When Teo tries to pull back I grip his hand tightly and look at him. “Stay with me.”
“Always,” he answers, squeezing my fingers lightly before looking up at the doctor. “Don’t make me break my promise, Doc.”
Doctor Bertrand frowns, clearly displeased with not having me all to himself. He looks at Mateo and then at my parents and he relents.
“I can tell that I will lose whatever argument I try to start so I’ll just cry uncle now.” He taps on his tablet and pulls up what I can only presume is my record and reads for a few seconds before placing it on the side table and pulling a pen light out of his pocket. He shines it in my eyes. “Any nausea? Vertigo? Blurry vision?”
“No.”
He looks at me, his gaze assessing for a few seconds before he grabs the edge of my blanket and pulls it down, exposing my lower body in the hideous hospital gown. From the slightly elevated position of my head and shoulders, I can see the bolster under my knees and I mentally tell my legs to flex against the cushion.
Nothing.
Doctor Bertrand glances up at me, clearly trying to gauge my reaction. “Carlisle, as I told your family, the surgery went very well. There was more shrapnel than anticipated and the scar tissue from your prior surgeries made removal difficult but we got it all.” He pulls an instrument out of his pocket, a metal rod the size of a pen with a rounded tip on one end and a pointy tip on the other. “There will be significant swelling for at least a week and we will treat it with anti-inflammatories. The pain will be managed by narcotics for a couple of days but then we will switch you to higher dosages of non-narcotic medication. We don’t want the drugs to inhibit your participation in your physical therapy.”
I nod at this and he stares at me for two beats before moving to my feet. He lowers the instrument and uses it to press against the sole of my foot.
“Can you feel that?”
I shake my head. “No.”
He moves his position and I can see his hands flex as he presses the instrument forward. I squeeze Teo’s hand, willing myself to feel something. I close my eyes, searching for the sensation. Nothing. I open my eyes and shake my head. “No. Nothing.”
I glance towards my parents and they both are as white as the bleach-scented sheets on my bed. My dad’s arms are wrapped around my mom and I can see, even at this distance, that they are trembling. I’m glad I’m not the only one freaking out. I’m also glad I have Teo who is steady as rock next me, not even a flicker of worry across his face. I take his courage and inhale it, letting it soak into my body and calm me.
Dr. Bertrand places his hands, palms flat against the bottoms of my feet and looks at me, his expression determined and encouraging. It’s as if he’s willing me to pass this next test, as if it is the most important.
I ignore the icy tendril of fear chasing along my skin and the cold sweat that chills me in the cool hospital air. I hold my breath, waiting for his instructions.
“Press against my hands, as hard as you can.”
I look down at my feet and I shiver because right now they feel like they belong to someone else. Or they are those fake feet that peek out from the end of the box in the magician’s act when he tries to convince you that he’s really sawing that chick in half.
“Carlisle. You can do it,” he says, giving me an encouraging nod that reminds me of my swim coach. Sometimes only his gruff voice and that curt nod could get my ass off the starting block. Now, I’m standing on this new starting block and I have no idea if I will shoot through the water or sink like a stone. I almost wish I could stay in this moment and never know the answer but I never have been and I never will be that big of a coward.
I close my eyes and I concentrate, squeezing Teo’s hand even tighter as I order my limbs to obey the command from my brain. The seconds seem to drag on forever and I feel tears welling up in my eyes as nothing happens. It’s like the time I woke up in the hospital in Europe after the bombing and nothing worked the right way and the love of my life was dead.
“Okay, relax a minute,” Dr. Bertrand says, removing his hands from the bottom of my feet.
“Let me try again,” I blurt out, panic making my voice shake and quaver and giving away the fact that I’m on the verge of tears. “I can do this. Let me try again.”
He flicks a glance at my parents and Mateo and then returns his focus back to me. He leans forward on my bed, placing his hands flat on the mattress on each side of my legs. When he speaks, it is the same calm, level tone he’s had since my first meeting with him. No nonsense. Practical. Infuriatingly honest.
