by Raina Lynn
“When did she say that?”
While I was in a coma. “It doesn’t matter. The point is that I’ve turned her life upside down and given nothing in return. It’s time to let her go.”
Rick flung himself to his feet and paced the room. “It’s wrong. Wrong! It’s all wrong.”
Garrett could only mentally shake his head at the fractured emotions. Poor kid, you don’t know what you want. “Would inflicting myself on her be right? I have nothing to offer now.”
“What do you mean?”
Garrett puffed out a soft bitter laugh. “Other than old TV reruns, how many cops in wheelchairs have you seen?”
“I’m confused.”
Heartfelt laughter rolled from Garrett’s chest. “Welcome to the club.” It was tempting to try to get Rick to open up about the problems between them, but he doubted the unexpected truce was strong enough to handle the weight.
He watched as Rick gave a furtive glance toward the door then make one more agitated pass around the room, the only sound being the soft squeak of sneakers on the freshly waxed floor.
“There’s a ball game on as soon as the news is over,” Garrett probed gently. “Interested?”
Hesitantly, the boy looked up at the TV bolted to the wall, and Garrett held his breath.
“Sure. Why not.”
Garrett sighed in deep, parental relief. Nothing had been settled. He didn’t even know whether or not Rick had forgiven him for yesterday—or anything else. But watching a game together was a solid step forward.
By the end of Garrett’s first week at the Rutherford-Petrie Institute, Maggie wanted to resign. The first few days, his rebuffs had been gentle. But now he bristled whenever she walked through the door, his jaw set in unyielding disapproval, subtlety a thing of the past. She couldn’t pass his room without going in, and if her duties didn’t take her downstairs to the in-patient wing for several hours, she made up excuses to make a special trip. So much for pride.
Once again, she found herself standing outside his room, needing to be with him. Once again she didn’t have an excuse to enter. She ran a fingertip across the embossed plastic nameplate on his door, the name “Garrett Hughes” stark and unmistakable, like a nightmare she couldn’t wake from.
Unlike a paper nameplate in a regular hospital, the ones here were semipermanent. Patients in facilities such as RPI stayed from a few months to well over a year, far too long for the dubious longevity of paper.
“Checking on baby, Mother?”
Maggie jumped. Behind her, Carl Sapperstein, her top therapist, leaned indolently on an empty wheelchair, the smirk on his long, narrow face a combination of mischievousness and compassion. Since RPI policy forbade any employee to directly oversee a family member’s care, that left her with her next best choice for Garrett—Sapperstein.
Her attention settled on the wheelchair in front of him. Shiny new chrome glistened in the hallway light, the dark blue upholstered back and seat unmarred by the inevitable scratches and scuffs of use. Pristine. Untouched. Garrett’s. Built for his specific needs, not just a generic pulled from a closet for a quick trip to therapy and back. This one he’d take home.
Sapperstein didn’t seem put off by her lack of a retort to his gibe. “You want to be in on this?”
No! Yes! She shuddered.
“Yea or nay, mi capitán.” Sapperstein waggled his bushy brows in a gesture that from anyone else would have been grossly insensitive. But from a friend it restored her backbone.
Without a word, she turned and shoved open the door. Garrett had elevated the head of his bed to a comfortable reading position, a magazine spread open on his lap. His eyes met hers and pure sexual fire ignited, heart-pounding in its intensity, heartbreaking in its futility. His dark features closed, and the moment vanished, leaving emptiness in its wake.
It was then that she noticed his choice of reading material—a professional magazine for law enforcement officers. Inside, she recoiled.
“Just because I can’t go back to it, Maggie,” he snapped, “doesn’t mean interest in the subject died.”
Maggie, she observed painfully, not babe. “You’re not accountable to me, Garrett. Read anything you want.”
He opened his mouth to reply, but Sapperstein came in and whatever he’d been about to say was lost. Within the depths of his eyes she watched him scrutinize the wheelchair, his expression an unholy war between loathing and determination.
