Chapter Ten
Chase
I was in hell.
Pure and utter hell.
The doctor leaned over me, rotating my shoulder in circles. I gritted my teeth and didn’t let out a sound, even though it hurt like a bitch. Sweat dampened my forehead as I forced myself to remain still, letting the man work his voodoo shit on me.
The appointment had started with a comprehensive description of the type of accident I’d been in, which was always a fun time. Nothing like reliving the worst fucking night of my life, over and over again, in vivid detail. After that, though, he’d began poking and prodding at me incessantly, until I was ready to jump off the table and roar. Suddenly, talking about that night had seemed like a walk in the park.
But I sat still, in silent agony, because I’d promised Taylor I would make an effort to return to my old life—a life I knew very well would never be mine again. But if it made her feel better to see me try, then whatever.
I’d fucking try, even though I already knew the outcome.
“Does that hurt?” the doctor asked.
I was tempted to lie and say it didn’t, because if I lied maybe he would try harder to fix me and achieve the impossible, but in the end, the truth would only come out.
“Yes.”
The doc nodded. “I see.” He moved my shoulder again. Pain pierced through me, making my breath come harder. “And this?”
“Hurts even more,” I gritted out.
“How long has it been this bad?” he asked, gingerly setting it back down.
“Since the beginning.”
He nodded again, frowning at my shoulder. “Is it worse in the evening?”
“Sometimes. It depends on what I did that day.”
Like, if I lifted Taylor against the wall and kissed her, I usually paid the price. One that I was fully prepared to pay, though. As long as it made my girl tremble, it was worth it. I just couldn’t let her know, because she’d never let me do it if she knew how much it hurt afterward. She worried about me too damn much.
“You need to try your best not to irritate it,” he said, going back to his desk and sitting down. He started typing and clicking on his mouse, his forehead wrinkled with concentration. He was mostly bald but had his gray hair brushed to the side in a lame attempt at a comb over. I didn’t really trust a guy who thought that was a good idea. “How long ago was the injury?”
“Six months,” I said, moving my shoulder slowly. I wouldn’t be lifting anyone against any walls tonight. Not the way it was feeling now. “Look, doc, you don’t have to sugarcoat with me. I know this is a waste of my time.”
“Physical therapy is never a waste of time,” he argued, not looking up from his computer. “Especially not for athletes.”
“I’m not an athlete anymore.”
“But what if you could be?” he asked as he clicked the mouse again and papers printed. “Would you want to be?”
There it was. That motherfucking hope I’d sworn to never feel in this room. “Are you saying…?”
“That you could be?” he asked slowly, finally looking at me again.
“Yes. That I could be.”
“I’m not sure, and it’s too soon to tell.” He stood and walked to the printer. “You asked me not to sugarcoat it, so I won’t. You should have come here six months ago.”
I thought back to the mental mind-frame I was in six months ago, and shook my head. Then there was the three months my father locked me up in rehab, citing that I’d become addicted to pain pills as his reasoning. I hadn’t. He just hadn’t known what to do with me when I refused to get out of bed or go to class. “Not possible.”
“Nonetheless, true.” He sat down again, stapling a packet of papers. “With some hardcore dedication on your part, and two sessions a week with me, we might be able to restore your shoulder to eighty percent of its original functionality. With a little bit of luck? Maybe more.”
“Eighty percent,” I said, my voice thick.
“Maybe more.”
“Eighty percent won’t get me back in the game.” I stood, that little bit of hope I’d felt crashing back to the floor where it damn well belonged. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Sit down,” the doctor ordered.
Without thought, I obeyed.
“You’re in pain.”
More than you know.
“Do you want to feel this pain for the rest of your life?”
I might not want to, but I probably deserved to. It was my daily reminder of Joey and all he’d lost when I’d chased after him. “Doc…”
“Don’t ‘doc’ me. You came here for help. You’re way too young to give up on yourself before you’ve even fought your way back from rock bottom.” He pointed at me. “No sugarcoating, right?”
I swallowed hard. “Right.”
“Wear your shoulder brace when it hurts. Don’t ignore the signs your body is giving you. If it hurts, put the damn brace on.”
I knew why Taylor had picked this guy. She must have found out he liked to yell at his patients just like she did, because I’d heard that phrase come out of her mouth more times in the last couple of months than I could count. “Yes, sir.”
He stood and slapped the papers in my lap. “Do these exercises exactly as they’re described, twice a day, every day, without fail. If you do that, and come to see me twice a week, I promise you I’ll do my best to get you back in the game. If I can’t accomplish that, I can at least reduce your pain, and that’s something, too, isn’t it?”
It might be something, but if I wasn’t on a field, I’d never stop hurting again. It might sound melodramatic, but what the fuck ever. Football was my life. My passion. A life without it was like a life without a beating heart. It just didn’t work.
“Yeah, thanks.”
