by Layla Dorine
His father shook his head. “Like I said, I loved her, and I kept on letting her convince me that it was my fault. She’d talk about what those other guys could offer her that I couldn’t, and well, let’s just say that you came by your competitive streak honestly. I found myself trying to outdo the other guys instead of just letting them have her.”
“Then what happened? Why finally give her the house and start over?”
“It was actually a friend of mine who made me see the light. This guy had worked with me for the last ten years, a come-in-early, stay-late kinda guy, just like me. He comes to me one day, grinning, because he was six months away from his twenty-year anniversary with the firm and the partners were offering him a huge incentive package to stay. So I asked how many speed records he broke signing his name, and he said none, he was retiring.”
“Why?” Terry asked, confused. “Sounds like he was finally going to get everything he’d been working hard for?”
“He was, but it turns out that all those years he’d been working, his wife had been keeping a little journal in the drawer of the stand on her side of the bed. She pulled it out one day and showed him what was in it.”
“What was it? More things she wanted? A bigger house?” Terry asked.
“Far, far from it; it was pages of things for them to do together. Movies to see, restaurants to try, places to go. All things he’d shown interest in but never had time for over the course of their marriage. She’d taken the time to write them down. He told me she’d even arranged for them to look at a classic car in need of restoration, because owning one had always been a dream of his. Standing there listening to him talk about retiring with such enthusiasm made me see how little I had to look forward to. You can bet your mother never kept a list of things for us to do together once I retired. Hell, she just about hit the roof when I mentioned retirement, always going on and on about what we wouldn’t be able to afford if I wasn’t working. It was more like what she wouldn’t be able to afford, because in all those years I only went on one vacation.”
“Why did we have to go to Paris, anyway? I would’ve preferred Disney,” Terry admitted.
“I’d have preferred Disney too, but some of your mother’s friends had been talking up how amazing their trips to Paris had been, and all the shopping and food, so of course she just had to go. I look back and I see how much time I wasted trying to placate her.”
Terry sighed. “I wonder if Nicky regrets all the things he did to make me happy? And all the things he gave up doing too.”
“Maybe one day he’ll be ready to let you apologize for it. Until then, the best thing you can do for him is give him the space and the time he needs.”
“It’s not like he’s left me much choice.”
“Good. It’s what you deserve for the way you treated him. Now, come on. If you want to eat, you’d better help me cook dinner.”
Terry laughed. “You don’t think Granny let me leave without feeding me, do you?”
Now it was Terry’s father’s turn to laugh. “No, I don’t suppose she would.”
Chapter Fourteen
Never had Nicky felt as uncertain of his decision as when an attendant woke him on his first morning at rehab to help him get ready for his first round of physical therapy.
“What about breakfast?” Nicky protested. “That, or at least some coffee,” he grumbled as she helped him into his chair and wheeled him to the bathroom.
“Can you get yourself to the bench or do you need help?” she asked cheerfully. “Breakfast is after morning PT, and I promise we have plenty of coffee.”
“Do I look like I can get myself to the bench?” he grumbled.
She eyed him up and down. “Well, you’ve got both your arms and legs, so you’ve got a better chance of making it there without help than some people.”
He had to admit, grudgingly, she had a point. “I need help, or at least show me how to get there on my own.”
Her smile widened at that. “Okay,” she said. “Use your feet to put the brakes on in the front. Now, use your good arm and your good leg to push up from the chair, then swing your hips and land on the bench and move your bad leg where you want it to go.”
Nicky tried it, shaking with the effort of using muscles he’d neglected. He grunted, sweat popping out on his brow, as he tried. The nurse remained beside him until he’d gotten himself seated.
“Thank you,” Nicky gasped.
“Here are the hand controls for the toilet and shower. You can just scooch along the bench to reach the toilet and then scooch back to the shower.” She checked the dresser in the bathroom to be certain he’d unpacked his clothes there. “Once you’re ready, push the call button and I’ll come back to get you.”
“Thank you,” Nicky said again, and for the first time since his accident, he faced tackling his morning routine alone. It took time, energy, and cursing before he’d gotten himself showered, dressed, and back in his chair with his hair somewhat combed and his teeth brushed.
His first PT session left him breathless, sweaty, and even more tired and hungry by the time he was halfway through. “Come on, Nicholas,” his physical therapist encouraged. “Push the plate a couple more times. You’ve got fifteen minutes left.”
Nicky gritted his teeth and pushed his foot against the metal plate, trying to move it a few inches. There was no weight on the machine, the plate was heavy enough, and his leg ached each time he forced himself to move it. He mumbled curses beneath his breath and grumbled, but he moved it six more times before the session ended.
“You did great for your first day,” his nurse told him as she handed Nicky a towel to wipe his face. “You’ll love the midmorning PT session; that one’s in the pool.”
Nicky groaned. “I think I’d just like the midmorning nap, thanks.” Still, he helped get himself maneuvered back into the chair and sat up straight instead of giving in to the urge to slump in exhaustion.
She just laughed and gave him a knowing wink. “It’ll get easier,” she promised. “Come on, I’ll take you to the breakfast hall.”