“Okay, Mr. Hughes,” Sapperstein said, wisely dropping all traces of his acid humor. “You’ve been practicing transferring from a bed to a wheelchair. This puppy’s top of the line. Among other features, most of which we’ll explore over the afternoon, the arms are low and out of the way. Transference should be a snap. Also, see these?” He tapped one of the projections bolted at regular intervals on the right hand rim. “With these grips, you’ll be able to propel yourself regardless of hand function.”
Moments passed as Garrett stared venomously at the chair, his eyes the color of sapphire ice, a stranger’s eyes. “Maggie, I’m sure you have other patients.”
The unnerving cold bothered her more than the not so subtle dismissal. “I’d rather stay,” she replied in as near a detached professional tone as she could muster.
His expression darkened. “If we were still married, fine. But since we’re not, I don’t need the audience.”
Courtesy demanded that she respect his wishes, but she couldn’t seem to make her feet walk out the door.
“If the boss lady wants to stay,” Sapperstein drawled, “she stays. Now, let’s get at this.” He gave Maggie a you-owe-meone look.
Garrett glowered at them both, then refocused on the chair. The deep, fortifying breath he took was discreet, and she wished she hadn’t seen it. It tore her heart out.
With a meticulous care that marked the awkwardness of a newly acquired skill, he swung his sweatpants-clad legs over the side of the bed. His right hand and wrist could support no weight at all, but by supporting himself on his left hand and his right elbow, he shifted his body, beginning the as yet arduous process of getting out of bed.
She watched, her heart in her throat, wanting to reach out to help him, to hold him—to have him hold her. She froze under the realization of how much she needed his reassurance. She was the professional. This was her turf, and it appalled her how badly she needed Garrett’s strength, needed the other half of her soul. She crossed her arms and stayed out of the way, holding her breath as Sapperstein and Garrett worked together as a team. For a moment Garrett poised precariously between bed and wheelchair, then settled into place as neatly as if he’d been doing this for years, not a week.
“So life in four-wheel drive begins.” The words rolled from Garrett’s mouth like an exotic poison.
Wheelchairs freed so many people, but to her eyes it imprisoned him—her knight in shining armor—sentencing him to life without possibility of parole. His tall broad-shouldered frame should be standing proudly, not sitting supported by an upholstered metal frame on wheels. Tears burned behind her eyes.
He took hold of the hand rims experimentally, his jaw hardening. “Might as well take it for a test drive.”
Maggie let Sapperstein take over at that point, retreating instead to her office and the safety of paperwork and other patients, patients who, if they locked her out, it didn’t sear her alive.
Garrett sat in the RPI cafeteria, sipping coffee and staring out the window that faced the inner courtyard, his black depression taking a brutal inventory of his life. He was slowly mastering what they called basic living skills. Learning to feed himself left-handedly figured prominently on the list. Vegetables weren’t that hard, but cutting meat required strapping a knife to his right hand. Sweat suits and Velcro seemed to be the “physically challenged” person’s best friends. God, how he hated politically correct terms.
His first trip to the cafeteria had shocked him. The tables had no chairs; everyone—including him—brought their own. Family members who want
ed to eat here had to scrounge from the stackables along the far wall.
He took another sip of his coffee and watched through the plate-glass windows as a young woman helped her toddler place a big red ball onto his father’s thighs. Only with the greatest effort could the man roll the ball off his own lap. Throwing it was a pipe dream. The child squealed and picked it up. Devastation racked the young man’s face. His wife held him tight, speaking what appeared to be encouraging words.
Unable to watch, Garrett turned away. How little did he have to give his own family? For twenty years—minus the last four—he had always been there for them to lean on. Now he was nothing, a crippled shell starting over at age forty-two.
“I will start over,” he vowed under his breath. “But I won’t inflict this on my family.”
Maggie. What did she really think of him? Was she as repelled by his deficiencies as he was? Did she know about his impotence? Probably. She’d known everything else. It made him feel like a bug under glass.