“I had two criteria for taking your case, Carlisle. The first was physical, the extent of damage to your nervous system and the likelihood that surgery would help you maintain the most mobility.” He pauses, his eyes never leaving my own. “The second criteria was patient attitude and I believe is the most important of all. To get through all of the hard work that is coming your way, you need to be a hard worker who is also a fighter. Someone who doesn’t let one small failure keep you from working until you achieve what you want. I knew that the young woman who endured years of grueling training and then won twelve gold medals had the attitude I was looking for. I knew you would fight and not let one little failure today stop you from getting up and doing it again tomorrow.” He straightens, moving his hands back to the soles of my feet and keeps speaking. “So, I want you to try again and even if you don’t succeed I know you’ll try again tomorrow.”
He nods and I blink back the emotion blurring my vision and take a deep breath. I’m shaking, scared to death, but I’m not ready to let go of the girl he was talking about. Once I made the decision to have this surgery, my course was set and now it is no different than making it to the summer games. No matter what, I’ll be back tomorrow.
I concentrate. I squeeze Mateo’s hand. I push.
Seconds pass by and nothing happens and then I feel it. It isn’t much and his hands only move back a tiny amount but they move. I blink. Mateo yells. My mother cries.
Doctor Bertrand smiles.
I lean back on my pillows, exhausted from just that tiny bit of effort. My dad leans over and kisses my cheek and I kiss him back, loving the familiar rumble of his voice in my ear. “Love you baby. So proud of you.”
Doctor Bertrand, embracing his role as chief buzz killer, holds his hands up and stops the party that has erupted in my room.
“That’s excellent. I cannot predict how much mobility you will have in the end but that is a very good sign. You have months of hard work ahead of you. I know you can do it.” He looks around the room at my parents and Mateo and his face sobers a bit. “Like we discussed in our pre-operative meetings, you need to figure out your schedules. Carlisle will need your help but you need to take care of yourselves, get out of here when she is in therapy, sleep in a real bed.” He gives Mateo a meaningful glance, “Attend classes.”
“Thank you Doctor Bertrand,” I force out, quickly feeling all of the emotions crashing down on me. I don’t know whether I want to cry or scream or laugh. I just know that I don’t want do it with all these people in the room. I tug Mateo down to me and I hide my face in his shoulder, biting back the tears that I now know are coming. He sits down on the bed beside me and holds me as close as all the tubes, wires and my current condition will allow. He smells like coffee, sunshine, and Mateo and I drink him in and try to steal his strength.
“Doctor, let’s talk out in the hallway,” my mom says on the other side of the bed and I am grateful when she ushers everyone out of my room.
The silence isn’t empty for long before I fill it with the sobs I can’t hold back. Mateo holds me, silent but solid as I ugly cry all over his t-shirt. He doesn’t try to get me to stop, doesn’t tell me it will be all right. He just holds me. Lets me lose my shit with as much dignity as possible while sitting here in a gown with my ass hanging out of it and my hair in a walk-of-shame-without-the-fun-orgasm mess on the top of my head.
“That scared me,” I ad
mit, brushing some of the wetness off my cheeks as I feel the worst of it pass. “It was like the first time… when I woke up.”
“I think that’s a normal reaction, to remember that time.” Mateo kisses the top of my head and squeezes me tighter. He pulls back and I’m surprised at the tracks of moisture on his cheeks. I raise an eyebrow and trace one of the tears. He shrugs. “I’m not even handing over my man card because even Chuck Norris would cry over the shit that just went down here.”
“Oh really? You invoke the name of the great Chuck? I don’t know… ” I laugh at the death glare he gives me and tug him down to me so I can give him a kiss. It’s a light one, tender and I hope he can feel all the gratitude I have for him in the touch. I decide not to take the chance and just tell him. “Thank you Teo. Thank you for being here, for loving me.”
He smiles and brushes my hair back from my face, his warmth keeping away the chill of the room. “Loving you is the easiest thing… like breathing. No matter what, we’ll do this together.”
