by Nikki Groom
Lovestrong
By Nikki Groom
Copyright@2015 Nikki Groom
Cover design by Hang Le / byhangle.com
Editing and proofreading by Raw Books Editing / rawbooksonline.com
Formatting by Brenda Wright, Formatting Done Wright
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission.
The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorised, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.
All rights reserved.
Dedication
To my Dad, the first man in my life.
For your unwavering support and encouragement.
Love you loads
xxxx
Prologue
His eyes flicker and dart around under his lids. His arm jerks sporadically indicating a less than peaceful rest. He mumbles and murmurs and occasionally lets out a whimper or groan. Watching him reliving the accident when he’s asleep is heartbreaking. The devastation and the blow of reality hits him full force during the very time he should be resting and allowing his body to heal. He’s in such deep turmoil in his mind. He’s hurting, emotionally and physically, and there’s nothing I can do but hold his hand and be by his side until we make it out of this black hole that we’ve been cast into.
“Are you still here?” Spike grumbles from the hospital bed as he cracks open his eyes. They’re a dull grey color, devoid of the blue sparkle I only now realize I’ve taken for granted over the last few years. The flat tone of his voice makes my stomach feel heavy, and I don’t know what to say or even if I should say anything. Of course I’m still here. I love him. Isn’t it that simple?
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “You’re awake,” I say softly, offering him a smile and avoiding his comment.
“Well, yes. Unless I’m talking in my sleep,” he retorts with an unnecessary edge.
His reply stings. In fact, it hurts like most of his words have since the accident. That one second that changed our lives. I remember it all as if it were playing in slow motion in my head. I remember the sound the car made when it connected with his body and tore him from the sidewalk. The car that came out of nowhere and disappeared just as fast with Spike’s body imprinted in the hood. Revenge and evil hit us all in the center of our hearts with the crash. I can still feel the way his hand was wrenched out of mine as he was thrown in to the air, and I’ll never forget the way I felt when I thought he was dead. I might as well have died too. When the car hit him that night, it took away the Spike I know and love. It took away every piece of him that I once knew like the back of my hand. The man that was my protector and best friend, my everything, is gone and I don’t know how to get him back. I’m trying with every last bit of strength and determination that I have left to be strong for him. I really am. But this, the person he is at this moment and his constant rejection, hits me harder than I ever could have imagined.
“There’s no need to be like that, Spike.” The words stick to my throat but I force them out with a harsh tone.
He sighs heavily and turns his head away from me, staring blankly at the window. “Go home, Lottie.”
I stand from the chair abruptly and stride over to him. I’m angry. At the world. At him. At myself for starting to lose the strength and faith I had for his recovery six weeks ago when it all happened. “You’re giving up,” I say, poking him in the chest.
He snaps his head around to face me and pins me with a piercing glare that makes me flinch, his nostrils flare a little and he opens and closes his fists, taking deep breaths in order to battle the new anger that has overshadowed his life. I can tell he’s trying hard to control his temper, something he’s never had a problem with until now. “What do you want from me, Lottie?” He grates the words out through gritted teeth and runs his hand over his dark hair that has grown out of the short, tight cut that he normally wears.
“I want you to fight, Spike. Fight this fucking mess. Fight for us.” My voice is raised but it wavers as I realize the weight behind my words. It’s the weight of my heart right now. I’m holding on to us so tightly, but I can feel him slipping away from me and I don’t know how to pull him back. I just know that I have to try.
“How, Lottie?” He flings his arms up either side of his body, then he indicates to his paralyzed legs. “Tell me how I’m supposed to fight if I can’t even stand to full height, huh? How am I supposed to storm out of an argument if I can’t even use my fucking legs?” He’s shouting now, and the frustration in his voice is evident. “I’ve fought for my life in here, Lottie. And you know the worst part? I don’t even want to live anymore. I’m done. There’s no fight left in me.”
His voice cracks and the look he gives me is that of a defeated man. I feel my heart break into little tiny pieces for him, “Spike,” I beg. Clinging to the very last hope.
I’ll live for him. I’ll live for both of us.
“I can’t do this.” He shakes his head softly, refusing to meet my eyes and drops his chin to his chest.
“You can’t do what?” I ask, my voice starting to shake as a wave of realization rolls through me. I don’t want this to be real. This can’t be happening. I want to turn back time.
He sighs and his eyes soften as he glances up, but his voice stays hard and determined. “You want me to spell it out for you? Are you trying to make it harder for me, Lottie?”
“I thought our love was strong.” I whisper, feeling the despair building in my throat, threatening to choke me.
He looks away abruptly, swallowing hard. “Well, you thought wrong.”
“Spike,” I sob, overwhelmed by the feeling of my heart being torn from my chest.
“Just leave,” he orders in a flat tone.
