out. It’s much quicker getting the next one out, but I’m sweating as I make my way up to the front of the building, breathing hard and flat out needing a rest. When I notice Blaze looking at me through the window, I grit my teeth and move on. I’ll be damned if she sees me struggling.
“Are you okay?” She asks when I make my way inside, thankful for the air conditioning, even in December. Alabama hasn’t gotten the memo that it’s winter. Her tone and eyes tell me she’s only asking because it’s what she’s taught to do for a patient. Blaze is still fully pissed at me, and it’s probably not going to go away for a while.
I shoot her an annoyed look. “I’m good. Which way do I need to go?”
“We have a follow-up appointment with the surgeon first and he’ll recommend the physical therapy, then we’ll move down to that part of the building.”
I’m already tired thinking about it, but I motion with my crutch for her to lead the way.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Tank
Hearing the surgeon speak isn’t making me feel much better. If anything, it’s making me feel worse. This is a longer recovery than I thought it would be.
“Six weeks before I can bear weight on it?” I question to make sure I’ve heard him correctly. Fuck me running.
He nods. “That’s right, Trevor, could be sooner though, everyone heals different. I’m giving you worst-case scenario. Keep in mind your six weeks started while you were in the hospital. You’ve already survived a portion of it. At six weeks we’ll make a decision if we can take off the cast and outfit you with a brace. Provided everything is going well, you’ll be able to bear weight, as long as it all looks good, and along the way we’ll work on getting strength back with the physical therapy. All in all, if things go well, I’m looking to get you back to work in twelve weeks. You’re strong and in good shape, we may be able to move that time frame up.”
Motherfucker. Twelve weeks before I can get back to work? Three months before I know if I’m going to have to change my profession? What the hell am I going to do for three months? Sit on my couch and eat Cheetos?
“I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear,” he makes a note on his pad of paper. “But your leg is an important part of your job. We have to make sure it’s not only healed, but healed correctly. Do you want to ride a desk the rest of your career?”
“Fuck no,” I answer quietly, shaking my hand away from Blaze’s. She’s tried to grasp it and give me comfort, but right now I don’t want the comfort from her or anyone else. I want the biting pain of physical exertion.
“That’s my recommendation and it’s what I’ll be sending it to your boss, Holden. Follow your prescribed PT, and it’ll be like you never left. I caution you to not be lazy, but to also not push yourself too hard. Your body will let you know what it can take, listen to it. As I said, we can adjust the timeline, but I won’t rush you, Trevor. That’s not what I’m here for. I’m here to make sure you heal correctly.”
Easy for him to say. I tune out everything else as he talks to Blaze about my daily routine. It amazes me, the first couple of days home from the hospital I’d been thankful I made it through, beyond thankful I made it out of my truck alive. Today, I’m angry as fuck I was put in this situation. Probably one of the signs I need to make an appointment with the shrink. I’ve obviously got some feelings I need help separating out.
“You ready?” Blaze asks from beside me. I hate the way it sounds like she’s talking to a skittish animal, but then again I’ve given her a lot of shit today.
I shake my head to clear it, obviously I missed out on a part of the meeting, but instead I nod. “As I’ll ever be.”
She doesn’t help me as I get up, and I can admit I miss her reassuring hand on my back as I steady myself. I’m also man enough to admit I’ve fucked up today. When we get home, I’ll make it up to her.
We slowly make our way down to the Physical Therapy room, where I’m introduced to an overly excited guy by the name of Randall, who promises he’s going to whip me into shape. Judging by the gleam in his eye – I’m more scared now than I ever have been. But if it’s pain I wanted, it’s pain I’m going to get.
Blaze
I sit to the side, watching as Trevor goes through the motions of PT. He’s putting the work in; I can tell by the way sweat dots the front of his shirt, the way his arms shake as he supports his weight. As much as he’s been on edge today, he’s given this his all. It makes me extremely proud of him, but I wish like hell he would have been honest with me and stopped brooding for most of the day.
My cell phone lights up beside me with a text from Whitney.
W: What did the doctor say? Has he gotten any nicer? I’m sorry you’re having to deal with him, but at the same time I’m th
ankful he has you.
B: Twelve weeks before he goes back to work. Six in a cast, then a few more in a brace, with physical therapy. It’s gonna be a long three months.