He ran the memories of their last kisses through his mind. They had been liquid fire, but his body hadn’t noticed. Supposedly, the brain was the most important sexual organ. Maybe, life would have been kinder if the brain had shut off too. Perhaps, then, what he’d lost wouldn’t matter so much.
Not that it changed anything. Maggie had divorced him and built a life for herself. He’d intruded enough. Maybe if the crash hadn’t happened he’d have won her back by now. Then again, maybe not. His decision to give her back the life she wanted was the right one. He just wished she didn’t make it so unbearable for them both with her constant hovering.
More than once he toyed with the idea of seeing about a transfer to the regional facility in Vallejo. That would put distance between them, but his parents lived in that town. His mother would make certain she visited every day, and he refused to put her through the extra strain.
Blake had told him how he’d tried to hire help for her, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Instead, she stubbornly drove herself into the ground by doing all the work alone. Mom had never listened much to Blake. She still thought of the accomplished neurosurgeon as her baby, always would. But Garrett, as the elder son, carried more weight. Once he was out of here, he’d throw some of it around.
Burying the emotional turmoil, he returned to the business of getting his own life back, and retrieved a small, gray rubber ball from a utility bag that hung from his wheelchair. Not a very high-tech piece of equipment, but supposedly it would help restore mobility in a hand that was little better than a claw. Microsurgery immediately after the crash might have given him full range, but as Maggie had said, they’d had to save his life. His hand had been a luxury they couldn’t waste time on.
Using his left hand to keep the ball centered in his right palm, Garrett gritted his teeth and tried to curl his fingers around it. The abysmal lack of success was no worse than usual, and he tried again. Once again, he failed.
“You know what they say,” he growled. “It ain’t over till the fat lady sings.” The world receded as, with solitary intensity, he fought one more day of his private war.
For the fifth time since the accident, the monthly reports came due and Maggie found herself buried under the paperwork mountain on her desk. In the days since the last quarrel, she had stayed away from Garrett’s room, telling herself the heartache would eventually go away. She wasn’t the first woman to get dumped and, if other women got over it, so could she. Too bad she didn’t believe it.
Maybe it would be easier to bear if Patrick and Laverne didn’t make their twice-a-week pilgrimage to RPI, and maybe if Blake didn’t hang around visiting whenever he made rounds. Blake also came by in the evenings with his wife, Faith—who was in town for a white—and their two girls. So did Rick. Everyone was welcome but her.
At the quick knock on her office door, she lifted her eyes.
Blake sauntered in and grinned at her. “How’s Grumpy Bear today?”
She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms defiantly. “Who do you mean? Him or me?”
“Both.” His grin faded into something gentler, more compassionate. “You okay?”
“No,” she snapped. “I didn’t want that man back in my life. He barged in anyway, rearranged my whole world, got me to love him again—not that I’d ever stopped—then he tells me to take a hike.” Tears of rage burned behind her eyes. “And as far as his grumping is concerned, according to Sapperstein, he’s grumping along quite nicely. If we give him twenty minutes in the pool, he wants forty. Sapperstein is threatening to let him max out and fall on his face.”
“Relentless. That’s my boy.” Blake chuckled proudly. “Let’s let him. He’ll learn.”
Maggie blinked stupidly in surprise. He hadn’t pursued her emotional state. Weird. “You’re the M.D.,” she said warily.
“His living skills are coming along well. Another couple of months and I can take him home. Faith and I have the house all ready. He wants his own apartment, but I’ve finally convinced him he’s not up to independent living yet. Not to mention that he’s a long way from reentering the workforce.” Blake’s expression became fondly nostalgic. “We used to spend a lot of time in my gym. It’s going to be great having him around.”
The family togetherness Blake conjured made Maggie ache with loneliness. She wanted Garrett home with her where he belonged, not with his brother. Being shut out hurt beyond belief. “Did you come by to wax poetic, or to interrupt my workday?”
His eyes widened in innocence. “Mag, I just came by to ask you to lunch.”
“You’re almost as bad a liar as I am,” she shot back. “You’re up to something.”