“Hall?” Nicky asked, startled. “You don’t bring it to my room like in the hospital?”
“Why would we do that when we have a perfectly good cafeteria?” She grinned. “We encourage our patients to be social. Sometimes the best motivation can come from others who have experienced the same things that you have.”
Nicky nodded. He could understand that, even appreciate it, but that didn’t ease his nervousness. The only people to see him since his accident had been his sponsor and his closest friends. The cafeteria reminded him of high school, only there were parallel bars everywhere and people in wheelchairs. Nicky paled at the sheer number of prosthetics and missing limbs.
“Go on,” the nurse instructed as Nicky’s stared around the room.
“I’m, umm, really not that hungry.” Nicky gulped as he used his good leg to try and propel himself backward. Too bad the nurse was right there to keep him from going far.
“You really should eat,” she advised.
“I really, really don’t feel like it right now. I’ll get a nap until the next PT session. Thanks,” he said, trying again to push the chair. She moved out of his way, but stayed close enough to help him if he needed it. Slowly, with painstaking control, he maneuvered himself back to his room. It was both easier and more difficult than he expected. With his right side he could at least go straight and manage right hand turns, making him eternally grateful that there wasn’t a left on the way to his room. His nurse, Gina, departed before she could see the tantrum he threw, rolling across the room in a jerky motion, railing at everything, and cussing a blue streak too.
How stupid had he been? How absolutely, pathetically stupid had he behaved since the accident, to not move himself, not even fuckin’ try until today, when he was so embarrassed by his behavior in the face of those who really were far more damaged than him. Gray had tried to tell him that, and Vic had too, and River, and he’d just been too
stubborn and too blinded by his self-pity. It certainly wasn’t a very good feeling to be experiencing. Finally exhausted, he looked at the railings and worked the chair up to the bed. He was able to maneuver himself onto it and lay down for a much-needed nap, if a short one. It seemed like very little time passed before Gina was waking him up again.
“Did you have a nice nap?” she asked kindly.
“Yeah, I really needed that,” he said as he sat up.
“Why don’t you change into your swim trunks, and I can come back for you, or you can follow the signs and arrows down,” she suggested.
“Are there any left turns between here and there?” he asked.
She smiled at the question. “Just one, but if you plant your foot and use it as a pivot, you should be able to turn the chair if you’d like to try.”
He nodded. “I’d like that.”
He was pleased when her smile grew even more; one way or the other he was going to make it to the pool, or as close to it as possible. Off the bed, into the chair, and into the bathroom, he was glad to be slowly getting the hang of that part. He changed into trunks and a T-shirt, slid back into his shoes, and maneuvered the chair. He felt like he’d already completed a workout by the time he made it to the pool, feeling pretty damn proud of himself for only needing help on the one left turn. He hadn’t realized that there would be so many others there, and he shyly kept his head down, avoiding looking at anyone. One of the physical therapists helped them into the pool, and as soon as the odd sensation of being somewhat off balance while floundering about on one leg went away, he started to understand why Gray had wanted to take him into the ocean.
It really didn’t hurt as much, or take as much effort to move in the water as it did on land—another thing that he had to feel ashamed about. In the water he had to practice simple movements and push a ball across a circle with a group of other patients. It wasn’t too difficult, but it wasn’t easy either, and the leg drills were harder. His injured leg throbbed by the time he was done, using the wall for support, picking up the leg, putting it down and having to kick with it. The very worst part was when they had him hold onto a flotation device and kick from one side of the pool to the other and back again. All he’d been asked to do was five laps, and several times they had to remind him to use his weak leg more. By the time he was done, he was hungry and wishing like hell he’d had breakfast. He certainly wasn’t about to skip lunch.
The next few days unfolded about the same, with physical therapy three times a day and group therapy after dinner. Then there was free time in the games room for those who wanted to go. Nicky avoided it at first, nervous about meeting new people, scared that they would see how much of a wuss he’d been for refusing even to try to move his chair. After three days of only interacting with staff, he began to miss his friends back home, though, and longed for someone to talk to.
He rolled in hesitantly, scanning the layout of the room. There were several pool tables, and a couple TVs with game consoles hooked up to them. There were bookcase shelves filled with board games, card games, and all sorts of puzzles, and plenty of tables for the patients to use. There was air hockey and foozball, table tennis set up in the corner, and one table that seemed to just be for dominos.
Glancing around, Nicky was grateful to see that it wasn’t crowded: just a pair of guys playing cards by the window and three guys by the far wall, engaged in a game of darts. Nicky watched, shocked and awed, to see that one of them was clutching a dart between metal fingers, but his shock only grew when the man threw it smoothly and it lodged near the center of the board.
“Cool, huh?”
Jerking his head, Nicky looked up to see a dark-haired man with a crew cut staring down at him through rich chocolate eyes.
“Yeah, it’s pretty awesome that he can do that without his hand.”
“Prosthetics, man, they’re like the shit you see in a Terminator movie—good as the real thing and far more durable,” the man said, his smile a flash of even white teeth.
