“So what’s it going to be? Chinese or Mexican?”
Just the thought of spicy food made my stomach turn, so I said, “Chinese. Definitely Chinese.”
“You got it. You sure you don’t need me to grab you some tampons while I’m out?” he laughed.
“You don’t know when to stop, do you?” I laughed. “No. I’m good with Chinese and a movie.”
It didn’t take him long to return with a ton of Chinese food and more movies than we could ever begin to watch in one night, and it meant the world to me. We spent the night eating and watching movies, and he even helped me hang a few pictures in the hallway. He was just about to leave when he asked, “Whatcha got going on Friday?
“I don’t know. Why?”
“I’ve been wanting to see that new movie, Deadpool. Wanna go?” he asked.
“Yeah. I think I can do the movie on Friday,” I told him.
“Cool,” he smiled. “I better get going. Be sure and lock up.”
Even though it was almost midnight, I hated to see him go. “Okay. Thanks for the Chinese and the movies.”
“Anytime,” he answered as he closed the door behind him. With him gone, a lonely silence quickly filled my apartment. I tried to ignore it and headed for my room. I got into bed and tried to block out the sadness that kept trying to creep into my thoughts. There was no reason for me to feel sorry for myself. I had a good job, a roof over my head, and friends and family who cared about me. I had everything I really needed… except Cotton—the one thing I wanted more than anything else.
Recovery was a bitch. I spent the first few days after my surgery thinking it hadn’t made a damn bit of difference, but the doctors were optimistic. I was becoming frustrated and wanted to tell the doctors to go to hell, but eventually, I started to regain more and more feeling in my lower legs. It was an odd sensation, like my legs had fallen asleep, but that feeling quickly turned into something more normal. Over the next twenty-four hours, the doctors saw my progress and were hopeful I would gain the full use of my legs again. After just a few short days, they had me up and on my feet. I had to use a fucking walker, but at least I was up. I worked my ass off, just trying to make it down the damn hall, but I didn’t give up. I was determined to get my life back, no matter what it took. When I continued to get better, Dr. Clayborn decided it was time to move me over to a rehabilitation center across from the hospital. When I asked about doing my rehab at home, Clayborn was adamant I stayed close to the hospital. He wanted me there, so he could monitor my progress, at least until I got a bit stronger. Maverick and Sara both agreed with him, saying I would have fewer distractions if I stayed there while I completed my therapy.
I finally agreed with them, but I wasn’t exactly happy about it. Dr. Clayborn promised me the rehab center was one of the best around, but I wasn’t so sure. When I first walked in and saw all of the elderly people passing by, it felt more like a fucking nursing home than a rehabilitation center. I had my doubts about the place, but after being there for a couple of days, I knew I’d made the right decision to stay. I had my own room, and Sara brought me over a laptop and everything I would need to keep in touch with everyone at the club. As soon as it was set up, I sent an email to my mother and brothers, doing my best to assure them I was okay. In no time, I’d spoken to everyone—except the one person I actually wanted to talk to. As soon as I knew I might be able to walk again, I tried calling Cass, more times than I could count, but she wouldn’t answer the damn phone. I even tried emailing her, but never got a response. She wasn’t making it easy, not that I expected her to. She was shutting me out, and even though I knew I deserved it, that didn’t mean I liked it. When Guardrail told me she was leaving the clubhouse, I wasn’t exactly surprised. I knew I’d fucked up, but I would do whatever it took to fix it.
“Hey, there, Maverick. You mind if I steal him away for a little while?” Melody asked. She was one of the rehabilitation specialists who worked with spinal cord injuries. She was only five foot seven, but the girl was a total hard-ass. I was fairly certain she was trying to kill me during the first few days of therapy, but it was worth it when I managed to take a few steps without that fucking walker.
“Sure thing, Boss,” Maverick laughed.
Melody turned to me and asked, “You ready for another go?”
“Always,” I told her.
“We’re going to the weight room today,” she smiled.
“So, it’s time for a little torture, huh?” I laughed. The weight room was always the hardest. She got a kick out of pushing me to my limit, but I didn’t mind. I wanted to be pushed. The sooner I got my strength back, the sooner I could get back where I wanted to be.