He tried to look hurt. “I’m just hungry.”
“Yeah, right.” Maggie grabbed her purse. “You’re buying.”
Chlorine fumes assailed Maggie’s nose as she entered the room that housed the indoor pool. It had been a week since she’d last seen Garrett and a full day since her lunch with Blake. An hour of hearing the details of the good times ahead for the two brothers had pushed her over the edge, and she was back to caving in to temptation and checking up on Garrett. Then, again, that had probably been what Blake had planned all along.
When she saw Garrett in the sling lift suspended above his wheelchair, a sob nearly escaped her throat. A staff member maneuvered the swing arm over the decking while Sapperstein waited in the water below. Every time she saw him she thought she could handle it, but every time it tore her apart.
The RPI-issue swim trunks fit well, baring Garrett’s broad chest to her gaze. He’d lost weight, typical in cases like his, but she would have preferred to forgo seeing the evidence. His dark olive skin spared him the pasty look a lighter-skinned man might have had, but the months of not being out in the sun still showed. His white-lipped expression spoke more eloquently of his feelings of degradation than words ever could.
She walked toward him, disgusted with herself for loving him, hating him for the hold he had on her heart. Well, Hughes, she grumbled silently, you always knew there was a fine line between love and hate. She took a deep breath. So why can’t you just cross it already and be done with it? “Good morning.”
He swung his gaze around to her but said nothing. Was it a trick of her imagination or had she seen welcome and longing in his eyes before he swept them away beneath a harsh glower? The possibility pulled at her heart.
“Good morning,” she repeated sarcastically. “I’m Maggie Hughes, Assistant Director of Physical Therapy. How are we doing today?”
After a quick glare, he looked away, his jaw clenched so hard she wondered if he might crack a tooth.
“Good...morning.” She enunciated the words as if she were a teacher in an elocution class. “Are we not talking today?”
“Hilarious, Maggie,” he grumbled. His piercing gaze took in the lift, pool and two staff members. “Cattle are loaded onto ships with more dignity than this.”
If ever she’d doubted the wisdom of RPI’s policy of no direct resp
onsibility for a loved one’s care, she didn’t now. Too bad she couldn’t seem to follow her own better judgment. “Humiliation is all part of Club RPI’s service.”
His glower darkened. The lift operator lowered him into the water, and Garrett sucked in his breath.
“A little cold?” she quipped, desperate to break some of the tension that sang between them. “The water’s really pretty nice. Inactivity makes the human body more sensitive to temperature.”
Garrett’s attention swung unnervingly back to her. “I noticed. Care to join me?”
Beneath the anger, she saw near desperation. He needed her, yet despised himself for the weakness. Her heart thudded painfully at the unexpected revelation. The intensity of the sudden temptation to slip into the water with him shocked her. Following through would be an act of errant lunacy.
“Let me check in first. Then I’ll get my suit.”
Garrett paled. “You’ve got work to do.”
“So you’ve reminded me. Repeatedly.” Unwilling to let him see the turmoil in her eyes, she walked to the wallmounted phone, made the call, then trotted into the staff locker room.
Her fingers, stiff from nerves, made unbuttoning her uniform an adventure in aggravation. Pulling on the one-piece swimsuit didn’t prove any easier. When finished, she smoothed the straps and scrutinized her figure. Trim and in better shape than most women ten years younger, she was comfortable with her body. The occasional cheesecake indulgence scarcely caused a problem, but having Garrett see so much of her skin after all this time made her strangely shy. Would he still like what he saw?
“Oh, get off it, Hughes,” she snarled under her breath. “This isn’t a date, and you’re not trying to get him back.” Her voice trembled on the last, and she rolled her eyes in disgust.
With almost violent motions, she secured her hair in a knot at the back of her head. “He’s a patient. Treat him like one.” She slammed her locker shut. “The big cheeses here are going to hate this. Helping on my own time is fine, but taking over on company time and under their liability insurance?” She shuddered at the probable repercussions, then padded out to the pool.
