“Nah, I’m good. Thanks,” he said.
The awkward tension lingering on the stale hospital air was nearly suffocating. “I guess the apartment building’s been quiet without me, huh?” he said.
“I haven’t been there,” she said. She pulled the sweatshirt lower, trying to block the blood stains. Maybe she should have gone home and changed. The sight of his own blood on her clothing probably wasn’t reassuring.
“You really didn’t need to stick around,” he mumbled.
“Of course I did. You saved—”
“You know, I’m kinda tired,” he interrupted.
Montana swallowed hard. Obviously, he didn’t want to talk about the fact that he’d taken a bullet for her, yet it was all she wanted to talk about right now.
“Right. Okay. Well, I wanted to thank you...” The rest of her sentence was choked by the new lump forming in her throat. Nothing she could say would be enough. He was lying here, his future uncertain because he’d saved her.
“Just doing my job,” he said, a hardness appearing in his voice.
Was he regretting that? Or regretting the impact it now had on him?
She wouldn’t blame him for either. She moved closer and touched his hand. “I’m so sorry, Eddie.”
He stiffened. “Yeah. Listen, I’m supposed to be resting, so...”
He wanted her to leave. She desperately wanted to stay.
She stared at him but couldn’t find a single trace of the Eddie she knew, the Eddie she recognized...
Come on, Eddie. Come back to life!
It was unfair to expect. After her injury, she was angry, sad, confused. Depression had hit her hard for months as she struggled with her memory loss, the aggravation of not feeling like herself, being unable to function like before. Simple things felt hard. Nothing was as it was before. Helpless and hopeless. Eddie would go through the same myriad of emotions she had. She just hoped his lively spirit would help pull him out of the despair faster.
If that spirit returned.
“Right, yeah, okay. Well, um...” What the hell could she say? Get better? Get some rest? “Can I visit again?” She’d pull up a chair and sleep in it if they’d let her. She wouldn’t leave his side. Be there to help in any way she could.
He looked away. “I don’t need your pity, Montana, and you don’t need to feel any obligation toward me.”
That’s what he thought? Sure, she was grateful for him—so insanely grateful. But even before this happened, they’d shared a connection, one she still felt.
Obviously, he had other emotions overshadowing any he had for her right now, and that was completely understandable, but she didn’t want him to misread her present intentions. “I just want to be here for you...as a friend,” she said.
“We’re not friends. We were just neighbors,” he said.
The blow of dismissive words hit her hard, even though it was his current, justifiable anger speaking. But she wouldn’t let him try to push her away. She would be here for him whether he wanted it or not. And not because she felt guilty or responsible—at least, not just because of those things. “I’m here, Eddie. If you need anything. Anything at all. Anytime.” She touched his hand gently on the bed, and the same electricity coursed through her at the touch.
He didn’t respond. He slowly moved his hand out from beneath hers, and as his eyes closed, Montana could feel his heart closing to her as well.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE SWELLING WAS down enough to get the MRI.
Eddie forced his heart rate steady. Close, confined spaces were shitty at the best of times. This tight machine about to determine the extent of his injuries had him freaking out.
He’d been an asshole to Montana three days ago, but he hadn’t been able to lie there any longer seeing the look of sympathy on her face. She pitied him, felt guilty for what happened.
How could she look at him any other way now? The glimmer of attraction he’d caught on her face the night of the shooting, in the bar, when he’d told her he was leaving, wouldn’t be happening again. It felt like a million years ago. Like he’d imagined it.
Whatever attraction she might have started to feel was gone now. An extreme athlete who lived for adventure could never be attracted to a guy who might never walk again.
He’d told Erika not to allow her to visit again. With her around, he couldn’t deal with what lay ahead, reminding him about the feelings he had for her. Feelings that he’d had before he’d been shot and feelings that weren’t quickly fading. He couldn’t deal with the reality that he’d barely had a chance with her before, and now that chance was gone.
He shut his eyes, and tears of anger burned behind his closed lids. He didn’t need this machine to tell him his fate. He could feel it. Or rather, he could feel his body shutting down. The morphine wasn’t working as well anymore, and pain in his side and core made it difficult to breathe, but his mobility in the lower half of his body was nonexistent on his left side. The right side could move, but barely, and it took more effort than he had in him.
He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing as he lay in the machine, claustrophobia making his heart pound in his ears. Noise-canceling headphones couldn’t drown out the terrifying sound of his future being determined.
When Erika entered his room an hour later, he could read it on her face.
“I’m not going to walk again, am I?”
“Do you want to call your family before we discuss the results?” she asked.
“No, I don’t.” It would be him dealing with the truth. Him having to learn to accept his limitations, his dreams and plans for his future evaporating. His family would only make it worse. “Tell me the truth, Erika.”
“The bullet fractured the S4 and S5 vertebrae, as we thought. Mobility on the left side is almost nonexistent, but you still have feeling in that side and you have feeling and slight mobility in the right...”
He nodded. Partial mobility and feeling. He dared to get his hopes up a little.
“Your diagnosis is considered incomplete paralysis and monoplegia, which can be temporary...”
