I wasn’t surprised to not see my father come through the door. Hell, I was shocked to see that Nate took time away from his precious company to stand around while I slept.
Like the doc said, my injuries were not life-threatening. I would have expected him to leave the minute he knew I wasn't on death’s door.
My sister’s eyes were red and swollen from crying. I hated seeing my sister upset. My mother was stoic and solid. If she was upset, she’d never let it show. Neither would Carrie or Nate. No, my sister and I were the ones in our family who wore our hearts on our sleeves.
“I’m happy to see you’re awake,” my mother commented. She leaned over the bed and placed a gentle kiss on my forehead as she used to when I was a kid.
I knew my mother could be reserved. I also knew she loved me.
I might have been twenty-eight years old, but I was still her baby boy. She often accused me of having Peter Pan syndrome and never wanting to grow up.
She might be right.
“How long have I been out, the doctor never told me?” I wondered how long it had been since I saw my life flash before my eyes until I woke up, realizing it was not over yet.
“Not long,” Nate answered. “The accident happened around midnight and the response time was quick.” He looked at his Rolex, “It’s almost seven now.”
“Shit, I’ve been out all day?” Mild sedative my ass.
“No idiot,” Anita sniffled, “it’s seven am. You’ve only been out a few hours.”
“A few hours?”
I was relieved. If I had only been out such a short time, then the doctor must be right. My injuries were not significant and I would back up to snuff in no time.
Nate rechecked his watch. “I’m going to go home and shower then head into work. I’ll stop by tonight if you want?” He looked over at me.
I tried to decipher if he wanted me to confirm I would like his company or deny his request, letting him off the hook of having to entertain me. I knew he would much rather be at home entertaining his wife.
Since I was a selfish bastard, I smirked, “Yeah, stop by; I would appreciate that, Nate.”
He took Carrie’s hand and pulled her out into the hallway. She returned a few seconds later with a slight smile on her face.
Anita leaned over and kissed my cheek and whispered in my ear. “I’m thrilled you’re going to be ok, T. You’re the only one who understands me.”
I took her hand and gave it a light squeeze. “And you’re the only one who understands me,” I answered her.
It was our secret promise long ago. I promised I would always take her side, even if I believed she was wrong. When she was old enough to understand what that promise meant, she made the same one to me.
“Now, when can I get sprung from this prison?” I was feeling restless lying in this bed. I wanted to go home and recuperate on my terms.
“Not so fast,” Carrie interjected. “Let’s call the doctor in and discuss what your next steps should be.”
My sister-in-law Carrie, was the peacemaker of the family and one hell of a lawyer. Nate was a lucky bastard. I hope he realized that and treated Carrie like a princess. I’d always given him a hard time about being uptight and that he needed to show a more PDA.
Mom gestured to Anita that they should get going. I agreed. There was no sense in everyone sitting around waiting for the doctor. I was confident he was going to discharge me. I didn’t feel any residual pain from the accident.
Of course, that was probably because of the meds.
I suspected I would be a tender from bruising and such. It was nothing I couldn’t handle.
Carrie went out into the hallway and returned with the doctor not long after.
She sat by my side and took my hand. “I’d like to stay if that’s ok?” she asked.
If the doctor felt I needed family support, something told me I was not going to be thrilled with his assessment of the situation.
“Mr. Bentley,” he began.
“Theo,” I reminded him.
“Theo, you were fortunate that the injuries you sustained were not as severe as they could have been, given they had to cut you out with the jaws of life.” He flipped his chart and continued.
“The impact was forceful enough to cause the seat belt to break. Your left shoulder took the majority of the hit once the airbags deployed.”
He pulled out some x-rays and hung them on a lighted stand. He circled an area on the screen with a magic pen.
“This is my area of concern. As you can see, there is the extreme tearing of the tissue around the muscle.”
He circled another area on the x-ray.
“I’m also concerned about stretched ligaments and deep muscle damage.”
I was left stunned. The doctor’s words replayed over and over in my head. Extreme tearing. Pulled ligaments. Deep muscle damage.
“The best treatment at this time would be surgery to repair the worst of the damage. I would recommend physical therapy immediately.” The doctor looked at me for confirmation that I understood my prognosis.
He cleared his throat. “Theo, the best-case scenario is after extensive physical therapy you should regain eighty percent mobility in your left shoulder.”
“Worst case scenario, doc.” He looked at Carrie which irritated me. “No point in sugar-coating it now. What happens when you get in there and the damage is not repairable?”
“If we are unable to repair the damage,” he hesitated. “Even with physical therapy, you’re looking at fifty percent mobility.”
If I thought his bedside manner was lacking before, his next statement definitely put him in the bastard category.
