CHAPTER EIGHT
Tank
Hearing the surgeon speak isn’t making me feel much better. If anything, it’s making me feel worse. This is a longer recovery than I thought it would be.
“Six weeks before I can bear weight on it?” I question to make sure I’ve heard him correctly. Fuck me running.
He nods. “That’s right, Trevor, could be sooner though, everyone heals different. I’m giving you worst-case scenario. Keep in mind your six weeks started while you were in the hospital. You’ve already survived a portion of it. At six weeks we’ll make a decision if we can take off the cast and outfit you with a brace. Provided everything is going well, you’ll be able to bear weight, as long as it all looks good, and along the way we’ll work on getting strength back with the physical therapy. All in all, if things go well, I’m looking to get you back to work in twelve weeks. You’re strong and in good shape, we may be able to move that time frame up.”
Motherfucker. Twelve weeks before I can get back to work? Three months before I know if I’m going to have to change my profession? What the hell am I going to do for three months? Sit on my couch and eat Cheetos?
“I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear,” he makes a note on his pad of paper. “But your leg is an important part of your job. We have to make sure it’s not only healed, but healed correctly. Do you want to ride a desk the rest of your career?”
“Fuck no,” I answer quietly, shaking my hand away from Blaze’s. She’s tried to grasp it and give me comfort, but right now I don’t want the comfort from her or anyone else. I want the biting pain of physical exertion.
“That’s my recommendation and it’s what I’ll be sending it to your boss, Holden. Follow your prescribed PT, and it’ll be like you never left. I caution you to not be lazy, but to also not push yourself too hard. Your body will let you know what it can take, listen to it. As I said, we can adjust the timeline, but I won’t rush you, Trevor. That’s not what I’m here for. I’m here to make sure you heal correctly.”
Easy for him to say. I tune out everything else as he talks to Blaze about my daily routine. It amazes me, the first couple of days home from the hospital I’d been thankful I made it through, beyond thankful I made it out of my truck alive. Today, I’m angry as fuck I was put in this situation. Probably one of the signs I need to make an appointment with the shrink. I’ve obviously got some feelings I need help separating out.
“You ready?” Blaze asks from beside me. I hate the way it sounds like she’s talking to a skittish animal, but then again I’ve given her a lot of shit today.
I shake my head to clear it, obviously I missed out on a part of the meeting, but instead I nod. “As I’ll ever be.”
She doesn’t help me as I get up, and I can admit I miss her reassuring hand on my back as I steady myself. I’m also man enough to admit I’ve fucked up today. When we get home, I’ll make it up to her.
We slowly make our way down to the Physical Therapy room, where I’m introduced to an overly excited guy by the name of Randall, who promises he’s going to whip me into shape. Judging by the gleam in his eye – I’m more scared now than I ever have been. But if it’s pain I wanted, it’s pain I’m going to get.
Blaze
I sit to the side, watching as Trevor goes through the motions of PT. He’s putting the work in; I can tell by the way sweat dots the front of his shirt, the way his arms shake as he supports his weight. As much as he’s been on edge today, he’s given this his all. It makes me extremely proud of him, but I wish like hell he would have been honest with me and stopped brooding for most of the day.
My cell phone lights up beside me with a text from Whitney.
W: What did the doctor say? Has he gotten any nicer? I’m sorry you’re having to deal with him, but at the same time I’m thankful he has you.
B: Twelve weeks before he goes back to work. Six in a cast, then a few more in a brace, with physical therapy. It’s gonna be a long three months.
W: Oh honey, I know I’m knocked up and all, but if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here.
It’s a nice offer for her to make, and I’ve grown very close to her in the past – God has it only been two weeks since Trevor wrecked? Feels like a lifetime ago, but if I’m in it for the long haul with him, then I’m all in.
His bad mood today doesn’t scare me. Piss me off? Yes. Scare me? No. I can still remember him telling me in the hospital this was going to be a long recovery and I’d have to be patient with him. I don’t plan on letting him go this time, no matter how hard he fights my hold. Everybody deserves a bad day, and he probably does more than anyone I know. The fact he’s kept his attitude in check for this long says a lot about the man he is.
B: Thanks! I’ll let you know if I need some girl time. I’ll keep you posted if anything changes with him.
Putting my phone facedown beside me, I watch him again, taking note of the lines of pain near his eyes, the hard line his plump lips have formed while he lifts the weight the therapist has put in his hands. I watch him lift it, hear the count as he brings it back down, and again as he repeats the motion.
No one realizes until they’re hurt how quickly your conditioning goes away. It’s important to keep him strong. If we do, he’ll transition back into his day job with no problems. Glancing at my watch, I see our hour is almost over.
