3. Chapter Three
Chapter three
One Month Ago…
E ight weeks of recovery time and I still don’t have full feeling in my left hand. The accident caused a lot more damage than I had originally thought. A complex nerve laceration has me worried I might never be the same again. Though the surgeon was able to repair it, only time will tell if I will regain feeling. Even then, it might not be enough to get back to what I love—surgery.
Staring out the window of my brother’s car, I try not to let the rain get me down. I’m already about as far down as I can get, but the rain drags me into the depths of despair along with a load of bad memories. It drudges up things I’d rather forget. Fortunately, the accident only involved the deer and my car and no one else was hurt. Unfortunately, I’m about to lose my mind from boredom and the constant loss of sensation in my hand. I can’t even grip my toothbrush. Not that it matters since I’m right handed, but what if I want to brush my teeth with my left hand? A girl should be able to change up her hygiene routine without consulting with her neurosurgeon.
“You okay over there?” Jackson asks, glancing at me. This trip is all his idea, but I need it. Staying at Mom and Dad’s the past eight weeks has been misery. It’s not their fault, but I’m used to living on my own, doing things my way. Call me crazy, but no adult woman wants her mother to cut her food for her and remind her to clear her plate for dessert.
“Yeah. Thinking about moving back into my own house,” I admit.
“Can you? I mean, I know you don’t want to live back home with Mom and Dad, but I don’t want you to move too fast.” Jackson looks over again and I tense.
“Can you pay attention to the road?” I snap.
He grumbles and regrips the wheel.
“Yes, I can go home. I hired someone to do meal prep for me and to run errands. I’m perfectly capable of doing the other things I need to do while I heal. Besides, if I need anything, Mom and Dad are literally a fifteen minute drive away."
I shift in my seat, anxious to get this adventure over with. Of course, I don’t mind stopping by the firehouse to thank Caius for helping me that fateful night, but I’m not exactly in the mood to speak to anyone, let alone our long-lost childhood friend. He’d been such a hero that night, even stayed with me at the hospital until my parents arrived and his chief made him go back to work. Still, I wouldn’t mind waiting another few weeks to dive back in to society.
“I can come by and help you with some stuff if you want,” Jackson says, but his idea of helping is mixing up all of my clothes and turning them colors they aren’t supposed to be. He doesn’t rinse the dishes before he puts them in the dishwasher, and he overwaters plants until they practically drown. I have no idea how Denise, his wife, puts up with him.
“I think you should send Deni instead. Then maybe my plants will stand a chance.” My teasing brings a smile to his face. I count it as a win. He’s been more depressed about my situation than I have, but I’m determined to get back into the operating room if it’s the last thing I do. I’m too young for my career to end, especially like this, with no other career paths that don’t require a lot of backtracking and more hours of school than I’m prepared to endure.
Jackson pulls into the firehouse where Caius told him he’d be until tomorrow morning and parks in the right side of the lot with a sign that says visitors . The bay doors are open and four bright red trucks face the road, ready to go at a moment’s notice. A few firefighters converse in the opened bay area, and one of them breaks away to meet us as we approach. Jackson carries the brownies Mom made. They were always Cai’s favorite when we were kids.
“Hey there, what can I do for you?” the man asks as he extends his hand to shake Jackson’s.
“Jackson and Tallulah Whitmore. We’re here to see Caius,” Jackson says and points to me.
“Oh, right. Cai said you’d be stopping by. Come on in. I’m Captain Swanson, and pardon me for saying, ma’am, but you look a whole lot better today than you did a couple months ago.” He shoots me a kind smile. “How are you feeling?”
I don’t recognize his face, but there were a lot of people at the scene of my accident. I nod and rustle up a smile. “Thanks. I feel a lot better. Thank you for everything you did for me that night. It’ll be the last time I drive those roads in the rain, maybe at all.”
“We get a lot of calls for that area. City can’t seem to deter the deer, but I’m sure glad you’re all right.” He opens the main door to the firehouse and lets us in before shutting it behind him.
