“You’re taking him to Oregon.”
The truth fell like a brick wall between us. His nod only added the finishing touches.
“But it’s not what you think.”
“It doesn’t matter what I think. I signed that paper, giving you custody. You’re free to do what you want.”
“I didn’t sign it. I still have it, in my suit jacket.”
I cocked my head slightly, shocked as much by the honesty in his eyes as his words.
“Why not?”
“Because I want to do this together. I don’t want to take him from you and just offer you a visit here and there. I want you to be a part of his life.”
“But you live in Oregon and I live here.”
He waved his hand like that didn’t matter. “We can work it out.”
“How?”
And that was the real question. I could see the wheels turning in his head, useless as a truck stuck in the mud. He didn’t know any better than I how best to proceed. So we were just back where we’d started. Stuck.
“There’s an orthopedic surgeon I know who specializes in athletes,” he said, apparently changing the subject. “I told him what happened to JT and asked what he’d recommend.”
“And?”
“He knows this physical therapy clinic in Portland where they’ve had some real success with this kind of injury. We’ll have to send him JT’s x-rays and whatever, but he thinks he can get JT into the program as early as next week.”
“But the doctor said—“
“This guy says that it would be better to start as soon as possible. There are things they can do while JT’s still recovering that will strengthen his muscles and get him ready for the actual rehab part. My friend says that it makes a huge difference in the range of recovery the patient can expect – that JT could expect.”
I dragged my fingers through my hair, a little disgusted by how greasy and tangled it was. I pulled my fingers away, my thoughts spinning.
“He could play football again.”
“It depends on how well the bones heal and how hard he works at rehab. A lot of it is up to how much he wants to get better.”
“If he could play football…”
I remembered my brother on the football field, how brilliant he was at making plays, how happy he always was when the team did well. I knew he would work hard for that.
“Take him,” I said. “If it’s the best place for him, then you take him.”
Harrison touched my face. “I want you to go with us.”
I started to shake my head, but he wouldn’t allow it. He cupped my chin in his hand like a parent scolding a child.
“We do what’s best for JT. And, right now, what’s best is for him to be in Oregon. But it’s also having you there with him.” He ran his thumb over my bottom lip. “He’s going to be in a lot of pain and he’s going to be scared. He needs you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
Chapter 22
Harrison
I watched JT’s face in the rearview mirror as I pulled the car to a stop alongside the jet. He was staring out the window, his eyes as big as saucers.
“This belongs to you?”
“To my company,” I said, as though that qualifier meant much of anything to a fifteen-year-old boy.
“Wow.”
I turned my gaze to Penelope, but she wasn’t as easy to read as JT. And I knew her thoughts were back in that small town of hers, going over checklists, trying to make sure she didn’t leave anything undone, unsaid, or unchecked. It was a bit of an ordeal for her to leave Nick in charge of the bakery. I could see it in the tension that never seemed to leave her shoulders and the crowbar it took to get her out of there this morning when it was time to pick JT up from the hospital.
“It’s going to be okay,” I said for what was probably the millionth time.
She smiled, but the smile only touched her lips.
I climbed out of the car and walked around to the back, tugging the wheelchair JT was required to use for the next few weeks out of the trunk. He was already, in just three days, becoming quite the pro at transferring himself into it. I wanted to help, but I’d already been lectured about that once today.
I can do it myself.
Where had I heard that before?
“I can’t believe we’re flying to Oregon on a private jet,” JT said as Penelope came around and joined us. “I feel like a rock star!”
“More like a sports star,” Penelope said. “Don’t forget, I’ve heard you sing.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” JT said as he laughed.
I wheeled him over to the plane, but I had to carefully carry him up the steps. Penelope followed, guiding me so that I wouldn’t slam his cast, or his head, into anything solid. JT was quite pleased to be settled in one of the leather captain’s chairs, his leg propped on an ottoman the flight attendant provided from some unknown source. He was also happy to ask for a scotch and soda when the flight attendant asked if she could get anything for him.
“Too young,” Penelope quickly reminded him.
“Awe, just once?”