I snuggle against him, enjoying the moment and brushing aside any doubt or fear about what is to come. My mom’s worries edge in but I push them away and focus on what I know: I’m going to beat this, and Mateo and I have what it takes to make it.
Chapter Nineteen
Mateo
“Mr. Butler can I see you after class?”
I stop as I gather my things to leave the lab, turning to face my instructor, Dr. Steinberg. He doesn’t look happy—he never looks happy—but the alarming part of his current look is that it is aimed at me. He is a hardass and he’s been waiting to chew on mine since day one. My lab partners all give me pity glances but they aren’t waiting around to be sucked into the vortex of fury that swirls around him.
“See you at group study later?” Adam asks as he slings his messenger bag across his body.
“Yeah. At your place?”
“Yep. See you later.” He sneaks a peek at Steinberg and then runs away like the flying monkeys are after him.
“Mr. Butler, I’m afraid we must have an unpleasant conversation.”
I sigh and put down my backpack, realizing this will not be a quick conversation. I sneak a look at my watch but I’m not sneaky enough because when I look back at him, he’s glaring with renewed fire.
“Am I making you late for something?”
“My girlfriend is recovering from spinal surgery and she’s in rehab and I haven’t seen her all day… ” I let my sentence trail off when I realize that he is uninterested.
“Maybe that explains your lack of focus and your poor attendance at lecture and group labs. I understand you slept through a lecture earlier this week and it’s becoming a common occurrence.”
“I know I’ve been preoccupied. I’ve got a lot to juggle right now but I’ll figure it out,” I answer, feeling the hot creep of embarrassment crawl up my neck. “I just need a little time.”
“This course lasts three months. You have lecture and lab every day, five days per week. This was all in your materials.”
“I know, Dr. Steinberg… ”
“Mr. Butler you are exceptionally bright and you grasp even the most complex concepts quickly and thoroughly… ” I think about thanking him but even I can hear the “but” coming. “… but that is only when you are here and actually present. I need to warn you that you are in danger of failing this course but as we are only three weeks in, you have time to turn your behavior around.”
I’m stunned by his words. I know I’ve missed a few things and failed a couple of quizzes but I thought I could pull it out in the end. I always have before. It’s just been a son-of-a-bitch to juggle school and Carlisle. She needs me and it’s hard to focus on this place when she’s battling it out on the other side of town.
I find my tongue and say the only thing I can say. “I’ll fix it Dr. Steinberg. You have my word.”
“I hope you will Mr. Butler. I think you have a bright future in this profession if you can focus on what needs to be done.”
He hands me an envelope and walks away like he hasn’t thrown a firebomb into the middle of my life. I open the envelope and pull out the paper, unfolding it and noting the medical school letterhead. I skim it, noting that it gives the same dire warning I just received in person. I refold it and shove it into my backpack. I’ll deal with it later, right now I’ll miss seeing Carlisle at all today if I don’t get moving now.
I drive across town, irritated by the evening traffic but too distracted by my warning from Dr. Steinberg to really get worked up. I think about how I need to adjust my schedule and all of it adds up to seeing less of Carlisle. And that is the last thing I want to do.
She’s wheelchair bound for now but they are working on moving her up to crutches in the near future. The therapy is grueling, physically exhausting and she is in a great deal of pain most of the time because she doesn’t want to take the really good drugs because they make her loopy. So, she toughs it out, grinds her teeth and rolls around with dark circles under her eyes because she’s not sleeping well. Her mom told me that she was the same when she was training, nothing was going to stop her except injury or collapse. She’s that driven.
I want to be with her. I need to be with her. I promised her that I would be there and I refuse to break my promise. She is my world, more than this course, and that is the crux of my problem. It isn’t the first time I’ve wondered if medical school is where I need to be right now.
I pull into the parking lot of the high-end rehabilitation facility where Carlisle will be living for at least the next nine months. She’s lucky to have a single room and the place goes out of its way to not look like a hospital but I can tell she’s already itching to leave and live independently.