Deciding I want to be nicer when we leave than when we arrived, maybe it’ll make him nicer, I grab my purse and carefully make my way out of the room. Leaving the lobby, I notice a vending machine that has water and snacks. Reaching into my wallet, I grab out a couple of dollar bills, purchasing a cold bottle of water and a package of nuts. Exiting the building into the blazing sunlight of the Alabama afternoon, I put my aviators down over my eyes and go in search of my SUV.
I feel bad, having made him walk. It was a rookie move on my part, and I won’t make him walk again. Getting in, I crank the air, noticing my temp gauge reads almost eighty. Weeks from Christmas and it’s almost eighty? Welcome to the South.
Pulling my SUV up, I leave it running in the drop off area, walking inside. I’m met with the therapist and Trevor.
“We’ll see him again on Thursday,” he tells me, handing me an appointment card. “We’ll do two days a week until he can handle three.”
“Got it,” I stuff the card in the back pocket of my jeans.
When he walks off, I put my hand at Trevor’s back, noticing for the first time, he rests against me. Our fight seems to be gone, and now we’re the same vulnerable people who’ve been dealing with these injuries together. “I pulled up, you don’t have to make it across the parking lot.”
He breathes deeply, a sigh of relief. I feel petty for making him walk earlier, but I can’t change the past. I can only try and make the future better.
We slowly make our way to where I’m parked. I almost suggest we grab a wheelchair, but I know he’ll refuse. “Not too much further,” I encourage as we exit the building.
It takes a few more minutes for him to get comfortable in the passenger seat. Then I stow the crutches before taking my spot in the driver’s seat. “That’s for you,” I point to the bottle of water and the bag of peanuts.
His head is laying back against the seat, his eyes closed.
“Trev, drink some of the water,” I reach down, open the bottle, and give it to him.
He drains it in two drinks. I’m not ashamed to say I’m mesmerized by the way his Adam’s apple pushes the water down his throat. “Do you need another bottle?”
He shakes his head, lifting his shirt up to clean his face off. His abs are truly a thing of beauty and I find myself licking my lips. Such an inappropriate line of thinking right now.
“I just wanna get home and take a pain pill. Fuck – everything he made me do hurt like a son of a bitch.”
I can hear the pain in his voice. “Then that’s what we’ll do. You look tired,” I take in the paleness of his skin, the sweat still rolling from his temple, and the redness of his lips, no doubt from where he bit them in pain.
“Exhausted. It’s not even half of what I used to do in my two-a-day workouts.”
“You’ll get there, Trev,” I reach my hand over and put it on his thigh.
Finally after the day we’ve had, he grabs hold, pushing our fingers together. “Will I? Today I feel like I’m never gonna get there,” his voice is hoarse with emotion. “It seems like an uphill challenge that I’ll never be able to overcome.”
“Today’s day one of a long recovery, Trev. It’s going to get better.”
We’re quiet for a few minutes, each lost in our own thoughts. His mood is different than it’s been all day and I’m not sure how to deal with it, so I enjoy us not arguing.
“I owe you an apology,” he traces the pattern of lines on my palm with the tip of his finger. “I’ve been a jackass today, and none of it had to do with you. I was scared about what the doctor would say, scared of the pain of the physical therapy. I didn’t know how to deal with it, and it was easier to lash out. I’m sorry, and I’ll apologize to Whitney, as well. I’m sure she’s blown up your phone talking shit about me.”
“No,” I grasp his fingertip with my palm. “Both of us knew you were having a hard time with it. People deal with stress and injury differently, Trevor. You’re going to have some hard days. Nothing is written in a manual about how you’re supposed to deal with it,” I shrug as I take back my hand and make a turn so that we’re on the interstate heading north to Laurel Springs. “You deal with it how you can. Truth is, you’ve been dealt a shitty hand. You’re going through all this while Brooks sits in jail.”
“I still can’t believe all he got was a gash on the forehead,” he growls his annoyance.
“He’ll serve time. You and I both know that.”
It’s another ten miles down the road before I get the guts to apologize for my part. “I shouldn’t have made you do that parking lot, no matter how pissed off I was at the way you were acting. I’m sorry, too,” I reach over and grab his hand, kissing his palm. “That was juvenile and I knew better. You would think after fucking up already, we’d be over this shit,” I glance over at his strong profile, looking out the passenger side window.
“Maybe we just like to test one another. Sometimes I think it’s a form of foreplay for us.”
I giggle because he’s right. I love to test his patience just to see how much it takes for him to lose it.
“Keep giggling, I like that better than the look of death you gave me earlier,” he smiles over at me.
“Keep smiling, those dimples are much cuter than the scowl you’ve been wearing all day.”
As we drive north, I think we’ll be okay, as long as we can stay honest with one another. This isn’t going to be easy, but nothing worth having ever is. I glance over at Trevor one more time, smiling softly as I see him knocked out, his head against the window, and his arms crossed tightly in front of him.
No matter the difficulties in life, I’ll never change anything we have and I know now I’ll never give it up.