Something Reckless (Dirty Southern Secrets Book 3)

by J. L. Leslie

  I only have one option left, and I honestly feel like shit going to him. Part of me knows I lead him on. Knows I wasn’t completely honest with him, and he didn’t deserve that.

  But I’m desperate.

  So, after I drop Willow off with Kaler and Jenna, I drive to John’s house. He seems shocked to see me at his door, or rather shocked to see that it’s me at his door and not someone else.

  “Brynn! Um, is everything all right? How’s Kipton?” he asks, looking over my shoulder.

  “He’s actually why I’m here. Do you have a moment? Mind if I come inside?”

  He’s too polite to turn me down ,so he lets me in, looking around outside again before closing his door. He motions for me to take a seat on his couch.

  “John, I need to be honest with you. When we met, I wasn’t very forthcoming.”

  “You’re trying to get a story for the paper.” My mouth falls open, and then I close it, nodding. “This is Chapelwood, Brynn. The paper has been trying to get me to sit down for an interview for years. I’m not surprised they sent their most eligible journalist to reel me in.”

  “I sincerely apologize. If it’s any consolation, I didn’t really do any investigating into your company,” I assure him. “There is one more thing, though.”

  “You’re in love with Kipton Holt.”

  I gasp. “Jesus, John, how did you know?”

  He chuckles. “It wasn’t so much that I could tell with you, but with him. I’ve known Kipton a long time. The night I came to the rodeo, and he saw us together, it was written all over his face. I knew right then that you were off limits. I would never do something like that to him.”

  “He’s in a really bad place right now,” I admit. “We haven’t spoken in a couple of weeks. This injury has really shaken him up.”

  “He’s a proud man. If he can’t rodeo, he won’t know what to do with himself. It isn’t about walking; it’s about losing his way of life.”

  “I’m not sure what to do.”

  “You’re going to have to be as stubborn as he is,” John says. “And that’s pretty damn stubborn.”

  I laugh at that and rise to my feet. John walks me to his door. “I apologize for showing up unannounced like this. I hate when people do that to me, but I appreciate you listening and for hopefully not being upset with me.”

  “I’m not upset at all. Tell you what, I’ll give the paper that interview they’ve been so desperate for if you’re the one who conducts it.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  I open the door, and my eyes widen at Shannon, her hand raised to knock. She lowers it, blushing. I look back at John, and he grins sheepishly.

  “You two?” I ask, smiling.

  “We exchanged numbers at the wedding when he recognized me from where we had lunch that time. I should’ve told you, but it’s new. And besides, I knew you weren’t really dating him.”

  I laugh at that, still feeling slightly guilty, but happy things have worked out for the best. I step outside and give her a quick hug. “I’m very happy for the both of you.”

  “I’m very happy for you and my friend, too,” John says. “Be stubborn, Brynn. He needs someone who can be as stubborn as a bull.”

  Kipton Holt, you’ve met your match.

  67

  Kipton

  I’m pouring damn sweat, and I know the air conditioner is on in my room. I grip the walker, and Giada holds it steady, encouraging me to try and stand again. I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, my feet planted firmly on the floor. My arms and upper body tremble as I push myself to my feet, the majority of my weight heavy on the walker.

  “One! Two! Three!” Giada counts, and I plop back down onto the bed. “Good! That’s good, Kipton!”

  “Oh my God! That’s amazing!” Brynn says, and I whip my head around to see her standing at the door.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask angrily, and the beaming smile she has on her face falls.

  “I came to see how my boyfriend is recovering,” she answers and comes to stand at the foot of my bed. She addresses Giada. “Hi, I’m Brynn.”

  “Giada. You’ve got a fighter here.”

  “She needs to go,” I say to Giada, my teeth clenched.

  “I am not going anywhere,” Brynn says adamantly. “And I told you that when you tried to push me away the other week. If you want a battle over who can be more stubborn, you won’t win.”

  I look up at Giada pleadingly as if she’s going to kick Brynn out of my room. Honestly, a part of me hopes she might. She’s my therapist, and if I act as though Brynn being here may derail my therapy, she could tell her to leave. But do I really want to do that to her?

  “Brynn, please,” I say, exasperated. “Just give me a few minutes to finish up.”

  Christ, I can hear the desperation in my own voice. She must pick up on it because her determined expression softens, and she walks out, closing the door behind her. Mama behaved much worse than that when I kicked her out. Pretty certain she cried after giving me a full explanation as to why she should’ve been able to stay.

  “I like her,” Giada says.

  “Yeah,” I grunt.

  “And you’re trying to end things in case this doesn’t work out for you?” she questions, looking pointedly down at my legs.

  “You’ve seen this before,” I answer. “This alters a person’s quality of life in a lot of ways. What woman wants to be with a man who’s bound to a wheelchair?”

  “My husband is in a wheelchair.”

  My eyes go wide. “I’m sorry. Shit, I had no idea.”

  “Kipton, I’ll be honest with you because I’m not the type of person to sugarcoat things. It is not an easy life. He has bouts of depression, and those are really difficult times. He was in the prime of his life, and a car accident changed everything. His paralysis wasn’t like yours. He did not have a shot at recovery. His was not paresis. I’ll tell you more if you give me four seconds.”