“But-”
“Go! Just … just get out, will you?” he yells and swipes at the hospital table next to him, sending everything flying across the room including a jug of water which hits the floor with a crash. I jump at his rage, and the water covers the floor as emotion overwhelms me and tears burst from my eyes. Turning on my heel, I run from the room as fast as my shaky legs will take me, and I get a glimpse into the intense despair that he’s feeling. I can’t do this. I can’t live with this gut wrenching turmoil day in and day out. I wanted to be strong for him and give him something to live for. I would never have left his side. I would have supported him every day in everything he did, in every way I could.
But he doesn’t want me.
He doesn’t want me.
I run down the corridor, my surroundings blur into the background and hospital noises echo in my head before I push through the double doors into the parking lot. The bright Las Vegas sunshine is a stark contrast to the harsh depth of sorrow that is threatening to swallow me whole.
Fuck. Fuck it all.
I’m done. I can’t live like this. I can’t live with myself for breaking her heart.
But what am I supposed to do? She’s my world. Was my world. I don’t intend to trap her in some half-life with me for the rest of her days. She so vibrant, so full of life and love. She deserves to have the world and more, but I can’t give her that anymore. I won’t ask her to compromise her future by being with a cripple like me. I gave her so many chances to leave and she
wouldn’t do it, so the only way to make her go was to push her away. My love for her has broken my heart, and probably hers too. But I know hers will mend, in time. She’ll move on. Her life will be uninterrupted by the burden of my disability and she’ll meet someone else who can give here everything that I can’t. That thought pierces my heart and I feel an all-consuming pain tighten its fist around my heart. It’s more excruciating than the pain of being hit by the car that night. I’ll never forget the look in her eyes when I sent her away. Does she really believe I don’t love her? I fight back the tears threatening to fall from my eyes. It’s bad enough that I can’t be a man for my girl without crying like a pussy too.
“Is everything okay, Mr. King?” the nurse asks as she enters and surveys the room. I ignore her, knowing that I can’t trust myself to be pleasant with my words at the moment. I want to yell at her that I’m fucking paralyzed, of course everything isn’t okay. It’s not all sunshine and roses. A smile or some kind words won’t make this situation any better, and it will never be okay. “Let me call for housekeeping to clear up this water and I’ll get you another pitcher.” She speaks quietly without pressing me further and tidies up around me before checking my stats and noting them down on the little clipboard at the bottom of the bed. Housekeeping comes in and clears up quietly, and I just stare blankly out of the window, ignoring them and everything else except for the birds flying carefree outside.
“What’s been going on in here?” my brother asks as he enters, passing the housekeeper in the doorway.
“What do you want?” I bark bitterly. He doesn’t answer immediately, but comes around to sit in the chair next to the bed. He perches on the edge with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped in front of him. He’s made sure he’s directly in my line of sight, so I look away. I know exactly what he’s going to say, and I don’t want to hear it.
“Spike,” he says quietly. I focus on a black scuff on the wall just below the window. “Spike,” he says again, louder and more commanding this time. It’s his big brother tone of voice and he only uses it when absolutely necessary. “Okay,” he sighs heavily with exasperation. “You might not want to look me in the eye or listen to what I have to say, but I’m going to damn well say it anyway. You’re not dead, Spike. Far from it. If you would just open your eyes and your mind for one second, you could see that you have−”
“Open my eyes?” I snap my head around and glare at him. If he wants me to look him in the eye, I will. “Oh, my eyes are wide fucking open, Denham. Do you know what I see?”
“Look, bro. I can only−” He starts to look at me with pity in his eyes, so I cut him off.
“No, you can’t imagine. Whatever you think I’m feeling, you’re wrong. The helplessness, the loss, the feeling that my life is over and somehow I’m still breathing because someone up there thinks it must be funny to watch me suffer through this shit.” My chest heaves as I throw the words at him. I know it’s unfair. I know he doesn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of my rage. But I don’t deserve this either and I’m really fucking bitter about it. “Didn’t expect that now, did you?” I try to push my shoulder forward to shift my upper body away from him but the back brace inhibits my movements. With every awkward movement I make, bitterness and dejection taps further in to my psyche.
“I’m sorry, Spike,” Denham murmurs quietly. “I can’t turn back time, but I can be here for you now. You just let me know what you need me to do and when you need me to do it, and I’m there, okay? You need a second opinion? We’ll get it. You need intensive therapy? I’ll pay for it. Whatever it takes to get you back on your fucking feet. Hell, I’m willing to give you everything I’ve got and get you a set of bionic fucking legs if that’s what it takes to bring my brother back.”
I huff out a laugh, “I can’t have what I want. I want my life back the way it was and that’s never going to happen. So do me a favor and stop trying to fix everything. Money isn’t the solution to the problem this time. You can’t buy my wellbeing, you can’t turn back time and you can’t do anything that’s going to make me walk again.”
