Tank (Moonshine Task Force Book 2)(14)
“You’re not an invalid, and I don’t know why the hell you’re acting like this, Trevor. I’ve never known you to be such an asshole. Your heavily pregnant sister came to see you to make sure you’re okay. I’m doing my best to help you out, and you’ve been nothing but an asshole to me today. I can see you’re pissed, but it doesn’t excuse the way you’re treating people,” she slams her SUV in park. “So no, I’m not coddling you and parking at the drop off. You’re so fucking determined to do things on your own? Get your own damn crutches. I’ll see you inside.”
She gets out, slamming the door so hard it jars the vehicle, making it sway slightly. I watch as she stomps off for the front of the medical building. She doesn’t even look back to check on me. If I’m being honest, I totally deserve this. Reaching behind me, I snag one of the crutches, but it’s too big for me to pull around me. Shit, this just pisses me off more. Opening the door, I lean on the seat as I fight with the piece of metal, almost shoving it through the windshield before I get it out. It’s much quicker getting the next one out, but I’m sweating as I make my way up to the front of the building, breathing hard and flat out needing a rest. When I notice Blaze looking at me through the window, I grit my teeth and move on. I’ll be damned if she sees me struggling.
“Are you okay?” She asks when I make my way inside, thankful for the air conditioning, even in December. Alabama hasn’t gotten the memo that it’s winter. Her tone and eyes tell me she’s only asking because it’s what she’s taught to do for a patient. Blaze is still fully pissed at me, and it’s probably not going to go away for a while.
I shoot her an annoyed look. “I’m good. Which way do I need to go?”
“We have a follow-up appointment with the surgeon first and he’ll recommend the physical therapy, then we’ll move down to that part of the building.”
I’m already tired thinking about it, but I motion with my crutch for her to lead the way.
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.