  I narrow my eyes at her but grip the walker. I swallow hard and take a breath before standing, exhaling after she’s counted down. Once I’m seated again, she continues.

  “We struggled a lot when he was discharged. He needed someone to blame, and I was that person for a long time, especially when therapy didn’t work because he desperately wanted it to work. Five seconds if you want to know more.”

  “I didn’t think this was how therapy worked,” I retort.

  “Therapy works by me setting a goal and you working to obtain it. How I set that goal is up to me.”

  “Fine,” I growl and give nearly everything I have to reach five seconds.

  “My husband was initially embarrassed that he couldn’t perform normal tasks. We had to change the function of certain areas of our house, despite his objections. He didn’t want to move things to be within his reach simply because he couldn’t stand to get them. He didn’t want to add ramps or widen door frames. He didn’t want me to assist him in the bathroom. I’ve noticed you have a catheter. Six seconds this time.”

  I roll my eyes but do the task.

  “You’ll be shown how to remove and insert your own catheter, but you’ll want someone else to know how to do this as well. It’s important that you change it accordingly. That person is going to either be her or someone else close to you.”

  “I can kind of feel when I get the urge to pee.”

  “But you may not be able to make it to the bathroom, so you will most likely be discharged with a Foley catheter,” she points out. “And you may get your bowel movements on a schedule if you’re able to feel those urges, too. But you may need help getting from your wheelchair to the toilet. You have to face the fact that you may also need assistance cleaning yourself. My husband hates that, but we joke now that love is loving someone enough to wipe their ass. Seven seconds.”

  I’m reminded of how mortified I was when the nurses had to put me on a bedpan, so I could take a shit and then clean me up afterward. I’ve never been so humiliated in my life.


  Another rep down, and I’m heaving hard, soaked in sweat, but anxious to see what else she has to say. Desperate for more information in case I’m bound to live a life with this disability.

  “I’m sure it’s crossed your mind that you won’t be able to reach an erection. It’s a definite possibility that should you not fully recover from your paresis, that you may have some difficulty reaching and keeping an erection but it’s not impossible get one. Let’s make the eight this time. Isn’t that what you cowboys say?”

  “You’re killing me,” I reply.

  “Last rep. I promise. Make the eight, Kipton.”

  I hang my head, breathing heavily, and then raise it, wiping the sweat from my forehead, determined to get these damn eight seconds just as I would if I were riding a bull. I fight hard, pulling myself to my feet, and I stand tall and proud while she counts. Instead of plopping back down on the bed, I lower myself slowly, smiling at my control.

  “Your injury was not located at your sacral area of your spinal cord, so with physical stimulation, you should be able to. If you can’t, you have to remember there are other ways to be intimate with your girlfriend. Besides, sexual intimacy doesn’t define a relationship.”

  I give her a look that tells her I’m calling bullshit on that one.

  “Kipton, you are so strong, so determined. You can beat this, but if you don’t, you cannot let it beat you. There are shitty days ahead, but you don’t let them define who you are.”

  I’m exhausted, but the adrenaline from reaching my therapy goal is coursing through me. I made the eight. Only these eight seconds took on an entirely new meaning.

  68

  Brynn

  I flip through another magazine, not really reading the articles but wanting to pass the time. I’m not sure how long Kipton’s therapy lasts or if he’ll even let me know when he’s finished. He was so angry seeing me there.

  What the fuck are you doing here?

  I wanted to demand that he allow me to stay, but I could hear the pleading in his voice. Could hear that he didn’t want me to see him like that. I thought he was doing well when I saw him standing. He may have a long road to a full recovery ahead of him, but it hasn’t been very long, and from what I could see, he’s made a lot of progress.

  The moment that thought enters my mind, another one follows. What if he doesn’t fully recover? It’s possible he will not gain full function of his legs. Doesn’t he realize there will be more days like this if that’s the case? He can’t shield me from it forever.

  “Brynn?”

  I glance up and see Giada, so I put the magazine down and smile. She takes a seat beside me, and I cross my legs, turning my body toward her.

  “I’m sorry I interrupted your session, and then sort of threw a tantrum.”

  “Oh, no apology is necessary. He needed that, actually.”

  I laugh. “He’s just so stubborn, and I was afraid if I didn’t stand my ground, he would keep pushing me away. We actually haven’t spoken much since his surgery.”

  I’m unsure why I’m telling her this, but she seems like she doesn’t take much of his crap, if any. She also seems like she has experience with this sort of thing.

  “His behavior is not uncommon,” she assures me. “Most people, men especially, attempt to shut out those who are there to help. Most of us are wired to do things by ourselves, and when you’re an athlete, it’s extremely difficult to let that aspect of your life go. I’m not saying that has to happen with Kipton, but it’s going to take some time before he can return to his sport, if he’s ever able to.”

  “God, I hope not,” I say with a shudder.

  She frowns slightly. “Regardless, if he sets that as a goal, you must be supportive. Being hopeless is the last thing he needs, and it’s easy for him to become hopeless if he believes his goal is unattainable.”