W: Oh honey, I know I’m knocked up and all, but if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here.
It’s a nice offer for her to make, and I’ve grown very close to her in the past – God has it only been two weeks since Trevor wrecked? Feels like a lifetime ago, but if I’m in it for the long haul with him, then I’m all in.
His bad mood today doesn’t scare me. Piss me off? Yes. Scare me? No. I can still remember him telling me in the hospital this was going to be a long recovery and I’d have to be patient with him. I don’t plan on letting him go this time, no matter how hard he fights my hold. Everybody deserves a bad day, and he probably does more than anyone I know. The fact he’s kept his attitude in check for this long says a lot about the man he is.
B: Thanks! I’ll let you know if I need some girl time. I’ll keep you posted if anything changes with him.
Putting my phone facedown beside me, I watch him again, taking note of the lines of pain near his eyes, the hard line his plump lips have formed while he lifts the weight the therapist has put in his hands. I watch him lift it, hear the count as he brings it back down, and again as he repeats the motion.
No one realizes until they’re hurt how quickly your conditioning goes away. It’s important to keep him strong. If we do, he’ll transition back into his day job with no problems. Glancing at my watch, I see our hour is almost over.
Deciding I want to be nicer when we leave than when we arrived, maybe it’ll make him nicer, I grab my purse and carefully make my way out of the room. Leaving the lobby, I notice a vending machine that has water and snacks. Reaching into my wallet, I grab out a couple of dollar bills, purchasing a cold bottle of water and a package of nuts. Exiting the building into the blazing sunlight of the Alabama afternoon, I put my aviators down over my eyes and go in search of my SUV.
I feel bad, having made him walk. It was a rookie move on my part, and I won’t make him walk again. Getting in, I crank the air, noticing my temp gauge reads almost eighty. Weeks from Christmas and it’s almost eighty? Welcome to the South.
Pulling my SUV up, I leave it running in the drop off area, walking inside. I’m met with the therapist and Trevor.
“We’ll see him again on Thursday,” he tells me, handing me an appointment card. “We’ll do two days a week until he can handle three.”
“Got it,” I stuff the card in the back pocket of my jeans.
When he walks off, I put my hand at Trevor’s back, noticing for the first time, he rests against me. Our fight seems to be gone, and now we’re the same vulnerable people who’ve been dealing with these injuries together. “I pulled up, you don’t have to make it across the parking lot.”
He breathes deeply, a sigh of relief. I feel petty for making him walk earlier, but I can’t change the past. I can only try and make the future better.
We slowly make our way to where I’m parked. I almost suggest we grab a wheelchair, but I know he’ll refuse. “Not too much further,” I encourage as we exit the building.
It takes a few more minutes for him to get comfortable in the passenger seat. Then I stow the crutches before taking my spot in the driver’s seat. “That’s for you,” I point to the bottle of water and the bag of peanuts.
His head is laying back against the seat, his eyes closed.
“Trev, drink some of the water,” I reach down, open the bottle, and give it to him.
He drains it in two drinks. I’m not ashamed to say I’m mesmerized by the way his Adam’s apple pushes the water down his throat. “Do you need another bottle?”
He shakes his head, lifting his shirt up to clean his face off. His abs are truly a thing of beauty and I find myself licking my lips. Such an inappropriate line of thinking right now.
“I just wanna get home and take a pain pill. Fuck – everything he made me do hurt like a son of a bitch.”
I can hear the pain in his voice. “Then that’s what we’ll do. You look tired,” I take in the paleness of his skin, the sweat still rolling from his temple, and the redness of his lips, no doubt from where he bit them in pain.
“Exhausted. It’s not even half of what I used to do in my two-a-day workouts.”
“You’ll get there, Trev,” I reach my hand over and put it on his thigh.
Finally after the day we’ve had, he grabs hold, pushing our fingers together. “Will I? Today I feel like I’m never gonna get there,” his voice is hoarse with emotion. “It seems like an uphill challenge that I’ll never be able to overcome.”
“Today’s day one of a long recovery, Trev. It’s going to get better.”
We’re quiet for a few minutes, each lost in our own thoughts. His mood is different than it’s been all day and I’m not sure how to deal with it, so I enjoy us not arguing.