Nicky’s eyes traveled downward, catching sight of the man’s crutches and the way one leg of his jeans was hemmed up.
“I’m still working on the durable part.”
Nicky’s head snapped up and he could feel his cheeks growing red. “I, umm, didn’t mean to stare,” Nicky managed, biting his lower lip.
“Who cares? We’re all messed up in some way. It’s hard to resist looking at the next guy to see if he’s more messed up than you.” The man held out his hand to Nicky. “I’m Raff.”
His grip was firm and his smile a little contagious. “I’m Nicky.”
“Nice to meet you, Nicky. So what brings you to this place? The mundane car wreck, or something more spectacular?”
“Depends on what you call a dirt bike race.”
Grinning, Raff gestured toward a nearby table and Nicky followed. “I’d call that pretty spectacular.”
“How about you?”
Raff scowled, his jaw twitching a bit as he bit out, “Occupational hazard.”
Not wanting to push, Nicky quickly changed the subject. “How long have you been here?”
“’Bout a week. Should have come out here sooner, but I was too busy feeling sorry for myself. My folks finally got some of my friends and co-workers together and staged an intervention. Guess they were sick of me moping around, refusing to do shit for myself.”
“My friends got sick of me too,” Nicky admitted. “And worse, I got sick of myself.”
Raff laughed. “That was probably worse. You can’t exactly run away from yourself.”
“True,” Nicky conceded. “I’d have tried, though, if I coulda gotten my ass outta this chair and into my truck.”
“See, that’s where one of those minis would have come in handy. You could have scooted right outta the chair and into the driver’s seat.”
“Yeah, and been able to drive too.”
“Yup.” Raff chuckled. “Real problem would have been what to do when you got where you were going and didn’t have your chair.”
Laughing, Nicky had to ponder that for a moment. How messed up would that have been, ending up in the middle of nowhere and realizing he couldn’t get out of the car? “That would have sucked.”
“Yup. Face it, Nicky, we’re better off here. Three squares a day and plenty of nurses to kick our asses.”
Nicky groaned. “It gets better, right?”
“God, I hope so.”
***
River’s days at the shop were pretty boring now. Dean had hired two guys to replace Nicky and Terry, but while they were competent, neither was particularly fast. They were getting work done, but not at the speed they were used to, which led to more than one pissed-off customer coming to the back to chew them out. Jason up and quit the following week, no two-week notice; his new employer had needed him to start right away. He’d never been overly fond of Chris, so the only times they spoke was when one asked the other to pass something. All in all, it was a pretty somber atmosphere and most days River found himself counting down the hours until he could go home again. He’d gotten to the point where he was looking forward to breaking the seemingly endless cycle of an equally mundane weekend by taking up bouldering with Vic.
He had to admit that just a few short months before he never would have considered climbing rocks for fun, but the challenge was as rewarding as the eventual view. River found himself loving the hours he spent sitting atop a boulder, staring off into the distance. Vic was a great one for sharing silence with, as he didn’t speak unless he truly had something to say. Right now he was reading, which was good, because it was leaving River with his thoughts and the letter he’d received from Nicky.
Smoothing out Nicky’s latest letter, River reread it on his perch atop the boulder, before pulling pen and paper out of his backpack and writing his response. He could almost picture his friend, and he was glad that Nicky was doing well.
Hey River,
Damn do I miss you, and the shop. I think I’
d be bored to death if I wasn’t so busy with all the physical therapy they make us do. Being stuck in a building most of the day sucks. I miss the ocean. The pool isn’t the same, and it’s not like I can actually surf in it. Hell, I can’t even swim laps; I just sort of kick like a damaged seal from one end to the other. I guess that’s better than nothing though. How have things been at the shop? Is Dean still bribing people with overtime and then trying to coerce them into helping fix that old Impala of his? I kinda miss working on that old girl. I still don’t know if I’ll ever be able to use my hand well enough to actually build something again, but yesterday I did manage to lift a banana, at least for a moment; then I dropped it and nearly fell out of my chair reaching to pick it up. All the therapists and nurses are really cool though, even the night nurse, Nurse Troy. She’s this fifty-something-year-old woman who doesn’t take shit and can’t stand whining. She doesn’t mind it if we wheel ourselves around the common room if we can’t sleep at night, as long as we don’t wake the people trying to rest. By we, I mean me and Raff and a few other insomniacs too stir crazy or fucked in the head to really stay asleep long.
I still dream of the accident. Sometimes it’s not so bad and I walk away. Other times I wake up in the hospital and my arm is missing or my leg is gone; and those are nights when I don’t go back to sleep again. I feel like such an asshole because there are people here who have lost limbs and it seems like they handled their accidents way better than I did mine. I’m trying to fix all that now; it’s just gonna take time. At least I’ve been getting myself around the facility under my own steam lately, though there are many times when I wish I could call a cab to get me from one end of this place to the other. Or at least ride a scooter. Fuckin’ hell, man. To think I’d be happy settling for one of those granny mobiles, if only to steal at least some of the sensations of being able to ride again.