Not the most horrible prognosis so far.
“But full recovery is not expected. Regaining full mobility is possible, and we’ve seen patients regain their full functioning up to eighteen months after an injury, so we are not ruling that possibility out for you—”
“But...” He heard it coming.
Erika shoved her hands into the pockets of her lab coat. “But, at this time, the chance of you walking completely on your own again is less than ten percent.”
He nodded, his heart hardening. He sat there, hating his body, hating the sight of his unmoving, useless leg, and hating that one split second that had changed his life forever.
“We can start rehab right away and monitor the progress,” Erika said. “There are trials and drugs we can start right away as well. We will keep you in for another few weeks. Help you adjust.” She paused. “We will do everything we can, but there are no guarantees. I’m sorry, Eddie.”
He didn’t say anything. She wasn’t expecting him to.
Erika and her team would do everything they could for him physically, but it would be up to him to find the strength to heal mentally and emotionally, and right now he wasn’t sure he was strong enough.
* * *
THE MOOD AT their table at The Drunk Tank was somber as Erika gave them the bad news that evening.
“But the prognosis could be wrong. I mean, there’s always the possibility that he will make a full recovery, right?” Even as she said the words, Montana knew the likelihood of it was slim. She’d worked so hard for ten years, and she still hadn’t achieved that. Severe injuries rarely worked that way.
Erika shook her head. “I’d love to be wrong in this case, but I don’t think so. The bullet did a lot of damage.”
Cassie looked devastated. “I just can’t believe this is happening to Eddie. He’s such a wonderful guy, and he worked so hard to even make it on the police force.”
“He’d just gotten his promotion,” Montana said. “He was moving to Anchorage.” She sipped her martini, staring at the table. Eddie’s refusal to allow her to visit him in the hospital hurt, but she understood. He needed time and space to recover, to grieve and to process what he was going through. She wanted to be there for him, but for now she respected his wishes and got her updates from Erika.
Though, she’d been hoping for a much better update from her friend that evening. Meeting for drinks meant they’d either be celebrating or drowning their disappointment. It sucked that it was the latter.
“He still might be able to,” Cassie said, but even she didn’t sound convinced. “He has some mobility, and there’s therapy...”
Erika nodded. “It’s not completely hopeless. It will really depend on Eddie. If he can process this quickly and start the healing process sooner rather than later, he has a better shot. His mental attitude will ultimately decide his fate,” she said.
Montana sighed. She knew mental fortitude played a huge role in recovery. She’d eventually gathered her strength and determination and used it as fuel to keep getting better, stronger, but she’d had to face the fact that a full recovery was impossible, and Eddie would as well. If he could be strong enough to accept that and want to push for the best possible outcome and not perfection, he would be okay.
“Eddie has a great attitude. He’s so sweet and optimistic. I’m sure he will be okay,” Cassie said.
Erika and Montana exchanged looks. The guy Montana had seen in the hospital bed three days ago hadn’t been the same Eddie they all knew and loved. Based on Erika’s expression, she suspected his mood was continuing to spiral downward instead of improving.
“When can he go home?” Montana asked. The apartment building felt so quiet, so lonely without him there. She missed the everyday sounds of him next door. He’d been planning to move, and she’d suspected she would miss him, but she hadn’t realized how much until that week when he wasn’t there. Though, knowing it was because he was in the hospital made it so much harder.
“Not for a few weeks. We want to start his rehab, and we’ve recommended a therapist,” Erika said. “We want to make sure he’s ready.”
“I saw his mother and sister in the building talking to a contractor earlier today,” she said. She hadn’t spoken to them as they’d seemed preoccupied and barely noticed her. They’d met briefly in the hospital and knew she was the woman Eddie had saved, but she didn’t think they knew that they’d been neighbors or that lately she’d been developing feelings for him. Talking to them now about all of that would be awkward.
Erika nodded. “Yeah, they want to have the apartment modified for easier mobility before Eddie goes home. They think it will be easier on him if everything is done. He won’t have to be there to watch the renovations.”
He may not have to watch them, but they would be a part of his life moving forward, and Montana suspected Eddie’s homecoming wouldn’t be a positive experience for him.
“How are you doing?” Erika asked her, concern on her face.
“Me? I’m fine.” Erika was worried about her psychological well-being after a tragic incident, but Montana wasn’t having recurring nightmares or anxiety about the shooter. She only replayed Eddie’s bravery in her mind, and her focus was all on how she could help him.
“You’re not freaked out or anything?” Cassie asked, tucking her leg under her on the seat.
“No. Wild River is so much safer than Denver.” They had to remember she came from a big city where the likelihood of a random attack was higher and frightened her more than this incident had. “And I don’t have any enemies here. I don’t think the shooter was aiming for me.”
“Lance?” Cassie asked with a frown. “A crazed fan or competitor maybe?”
Montana shrugged. “Who knows? I’m just happy he’s away now until Thanksgiving. He’s safer at the training camp.” She didn’t mention that things between them were most definitely over. In light of everything that had happened in recent days, it was hardly significant. As she’d suspected, she hadn’t heard from him since he’d left her that day in the hospital, so obviously they were on the same page about where they stood. “I just hope they find the shooter, for Eddie’s sake.”