“I owe you an apology,” he traces the pattern of lines on my palm with the tip of his finger. “I’ve been a jackass today, and none of it had to do with you. I was scared about what the doctor would say, scared of the pain of the physical therapy. I didn’t know how to deal with it, and it was easier to lash out. I’m sorry, and I’ll apologize to Whitney, as well. I’m sure she’s blown up your phone talking shit about me.”
“No,” I grasp his fingertip with my palm. “Both of us knew you were having a hard time with it. People deal with stress and injury differently, Trevor. You’re going to have some hard days. Nothing is written in a manual about how you’re supposed to deal with it,” I shrug as I take back my hand and make a turn so that we’re on the interstate heading north to Laurel Springs. “You deal with it how you can. Truth is, you’ve been dealt a shitty hand. You’re going through all this while Brooks sits in jail.”
“I still can’t believe all he got was a gash on the forehead,” he growls his annoyance.
“He’ll serve time. You and I both know that.”
It’s another ten miles down the road before I get the guts to apologize for my part. “I shouldn’t have made you do that parking lot, no matter how pissed off I was at the way you were acting. I’m sorry, too,” I reach over and grab his hand, kissing his palm. “That was juvenile and I knew better. You would think after fucking up already, we’d be over this shit,” I glance over at his strong profile, looking out the passenger side window.
“Maybe we just like to test one another. Sometimes I think it’s a form of foreplay for us.”
I giggle because he’s right. I love to test his patience just to see how much it takes for him to lose it.
“Keep giggling, I like that better than the look of death you gave me earlier,” he smiles over at me.
“Keep smiling, those dimples are much cuter than the scowl you’ve been wearing all day.”
As we drive north, I think we’ll be okay, as long as we can stay honest with one another. This isn’t going to be easy, but nothing worth having ever is. I glance over at Trevor one more time, smiling softly as I see him knocked out, his head against the window, and his arms crossed tightly in front of him.
No matter the difficulties in life, I’ll never change anything we have and I know now I’ll never give it up.
CHAPTER NINE
Tank
I’m sore from the physical therapy session I had yesterday. I’m ashamed to say I haven’t really moved from the couch and it’s nearly mid-morning.
“Do you want another pain pill today or just an over-the-counter medication?” Blaze asks as she brings me some toast.
“Over the counter is fine. I’m sore, but it’s nothing I can’t deal with. I’m going to have to learn to deal with some pain.”
She leans down, kissing me on the cheek. “You do better with pain than a lot of other people, give yourself some credit.”
I didn’t eat last night and the toast is making my mouth water. After coming home from the PT session, Blaze helped me shower, and when I fell into bed,
I slept for the rest of the night. Now my stomach is clenching with hunger pains. I inhale one piece in two bites.
“Do you need something else to eat, Trev?” she shoots me a look as she watches me.
I’ve been trying to eat light, because when pain hits me, it can make me nauseous and I’ve already puked twice. This morning though, I feel like I have my old appetite back. I think for a minute before smiling up at her. “Scrambled eggs.”
She giggles, straight up giggles, and the sound goes to my chest. We haven’t had much to laugh about lately. Seeing her throw her head back revealing the curve of her throat, seeing her Adam’s apple bob up and down with the force of her laugh – it warms a spot in my heart.
“Then scrambled eggs you will have.”
I sit up straighter on the couch. “You know how I like ’em, right?”
“Spinach, onions, garlic powder, and hot sauce. I got this, Trev,” she winks as she turns, walking toward the kitchen with a little sway to her ass.
I lay my head back against the arm of the couch and close my eyes, letting them rest for a minute. The extra food will help the pain killers from last night, leave my system, and I hope that I don’t have to take anymore today.
I must doze, because the next thing I know, Blaze is handing me a paper plate. “Here ya go; you’ll feel more awake when you get this in your stomach.”
She sits on the opposite side of the couch, dragging my feet into her lap. It’s nice to sit here with her like this.
“You seriously make the best scrambled eggs. They’re always fluffy. Mine are almost hard when I’m done cooking them. One day you’ll have to teach me all your secrets,” I groan as I take my last bite, laying my hands on my stomach.
“I can’t share all my secrets,” she teases. “Then you won’t want me to hang around.”
Tank (Moonshine Task Force Book 2) Page 5