“Even if everything goes off without complications, there is a high probability that you might never play the drums professionally. The repetitiveness would re-injure the weakened area and cause permanent damage that could result in paralysis.”
I may never play the drum again. I may never play the drums again. I MAY NEVER PLAY THE DRUMS AGAIN.
The drums were my life. I was the drummer for one of the most famous rock bands to hit the stage in the last two years.
Two years of jumping through hoops for the record label which claimed to have made us.
I knew we would have gotten there on our own in time. The boys did not have the time like I did. They needed the exposure, the money, the backing a record label gave to shoot us up fast. That was exactly what we got.
That and all the bullshit that we had no idea came along with signing to a label.
If I were smart, I would have had Carrie look over the contracts before I let the boys sign. Before I put my signature on it.
Unlike me, the rest of the band was barely getting by on part time-jobs and what little money we made from gigs. They did not have a trust fund to fall back on as I did.
Our two-year contract expired at the end of this tour. We were finally in the position to rebrand ourselves and create the sound we wanted.
And now, there was no band.
Because there was no drummer.
“Theo, are you paying attention?”
That was right, Carrie was still in the room, talking with the doctor. I tuned out somewhere around the time he told me I might never play the drums again.
“Can I have a minute to process all of this,” I snarled.
Why couldn’t they see this was not cut and dry for me? This development was the end of my life as I knew it.
Everything would change after this. I feared it might not be for the best.
“Theo.”
I glared as Carrie’s sympathetic voice grated my last nerve.
“Theo,” she took my chin in her hand and forced me to face her. “Don’t take this and turn it into some bullshit reason to become self-destructive. Self-pity doesn’t suit you.”
That was the spitfire I knew to be my sister-in-law.
“This clinic has the best physical therapists in the world. Why do you think I had you brought here? If, and I mean
if, there is a way for you to play drums professionally, then this is the place that can do it.” She let go of my chin.
She straightened her pencil skirt and faced the doctor.
“Now, let's discuss some treatment options.”
She was right. Self-pity did not look good on me.
“I get what you’re saying, Carrie, but I still need a little time to process all of this, ok?” I reached for her hand and gave it a gentle tug.
She conceded, “Ok. We’ll give you a little time. You must be tired. Get some rest. We will be back later and we’ll discuss treatment options.”
She placed a gentle kiss on my cheek and left me to wallow.
It didn’t take long before I got restless lying in the room alone. I raised the bed until I was in a sitting position. I felt a twinge in my shoulder, the shoulder that took the brunt of the impact when the seat belt broke.
That broken seat belt may have ended my career, but it saved my life.
I dragged the IV pole to the window.
On the sidewalk were droves of fans holding signs wishing me to get well soon.
They had no idea whether I could see them or not, but they were here holding vigil, having faith that I would be ok.
True loyal fans.
Would they be as loyal and faithful when they found out I may never play the drums again?
I decided to take a walk. I knew there was a security guard outside my door. Most likely to keep away the staff that shouldn't be in this wing and were hoping to get a glimpse of a rock star.
I heard low murmured voices as I approached the door.
Then I heard a voice that perked my ears and I was smiling before I even got the door open.
“Brin, is that you?”
I opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Her back was to the door, but I would recognize that voice even after two years.
Was she going to leave without speaking to me?
Also by this Author:
Available on Amazon and KU:
https://www.amazon.com/Brandy-Munroe/e/B07HHNJ528
The Heir Series:
The Heirs: Aleksander (Book one)
(Previously published as Playboy Heir)
The Heirs: Richard (Book two)
(Previously published as Man Whore Heir)
The Heirs: Aaron (Book three)
(Previously published as Bastard Heir)
The Heirs: Jackson (Book four)
(Previously published as Womanizer Heir)
The Heirs: Theo (Book five)
(Previously published as Rock God Heir)
Rock Gods Series:
Rock Gods: Maddox (Book 1)
Rock Gods: Baden (Book 2)
Coming Soon:
Rock Gods: Bash (Book 3)
Rock Gods: Adam (Book 4)
The Stelle Legacy:
Cold as Steel: Braden (Book 1)
Smooth as Steel: Liam (Book 2)
Hard as Steel: Gabe (Book 3)
True as Steel: Devon (Book 4)
A special thank you to everyone who assisted me in this journey.
My publisher; Pure Passion Ink, editor, cover artist, proofreaders, Beta’s and Arcs readers.
It takes a village and these are mine.
About the Author
After many years of traveling and experiencing life as a military wife, Canadian born author Brandy Munroe enjoys the quiet life that comes with living in a small town.
Some of her heroines' mannerisms, personality traits and backgrounds have come from some of Brandy’s personal experiences.
Her goal is to create characters that pull at your heartstrings and make you cheer for the happily ever after.
Rock Gods: Baden Page 28