  “Will you be honest with me? Do you think he’ll make a full recovery?”

  “I’m never one to make predictions like that. He’s been doing very well with his therapy. It’s possible he’ll be discharged soon. When that happens, I’ll be recommending a therapist near your area. He just has to keep putting in the work.”

  “So, he’ll go home before he’s fully recovered?” I ask, slightly panicked. “Before we even know if that’s going to happen?”

  “Absolutely. Once there’s no fear of further injury to his spinal cord, he’ll be released. The doctor typically tries to keep them until he believes they’ll recuperate well at home, and Kipton is an ideal candidate for continued recovery.”

  “I know his mama has been here. Will she be fully prepped on how to take care of him?”

  She furrows her brow. “If that’s what he prefers. I’m sorry, I was under the impression that you would be the one to do that.”

  My cheeks heat a little. “I would like to be the one to do that if he’ll let me. I’m just afraid he won’t. And his mama is a little…”

  “Overprotective?” she offers when my voice trails.

  “She just wants to take care of him, and we were all really shaken up when he was injured. It was terrifying to watch, actually.”

  “Well, like I said, he’s going to hate letting anyone help him, but he doesn’t need to be coddled. He’s going to have to fail at times.”

  “I don’t know that he’s ever failed at anything.”

  “He will fail at times when it comes to this, but that doesn’t mean he won’t eventually succeed. He’ll figure out his own way to do it.”

  She gives me a polite smile and gets up. I thank her and head up to his room. This time I knock before I ease the door open. Kipton is in the bed, his head slightly leaning to the side, his dark lashes against his cheeks. His chest rises and falls evenly in his sleep. I walk over and sit on the edge of the bed, lightly tracing my fingertip over his hand.

  “Come here,” he whispers, his eyes heavy-lidded.

  I lay back beside him, curling my body against his on the small bed. He wraps his arms around me, and I nestle in closer, resting my head on his shoulder.

  “I missed you,” he says.

  Relief courses through me. I was so afraid I had lost him, but no. There he is. My cowboy is still here.

  69

  Kipton

  My wheelchair seems a million fucking miles away. Giada stands behind me, her grip firm on the gait belt around my waist, but I know if I go down, she can’t catch me. I suppose the perk is that I won’t feel too much unless my upper body takes the brunt of it.

  I will admit, each day I can see improvement in my function. I’m regaining feeling and sensation in my legs, but I’m impatient as all fuck. Walking ten steps drains me, and it’s taken me two weeks to be able to get this far. I had no idea I would’ve been in the hospital an entire month, giving it my all for a measly ten steps. This is my last therapy session with Giada. My last walk in these parallel bars with her.

  She’s been with me every day, showing me new exercises and pushing me hard. I’m grateful she doesn’t take it easy on me. It’s been a hard four weeks since my surgery. My mama refused to go home, which doesn’t surprise me. She did let me pay for her hotel and expenses with my prize money. She also lets me do my therapy in private and only comes to share meals with me.

  Brynn hasn’t been able to stay, having to remain in Chapelwood for her job and to be with Willow. She did come to visit on the weekend, and I’ll see her when I get home later today. I stopped ignoring her calls, and we’ve talked every day. She mailed me a copy of the Chapelwood Courant with an interesting article about the Hendricks Accounting Firm. It wasn’t an expose but a lifestyles article on John. I was so proud of her. I only hope I can make her proud of me.

  Laura is here to observe my progress and report back to her supervisor at Wrangler. I wanted to speed down these bars, show her I’m going to meet their twelve-week requirement. Fuck that. I’m going to recover sooner and be back competing in no time.

  Instead, I’ve barely made it seven ste
ps, and my entire body is trembling from exhaustion. Sweat rolls down my forehead and drips from my nose onto the floor. The damn catheter inserted in my dick has drained the urine from my kidneys, and I can feel the warmth of it in the bag that’s strapped to my leg. At least my jersey shorts cover it up.

  “Stop trying to rush,” Giada scolds. “Slow and steady. Three more steps.”

  I take a deep breath and take a step forward, a death grip on the bars. I manage to conquer another step, and I’ll be damned if it doesn’t feel like my heart is going to beat right out of my chest.

  “I’m not getting your chair,” Giada says. “You’ll stand here until you do the ten.”

  I won’t give up. She knows that. Not once have I told her I can’t do it. Not once have I complained. I push, and I push because I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in a chair. I push because I won’t have the sport that I love beat me. Mainly, I push because I don’t want to be a burden to Brynn.

  I let out a low growl, finishing the last two steps. Giada helps me turn and lower to my chair. I’m breathing heavily, so she gets me some water. I gulp it down greedily.

  “I hear you’re being discharged,” Laura says, approaching the bars. “Will you have access to therapy in Chapelwood?”

  I shake my head. “Not in Chapelwood but nearby. Giada is recommending someone.”

  “What are they saying about your chances for a full recovery?”

  I knew this question was coming. It’s why she’s here, after all. I asked the doctor the same question this morning. I demanded he give me a straight answer.

  “Seventy percent chance.”

  She nods. “We would have preferred higher odds, but you still have eight weeks. Good luck, Kipton.”