Desolation
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
He takes a piece of my hair and plays absently with as he continues. “For the first month, I couldn’t get out of that bed. I had operations, but I was bitter. I was so fucking angry and they told me that got into my head. I became depressed, refusing help. The more help I refused, the more time I lost in recovery. My muscles didn’t recover properly, because I refused physical therapy. They weakened, and my bones weren’t healing properly. Then they told me if I didn’t get better, I couldn’t ride again.”
My heart aches, because I know what that would have done to him.
“That would have sucked,” I say softly.
“Yeah,” he grunts. “Riding was my life. You know that. I got even angrier, and spent more time feeling sorry for myself. After a few years, I was able to get up and walk a little, but mostly I relied on that chair. Having to be carted around by the guys, knowing I was always just the back-up guy, the one who drove the cars instead of getting involved? It fucked with my head.”
He starts stroking my shoulder now.
“Then I met you. Saw what you had been through, and decided I’d had enough of being sidelined. If I wasn’t sidelined, I could have been there to help you when you needed it. So, I went back to the doctor and started physical therapy. A little late, but it started working, as you know. It’s taken three years, because I started not long after you got back. Bit by bit, my muscles are getting better, and one day I hope to walk without pain.”
“Does it always hurt?”
He shakes his head. “Nah, not anymore. If I overdo it, like I did last week, then yeah, it fuckin’ kills, but it’s getting easier and easier to do everyday things.”
“I’ve never seen you doing your physical therapy.”
He kisses the top of my head. “That’s because I do all the exercises in private. I used to go in three times a week, but now I can do it all at home. I do it every night before bed.”
“You do?”
He nods. “Yeah.”
“And does walking help?”
“It makes me stronger. I try to pretend that chair no longer exists.”
“Fair enough.”
“Anyway, enough about me,” he says.
I go to answer, but the door opens and Rainer enters, another carton of alcohol in his hands. He smiles at me and I stand, rushing over. “Hey!” I beam.
He hands the alcohol over and pulls me into his arms. “Your bikers drink a fucking lot, pretty girl.”
I laugh and stand back. “They do. I didn’t know you were coming back up?”
“Maddox told me they’d run out, and needed more. So here I am.”
“Rainer.”
We both turn to see Maddox and Tyke standing behind us. Tyke nods his head at Rainer and Maddox gives him an easy smile. “You have any troubles gettin’ up here?”
Rainer shakes his head. “Nah, and I made sure I wasn’t followed.”
“Good man.”
“Pippa!”
I turn and see Santana calling out to me from the front yard.
“I’ll be back,” I say, rushing past.
I rush down the front steps and stop in front of my sister. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.” She smiles, wrapping an arm around me. “I just wanted to see how you’re going.”
I narrow my eyes. “No you don’t.”
She laughs. “No, faith. I do. Really.”
I snort.
“Pippa, stop snorting at me. I’m allowed to see my sister.”
“You have a stupid smile on your face.”
She laughs. “Okay, fine, you got me. I just wanted to see how you and Tyke are?”
“Why?” I question.
“Well, you guys were, um, a little loud earlier.”
I stop dead.
“What?” I whisper.
She stops and turns to me. “Don’t be embarrassed. It was adorable.”
I raise my brows. “Adorable? Tyke and I making love was adorable?”
“I didn’t sound like making love.” She leans in close with a grin. “It sounded like fucking.”
“Santana!”
She grabs my shoulders. “Aw come on, Pippi, we’re sisters. You’re supposed to tell me all about your love making.”
“I’m not telling you about our . . . private time,” I scoff.
She grins, and I roll my eyes.
“And it was love making, thank you very much.”
“So he hasn’t fucked you yet?”
I blink at her. “There’s a difference?”
She grins. “Oh, yes. Fucking is raw and primal and usually slammed against a wall with no foreplay—just angry sex.”
My eyes widen. “That doesn’t sound so amazing.”
“Oh, it is.” She sighs. “Maddox does it all the time. I love him when he charges through the front door, pissed about his day, and just bends me over the counter.”
“Santana!” I cry again, covering my ears. “No, ew.”
She laughs so loudly tears fill her eyes. “Don’t be shy. It’s fun to talk about these things.”
“You’ve been with bikers far too long.”
She puts her arm around me again. “Probably. Anyway, you have to tell me everything about Tyke. He’s so hot.”
“Tana,” I groan.
“Is he big?”