Cassie raised her martini glass. “To Eddie and his speedy recovery,” she said.
Montana and Erika clinked theirs together with hers. “To Eddie.” The man who’d saved her life.
CHAPTER NINE
3 weeks later...
HIS TRUCK HAD sold for six thousand dollars and the wheelchair-accessible van sitting in front of the hospital entrance felt like it cost Eddie his soul. It was white and ugly and the last thing on earth he wanted to drive for the rest of his life.
His rehab and recovery had gone as well as could be expected, with him regaining mobility in his right leg almost completely. So much in fact that it gave him far too much false hope for his left leg. If one could move, why the hell couldn’t the other?
Erika and his therapists kept reminding him that his incomplete diagnosis happened a lot more than people realized. He should consider himself lucky, but it was hard to see the silver lining with this eyesore, piece-of-shit van blocking his view of the clouds.
“Ready to go?”
In that thing? Never. He nodded as his driving instructor pushed the accessibility button on the side of the door. The door slid open, and a ramp lowered.
This guy would teach him how to operate the van, and he’d be able to do everything himself. He wouldn’t need someone to drive him around town, and his manual wheelchair could be alternated with crutches. He wasn’t completely dependent on the chair.
He was lucky. It could be so much worse.
Apparently, if he kept repeating those words to himself, they were eventually supposed to work.
He’d thought the van would be the biggest thing he’d have to adjust to: he’d been wrong. Entering his apartment an hour later, he took in all the necessary upgrades his mother and sister had done to the place.
Guard railings along the walls at waist height. A ramp for easier access to his raised living room. Lowered countertops in the kitchen and railings in the bathroom to assist getting in and out.
Little things. Minor adjustments. That felt so monumental. The simplest actions he’d once taken for granted were now something he had to process. It was difficult to see these upgrades when he still didn’t identify as someone who needed them.
But it was time to face the fact that these modifications were a necessary part of what was about to become his modified future.
* * *
TANK, CASSIE AND MONTANA held up a big Welcome Home sign in the parking lot of the school as they saw the buses pull into the lot. Montana couldn’t wait to see Kaia. A month away was far too long, especially since the last three weeks had felt like an eternity. Of course she was also dreading the conversation they’d have to have about the shooting and telling her daughter about Eddie. But first, they’d take her to lunch and listen to all of her fun stories about camp life—and maybe ream her out a little for only sending the one required letter that looked like it had been written before she left for camp, not to mention all the three-word replies to text messages when they had been allowed access to their phones.
“Which bus is she on?” Montana asked Tank.
“Number four. There it is.”
“I’m rethinking the sign,” Cassie said, though it was her idea. “I thought it was fun, but she might be embarrassed.”
“Too late now, and besides, she doesn’t embarrass easily,” Tank said. “She’ll love it.”
Kaia hadn’t embarrassed easily, but now that she was getting older and her interest in boys had c
learly started, she might not find the sign as endearing as they’d intended.
They watched the kids get off the bus one by one.
Cassie sniffed. “This was always the saddest part for me. The lifelong friendships made at camp are so important. I always hated the end of summer.”
“Yeah. These kids aren’t exactly tearful,” Montana said as she scanned the faces. In fact, they all looked grumpy. Not sad. Probably tired.
“There she is,” Tank said, as Kaia got off the bus and grabbed her oversized duffel bag from the pile on the ground. “Kaia!” he called out.
Kaia glanced their way, and her expression did not scream Love the sign, so they all instantly dropped it. She pulled her hoodie up as she trudged toward them, dragging her feet on the gravel.
“Hey, you!” Tank said, taking her bag from her and pulling her in for a hug.
“Hi, Dad,” she mumbled.
“Hey, share her!” Montana said with forced enthusiasm, hiding the worry from her voice. Maybe her daughter was really tired or maybe she’d had a fight with a friend, but something was definitely wrong. Her eyes looked heavy, and she looked thinner in the oversize camp sweatshirt. She moved in closer and hugged her next. “Hungry? We were going to go to Snack Shack for lunch.” Kaia’s favorite.
Kaia shrugged. “I’m really not that hungry. I’d rather just go home.”
Cassie shot Montana and Tank a wide-eyed look over Kaia’s head as she crushed her in for a hug. “Milkshakes, at least? I’ve been craving one since you left,” she said.
Kaia nodded. “Okay. Fine,” she said, leaving them all behind as she headed toward Tank’s truck.
“Do you want to say bye to...?” Cassie’s voice trailed as Kaia just kept walking. “Okay. Definitely a different camp experience than I had,” she mumbled under her breath.
Two hours later, Kaia’s vocabulary had consisted of several fines, a dozen okays and a lot of uncharacteristic whining. She was tired, she wanted to go home, she wasn’t interested in telling them about camp. Tank and Cassie had looked as worried as Montana was about it. Neither of them had ever seen her act this way before. By the time Tank dropped Montana at her apartment building, everyone appeared emotionally exhausted from their attempts to talk to the little girl and keep the mood light, despite her unusually trying attitude.
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