The doctor sighed. “Son—”
“I’m not your son,” I said automatically.
I had a father, and he called me that, and one was enough, thank you.
“Chase.”
I cocked a brow, picking the papers up off my thigh. “Yes?”
“Don’t give up. If you’re not fighting to get better with everything you’ve got, you won’t get better. End of story.” He crossed his arms. “You have to want it. Need it.”
I did want it. I did need it. So, I straightened my shoulders, glanced at the papers, and nodded. “I do, sir.”
“Good. Then the fight starts today.” He opened the door and smiled at me. “Don’t forget your stretches tonight, and I’ll see you back here in two days. It’s going to hurt, so don’t be surprised. Just take ibuprofen and make sure you rest it when needed. And don’t forget to wear—”
“My brace.” I forced a smile. “Got it, doc.”
“Good.” He tipped his head. “Now get out of here.”
I laughed. “I like you.”
“I like you, too.”
Still grinning, I went to the front desk and paid my copay, scheduled my next appointment, and then walked outside while shooting Taylor a quick text.
As soon as the sun hit my head, my phone vibrated, and I smiled, expecting it to be Taylor. She’d wanted to come with me, but I hadn’t let her. I’d told her it was something I had to do on my own…something she was very adamant I do. Be alone. I’d rather be with her, but if it made her happy, then so be it.
But it wasn’t her.
It was the Antichrist.
Frowning, I swiped right and lifted the phone to my ear. “Hello, Father.”
“What did I just get charged for?” he barked into the phone. “What doctor prescribed you something? It’s clearly marked in your file that you’re an addict—”
I sighed. “I’m not a drug addict, Father. Never have been.”
“Tell that to your doctors,” he shot back.
I had. They’d even told him I wasn’t. He hadn’t listened.
He’d insisted I was a drug addict and that my addiction was the reason I wasn’t getting out of bed in the morning. They’d told him it wasn’t addiction, but rather depression, and he’d laughed.
Fucking laughed.
It wasn’t until they put me on antidepressants against his will that I’d started to feel like I could face the world, and it wasn’t until he sent Taylor to Villanova as my tutor that I’d actually started doing so.
So that stint in rehab had given me that, at least.
The will to fight my father.
“The only medication I’m on is my antidepressants, which you already know about.” I stared down at my papers. “You have nothing to worry about. I’m not going to put the Maxwell name to shame. I went to see a doctor about my shoulder.”
He groaned. “If that doctor prescribed you pain medication, I’ll sue him so fast he won’t know what—”
“I didn’t get pain meds,” I gritted out. “It’s a physical therapist. He’s going to try to fix my shoulder as best as he can.”
Father fell silent. “You went to see a doctor?”
“Yes.”
“Willingly?” he said, surprise in his voice.
“Yes, my friend asked me to,” I said, loving the way he was going to react to my next sentence. I knew my father like I knew the back of my hand, and he wouldn’t like this. “Oh, that’s right, I didn’t tell you. Guess who is going to Villanova now?”
Dad was silent, then, “Who?”
“Taylor. We ran into one another in class, picked up where we left off all those years ago, and I have to say, I’ve been happy.”
Father spluttered. “Happy?”
“Yep,” I chirped as I unlocked my car. “I missed her, but I guess I didn’t realize how much until she was here, at the same school as me.”
“I—”
Remembering my father had sent her here on a mission, and not wanting to fuck up her sweet deal, I quickly added, “Oh, and she’s been helping me with my studying. Ever since she came here, my grades have been up. I’m actually passing, so that should make you happy, too. But, hey, I have to go. Talk later?”
He choked on a word.
What word, I had no idea, because I hung up on him, leaving him to chew on that for a while. He deserved to be miserable knowing I was happy.
As I slid into my car seat, I checked my phone.
Taylor hadn’t texted me back yet.
Frowning, I dialed her.
She picked up on the first ring.
“How’d it go?”
“Great,” I said, sliding my key into the ignition. “Why didn’t you text me back?”
She sighed. “I broke the screen on my phone after Economics. It makes texting too hard, so I stopped trying.”
“Go get another one,” I said quickly.
“I can’t. Not everyone has seven hundred dollars lying around in their accounts.” She laughed, but it was forced. “I’ll be fine. I just won’t be texting much, is all.”
That wouldn’t do at all.
I needed to text her.
My phone buzzed, and I glanced at it.
It was my father again.
I rejected it without hesitation.
Turning the key in the ignition, I said, “Hey, can I pick you up in forty-five minutes? I want to go out to eat, and I’ll tell you all about my appointment in excruciating detail and answer any questions you might have.”
Knowing my Taylor, she’d have a lot.
She chuckled. “You’ve got yourself a date. And then after—”
“Kissing?”
She sighed. “Homework.”
“And then…?”
Silence, then: “Kissing.”
Grinning, I backed out of my spot. “See you soon.”