Chapter 1
After six weeks in a hospital bed and what felt like ten million tests, it was concluded that I will never walk unaided again. Not unless I defy all medical science and prove that I am a walking miracle. Let’s face it, no matter how hard I wish or how much money is thrown at me, there are just some things that can’t change. I’ve fought off severe waves of depression and at times I still feel like I would be better off dead. It’s hard to see what I have to live for. I still don’t know what drives me to fight each day, in fact, I don’t even know if I’m fighting or merely existing because it would be more painful for those around me if I wasn’t here at all.
With the encouragement of my family, I’m finally able to leave the hospital to try and gain some independence, to learn how to live again from here. Mom really wanted me to go home and live with her so she could take care of me, but I haven’t lived at home since I was twenty years old, and as cool as my mom is, I couldn’t stand the thought of being looked after by her, fussing around me all the time and making me feel even more fucking useless than I already do. So my brother, Denham, suggested that we have the penthouse opposite his converted for me. If I had my way, I wouldn’t rely on any of them. But I don’t have much of a choice and it seemed the less suffocating option. The surfaces have all been lowered, the bathroom adjusted so I can use it independently and I have an electric wheelchair, designed to my specification. Denham is far enough away for me to be independent, but close enough for me to shout should I need him for anything. It’s not perfect. Nothing about this situation is perfect. But what choice do I have?
The heaviest part of my heart is the huge piece that’s weighed down since I no longer have Lottie by my side. I know it’s because of my own doing, but I didn’t do it out of selfishness or spite. If I was selfish I would have kept her with me, by my side, in my arms, and it would have ruined her life too. No, I did it for her and although she can’t see it now, she’ll be thankful of it one day. She’s such a free spirit and I never want to be the reason that she feels her wings have been clipped. I would be nothing but a hindrance. My situation would hold her back from everything that she’s destined to become and everything that I know she can be.
I flick the switch on my wheelchair to turn it on and maneuver over to the window. This is what my day mainly consists of now. Seeing everyone else living their lives. Watching the world go by as if that night didn’t happen. Wishing I could turn back time. Knowing this is the way it has to be.
“Hey.” Denham calls, opening the door.
“Hey.” I glance over as he crosses the room.
“You coming over for dinner? Ari’s made enough food to feed an entire army.”
“Ah, I think I’ll pass. Thanks anyway though.” I give a small smile and turn my attention back to the window.
“You feeling okay?” he asks with a frown.
I shrug, “Yeah, just don’t feel like being sociable, that’s all.”
“Spike, you’ve been home for a week and you haven’t left your room other than to go to physical therapy.”
I huff out a breath and hold up my hand to interrupt where he’s going with this. “D, I’m gonna stop you right there.”
“Oh yeah?” he challenges. “Well, what if I keep talking, huh?” I shoot him a warning glare to stop him from talking, but he shoots a look right back with a harder edge and continues in that authoritative tone that I’m fucking beginning to hate. “We’re all walking on eggshells in case we upset you. Arianna cries every day that you don’t seem to make progress, because she feels responsible, and you know how much I fucking hate to see her cry. You’re not the only one that’s been affected here, Spike, and it’s about time you opened your eyes to that.”
“D …” I warn.
“No,” he snaps. “You hear me out for once. It’s been nearly eight weeks since the accident, you’ve been home for n
early two of those. I know you’ve suffered a huge fucking loss, but you’re not the only one. Did it ever occur to you that not only did we lose Jack, but we lost you too? Only you’re actually alive and you could try to make the best of a bad situation.”
“I can’t let it go like that, D,” I growl out of frustration, banging my fist down on the arm of my chair, and Denham drops his gaze with a small shake of his head. “It’s easy for you to stand there and say that because you can stand up on your two fucking legs just as easy as it is for you to breathe. Do you know what I would give to be able to stand like that, like you’re standing with your thumbs in the belt loops of your jeans?” I ask rhetorically and his eyes start to glisten with the knowledge that he will never know how I feel. He can only guess. I don’t want him to experience this despair. I know he would take this away from me if he could. But he can’t. No one can. “Look,” I say, taking a deep breath, “I’m trying to get through each day as best I can. I know it doesn’t look like I’m trying very hard, man, but I’m giving it everything I’ve got.”
“I know. I’m sorry, bro,” he offers, clamping his hand down firmly on my shoulder. “Well, the offer for dinner is there if you want it.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, feeling like a total asshole. He walks away quietly without pressing me further and leaves me with nothing but silence in the room and my thoughts raging loudly in my head.
An hour and a half later and I’m still in the same place. Staring out the same window. Thinking the same torturous thoughts that seem to consume my every waking breath. Self-pity city.
I know how frustrated Denham is starting to feel with me because I’m beginning to really piss myself off. I jab the button on the wheelchair to turn the damn thing on and move away from the window. It doesn’t respond immediately and I press several buttons and slam my palm in to the handle out of sheer frustration. State of the art wheels are no match for the real thing. My legs would have automatically moved before I had finished deciding where I was going to go.