I want her to move in with me when she gets out although I haven’t brought it up yet. Her parents still give me the side-eye and I’ve overheard a couple of conversations between them that begin and end with “this has happened way too fast”.
I jump out of my car, grabbing my backpack as I leave, hoping I can sneak in some study time before group tonight. The staff just wave me on as I enter, smiling as I practically run past. They love Carlisle and the rest of her entourage are included in the glow.
I knock and, hearing nothing, enter her room, throwing my bag on the loveseat under the window that overlooks the flower garden in the interior courtyard. Carlisle can afford a nice place and this one goes out of its way to not look like a hospital. She has a hospital type bed but the floors are warm oak laminate and there is real wood furniture instead of the melamine and pressboard stuff you usually see. Her mother brought in some of her artwork, a few blankets and her books from her apartment and the effect is cozy. As Carlisle says, “It’s not home but it will do in a pinch.”
No one is in here and I check my watch again. She should be done with her afternoon session and getting ready for dinner. The sound of the shower is faint through the closed door but I walk over and tap lightly. I get no response so I push the door open and I’m met with a wave of steam from the hot water running.
The first thing I see is Carlisle’s wheelchair pulled up close to the rimless shower next to the location of the shower seat she needs to use.
The second thing I see is Carlisle. On the shower bench. Crying.
I am at her side in two steps, not caring that the shower spray is soaking me from head to toe.
“Carlisle, baby.” I check her over, trying to see if she is hurt, if there is anything I can do. “What’s wrong? Do you want me to call a nurse?”
She’s crying so hard that I debate waiting for her reply. “Carlisle, you’re scaring me. Are you hurt? Do I need… ”
“It hurts all the time,” she stammers out, her hands clutching the edge of the shower stall in a white-knuckle grip. She reaches out one hand to dig her fingers into her calf, pressing hard into the muscle. “It hurts all the fucking time but I can’t feel anything! I work and I work. I practically kill myself to get out of that chair but nothing… ” S
he breaks down in a deeper sob as she rakes her nails over her skin, raising angry red marks. “… nothing changes.”
Aw fuck. My heart breaks. Shatters into a million pieces in my chest and I bite back the urge to rail against all the shit she has to bear. But she doesn’t need me to scream alongside her, she needs me to be the wall of stone she can batter herself against. Her safe place.
“Hey, hey.” I reach up to turn off the water and snag a towel from the peg nearby and wrap it around her shoulders. She’s shivering a little in the air conditioning and I also feel the chill as my wet clothes stick to my body. I brush aside the discomfort and pat her down as she really begins to shiver. “It’s okay. Let’s get you warm and you can tell me about what happened.”
Whatever fight she had went down the drain with water and she collapses against me and I hold her tight, willing my body heat into her. If I could give her the use of my legs, I would. I know she’s frustrated at the pace of her recovery and this might be the culmination of days of frustration or it might be the result of a major setback.
Either way, I’ll be here for her.
I stand, careful of the wet floor as I get to my feet and I scoop her up in my arms. My memory immediately flashes back to the first time I did this for her, the day I think of as the time we really began. That day, when she trusted me with her weakness, was the beginning of this journey together.
I walk into her room trying to rub warmth into her skin and to soothe her when one of the night nurses, Susan, steps into the room. She takes one look at the two of us, soaking wet and shivering, and she rushes to my side.
“Did she have an accident in the shower?” I can feel her hands touching Carlisle, checking for any injury. “Where did you find her?”
“I’m fine,” Carlisle says from where her head is lying on my shoulder. “I didn’t fall.”
“I found her in there seated on the bench. She was… ” I consider what I will tell her when I feel Carlisle’s fingers squeeze my arm. In spite of all she’s been through, she’s sensitive to anyone seeing her cry or anything less than the girl standing on the top of the tier with a medal around her neck. “She was upset.”
Salvation (Nashville Nights #2) Page 13