Page 35 of Saving the Rain
We’re both opening and closing our mouths in protest, but the doctor carries on. She’s talking about concussion recovery, aboutavoiding undue stresses or twisting motions on my knee until they can do a follow-up scan. She passes Raine a contact number for the local clinic where I’ll need to be driven in order to assess my meniscus tear.
This can’t possibly be happening.
If I can’t drive—if I can’t ride—that’s my entire world. My day-to-day life is a charred wreckage right in front of my eyes in this stupid little hospital bed.
“Stop by the nurse’s station, and they’ll sort out discharge papers.” She goes about removing the line from the back of my hand and inclines her head toward a bag sitting on the chair I hadn’t noticed before. “The things you came in with are in there, and your brother has hopefully remembered to bring you a pair of pants. The medics had to cut your jeans off to make sure you hadn’t broken your knee during the fall.” Following her line of sight, I see the curtain separating me from the neighboring bed is only partially pulled. A frail older lady sleeps in the next bay, surrounded by tubes, get-well cards, and an assortment of stuffed toys propped on the window beside her bed.
“Stepbrother.” My mumble comes out hoarse. He’s not my brother. He’s a guy who hates my guts and would probably gladly stuff a pillow over my airways the moment this doctor leaves the room.
Raine grunts something caveman-like that I can’t decipher before tossing a black t-shirt and pair of pale gray sweats on the edge of my bed.
She’s talking at me, and I smile and nod, but I’m not taking any of it in.
Reality is a numbing tide consuming everything inside of me. I don’t know how to fix this. I’ve managed to screw up... yet again.
Fortunately for my scattered thoughts, Raine follows the woman out into the corridor. To do god knows what, but at least he’s not here to laugh at my abject misery. I slowly sit up and swing my bare legs over the side of the bed. My knee is the size of a fucking grapefruit, blown up like a balloon and bruised to shit.
I wince as I struggle to hook the soft, stretchy fabric over that foot and tug until I can thread the other through the foothole. My pain isn’t exactly through the roof... I’m sure these meds are preventing mefrom knowing just how goddamn sore this truly is. What I do know is that I won’t be able to put any weight on that leg if I try to stand up.
If I can’t even walk, I certainly can’t do a fucking thing around the ranch. Hell, I’ll barely be able to make it between the lounge and the kitchen.
My throat tightens, but I’m not gonna bitch out and cry about this. This is the reality of rodeo. You get injured. I’ve ended up in the emergency room after falling before now. It’s all part of the game, and this time, I just wasn’t good enough to make it to the final buzzer.
Swallowing back any trace of emotion, I go into robot mode. Shrugging out of the hospital gown, I tug the clean t-shirt on. It’s soft and I can’t pick what the faint smell is that lingers on it, but it feels nice against my skin.
I’m running my fingers through my hair, staring at the light reflected in the military gray flooring, when boots squeak to a halt before me. Looking up, it’s Raine thrusting a set of crutches in my direction, a withering look on his face.
I don’t even let him start scolding me, I just shake my head and put all my pride to the side. As of this moment, I’m fucking exhausted and more defeated than ever.
“Don’t be a jerk about it, but I’ve got no other options. Can you stay and do the physical shit at the ranch while I rehab? I’ll pay you.” It’s a battle to work down a swallow. The bitterness of asking for this, while knowing exactly how pathetic I must look right now is torture.
“Please.”
Chapter 15
This is horse shit.
My goddamn overlyhelpful boss, Beau Heartford, was the first one to suggest I take time off to go and assist Kayce. I’d hardly gotten the words out when I called him from the hospital—only because I needed to fill him in on where I was and why I wasn’t back at the ranch—and the guy told me to take as much time as I needed to look after mybrother.
We’re not fucking brothers, and we’re certainly not fucking family.
Yet, I’ve been stuck here on top of Devil’s Peak running this ranch for Kayce because the guy can barely walk. He’s like a one man pity party, hobbling around the house either on crutches or favoring his busted knee, trying to be a hero and pretend it's not killing him.
Storm and Briar are holding things down at Sunset Skies—where I should be. The two of them seem perfectly content to take on my job as a favor, and in the case of everyone in Crimson Ridge being one big happy circle jerk of helpfulness, they’re not at all concerned that I need to be here for at least another week until the date of Kayce’s follow-up scan.
It didn’t take much to learn the ropes of what was needed in order to get shit done around here. Between their stable of horses and cattle, the place is already established to be run virtuallysingle-handedly. Colton Wilder has managed this ranch on his own for decades, so things run pretty smoothly.
The hardest part to all this... having to be in such close quarters withhim.
I’m bitter as fuck that we’re once again thrown together in a way that is entirely unavoidable. The fact that he’s always in that house, always only a few feet away whenever I’m there. His scent and presence are forever just around the corner, along with the knowledge that he’s sleeping just down the hall.
There’s no avoiding the fact that I can’t just switch off at night, because every bump and noise catches my awareness, pricking my hearing. Did he just fall? Has his knee given out on him? Does he need help getting from room to room? Why the hell is he out of bed at three a.m. using the microwave?
This entire situation is endlessly goddamn frustrating because I don’t want to be so pinpoint aware of where he is at all times.
After a long day outside on the ranch, I’d love nothing more than to come back in, haul my ass through a shower, eat a hot meal, before collapsing into bed. All I’m searching for is to snatch a peaceful night on a comfortable mattress in the spare room. But I go through all those motions, only to end up lying there without a lick of sleep touching the corners of my awareness.
I’m constantly on edge, and it’s infuriating.