Chapter Twenty-Two

Quinn

The rehab center was unusually quiet when I arrived. Normally, a flood of activity buzzed around me. Since getting out of the hospital, I’d been going to physical therapy four times a week. I’d lost the lower half of my left leg in the car accident. But that was nothing in comparison to the loss of my Nanna. And I’d killed her. I hadn’t really grieved her loss or the loss of my limb.

The doctor had said something about severe tissue and nerve damage but it just sounded like white noise in my ears. I had a prosthesis fitted for my leg, the best that money could buy, used by Paralympic athletes. Getting the computer to sync with my normal activities required regular physical therapy to gain my strength and use of that leg back.

I had also suffered major brain damage due to my head hitting the back of the seat. Luckily, my swelling had gone down quickly and I was left with minimum residual effects like short-term memory loss and the ability to recall certain words. The doctors had assured me that with weekly physical therapy I would get better. I knew that I had a long hard road to recovery, but I was determined to heal.

Basically, I was a fucking wreck. Not a man worthy of a woman like Ashton but a pathetic invalid. A shell of who I once was when I was whole.

The guilt I couldn’t eradicate was the guilt of my grandmother’s death. I was behind the wheel that day. It was my fault that she died. Because I’d chosen to consider putting her in a facility. Had I not done that, she’d never have been in the car with me. But everyone else told me a different story. One that I didn’t remember. I had no memory of the accident. The last thing I remembered was the night before having dinner with Nanna and the night nurse. Watching TV and eating a pizza. The accident had wiped my memory clean of that horrible day.

When the police detective interviewed me during my last days in the hospital, he’d said witnesses verified the light had turned green and I’d turned off the main highway and onto Henderson Beach Road. A landscaping truck ran a red light and plowed into the side of my car. The impact was on the driver’s side. I was lucky to be alive according to the paramedics.

My grandmother, due to her already frail health, sustained a neck injury that she never recovered from. Basically her neck was snapped in half from the impact. I guess I should’ve been consoled by the news that the accident wasn’t my fault. But I still carried heavy emotion and grief. I should have done something. Anything.

The accident brought Ashton and me closer than ever. She had kept her promise and didn’t leave my side until I was out of the hospital. Actually, she was still in Destin. Griffin had taken it upon himself to pack her things and bring them to the beach. Kind of like giving his blessing. She’d been living with me full-time while I recuperated. Both Henri and Albertson had given us flexibility to work from home while I worked on my recovery.

“Quinn! You’re on time today,” Mark called out from the exercise floor. Mark was one of my therapists and had been instrumental in helping me regain some of the strength in my left leg.

“I’m always on time.” I sat down on the mat and began my warm-up exercises. “You’re the one always running behind,” I teased him back.

“Do an extra set of leg lifts for me this morning,” Mark said.

I laughed, pushing myself. Being an athlete allowed me to drive harder than anyone else in the therapy practice. I’d never lacked determination. “You think an extra set of leg lifts is going to scare me?”

This is how most of my mornings started out. Physical therapy with Mark. Bantering back and forth was his way to push me harder and harder. I dripped with sweat by the time I finished my warm-up and my main exercises hadn’t even started yet.

Mark threw me a white terry towel and then moved me over to the exercise ball where we worked on my core strength movements. “You keep this up, buddy, and you’ll meet your goal by end of the month.”

That statement alone caused me to push myself harder. Mark was the only person who knew about my ultimate goal. I wanted to propose to Ashton. I wanted to do it the right way. Down on one knee with ring in hand. In order to achieve this I needed to work on my balance. Having a prosthetic helped, but I was still learning how to stand, walk, and do all the other things that most normally take for granted every day.

Ashton had given up her life to come to Destin and be with me. Support me through the good and the bad days. The days when I didn’t want to go on. Since the day after it happened, Ashton hadn’t left me. She was my cheerleader, my nurse, my friend, and my lover. The fact that I’d become deformed didn’t even seem to faze her. I had no idea how I could repay her for everything that she’d done for me. It seemed to put all the silly things we argued about that happened over ten years ago to rest.

Today, marked the four month anniversary since the accident and I was ready to propose. So close to my goal. After this physical therapy session I intended to go to the jewelry store and pick up the ring. My grandmother’s will had left everything to me as her sole heir. Including a two-carat diamond ring that had been in our family for over eighty years. A beautiful antique ring that needed a little cleaning and a couple of stones reset. It was unique. Just like the girl and would look perfect on her finger. The one that announced to one and all that she belonged to me

We’d already had talks about marriage. Ashton told me that she wasn’t in any hurry. She just wanted to focus on getting me well and back on my feet. Said she wouldn’t be happy until Grady could tease my scrawny ass from the middle of a surfboard. But I didn’t want to wait.

The accident had changed me. Life is short is a crazy cliché, but I understood it first hand and that knowledge settled in, bone deep. I wanted to start a new life with Ashton. Have kids. Start a new business. Buy a new home. Do the things that people our age do when they’re building a life. I wasn’t going to let this accident keep me from those dreams. If anything, it had spurred me on. It gave me great purpose.

“One more set, man. Then we can move on to the massage area,” Mark informed me.

That encouraged me through the final, painful push. Massaging my sore muscles at the end of each session was the best part of therapy. My prosthetic had taken some time to get used to and I kept putting a lot of my weight and balance on my other leg. I finished the last set now soaked with sweat. Favoring my good leg I hobbled over to the table and lay down. Phantom pain. It was a bitch.

“Quinn you’re doing so well I think we can go ahead and reduce your days to three a week instead of four.” Mark put a handful of gel on his hands and rubbed into my left thigh. “Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Sound good?”

That was positive news for me. “Okay. Do you think we can work on my kneeling tomorrow? I’m ready.”

Mark dug into my muscles and instantly released the tension and pressure. “You got a date planned?”

“I would like to do this next week,” I answered. We’d talked about it multiple times in the past four months.

“Then let’s get started tomorrow.” Mark put an ice pack on the sore area. “If you think you’re ready, then I’ll help you.”

That’s all I needed to hear.