The main room is a sprawling, tiled, white-walled expanse with four sofas, a large screen television, and a few tables and recliners sprawled about. Behind the main room is an open kitchen where someone is already cooking. He’s broad shouldered and muscular, and boy does he fill out his uniform well. I swallow and remind myself that swooning over firefighters is not on my to-do list today. I’m supposed to say hello to Cai, deliver brownies, smile a little, and get out of here before I get too antsy.
“Gray, your visitors have arrived,” Captain Swanson says.
Gray? Oh boy. Was I just ogling…
The man cooking turns around and I’m met with the warm brown eyes of Caius Gray. His grin stretches ear to ear, and unlike the night of the crash, I can fully take him in. He’s no gangly teenager anymore, not by a long shot. His muscular arms bulge when he dries his hands on a kitchen towel, forcing me to blink a few times. He’s also taken to properly combing his dirty blonde hair, a feat that seemed to evade him in our younger years.
And yes, I can definitively say I was, in fact, ogling the heck out of my brother’s former best friend. I’m still doing it, so I blink and shake my head just as he nods our way.
“Hey there. One sec. I made you something,” he says and holds up a finger before turning back around to plate up whatever he was cooking. Once it’s set up, he drops a skillet into the sink and stacks his arms with plates full of grilled cheese sandwiches.
“You did not make us grilled cheese,” I say, working hard to ignore how freakishly gorgeous this man has grown to be. Seriously, he was cute and loveable in high school, but this man is, well, a man now. And it does things to my stomach that I choose to ignore because I have enough to manage right now without adding a ridiculous crush on my firefighter hero slash childhood friend to the list.
“I did. Soup is already on the table. Dig in,” Caius says and sets the plates around. The rest of the guys swarm to the kitchen, and I realize we’ve been corralled into mealtime at the firehouse.
“Good thing we brought dessert,” Jackson says and holds up the brownie tray. The two must have really reconnected while waiting in the ER together. Jackson didn’t mention any long conversations with Cai, but I was too woozy on drugs to remember much of anything.
“Please tell me these are your mother’s double fudge brownies with caramel sauce?” Cai asks, pausing mid-sit with a cocked eyebrow.
“Of course.” Jackson shrugs and slides them across the table.
“It’s been too long since I’ve had Mrs. Whitmore’s food, and I’m not sure I can control myself when I pull back this aluminum foil.” Rather than eat his lunch first, Cai digs into the brownies. As always. The guy could never say no to Mom’s baked goods, but it certainly won’t impact that chiseled firefighter physique whose silhouette seems perfectly enhanced by his dark blue uniform tee.
Focus, Tulip. Eat grilled cheese. Thank everyone for rescuing you, and get out.
“Well, Tulip has been stuck at Mom and Dad’s for the last eight weeks, and Deni thought I should get her out of the house. I’ve wanted to stop by and catch up some more, so here we are,” Jackson says.
Caius bites his lip and my eyes flutter down to them like a moth to a flame. “Deni is…your wife?” he asks, hesitating.
I guess they didn’t spend much time catching up at the hospital.
“Oh, yeah, man I guess it has been a long time. Denise and I met in our last year of college. You’ll like her. She’s driven and focused, a lot like Tulip, but she’s—”
“If you say she’s nicer than me, I will smack you.” I cut my eyes toward my brother. Yes, I am the sunny sibling, but my attitude as of late has a lot to do with, I don’t know, flipping my car and potentially ending my career as a surgeon.
No. No, I won’t think that way. I will be back in the operating room one day, and my attitude will flip back to the sunny-side-up Tulip everyone knows and loves…mostly.
Everyone chuckles, including Cai. “I can’t imagine you being less than sweet and sunny. That guy, though, was always the grump. I doubt that has changed much, if at all.” He motions toward Jackson.
“It hasn’t. Not even a little. Don’t let him make you think otherwise,” I say, cutting another glare toward my brother. I take a bite of grilled cheese to keep the rest of my thoughts in my head. Like always, it’s gooey and buttery and crispy in all the right places. I remember how much we loved it when Cai made us food. His after-school snacks were to die for.
“How are you doing?” another man asks. “Sorry, my name is Ben Kempler. We met the night of your accident, but you probably don’t remember.”
I take a deep breath. I do remember his face. “You helped pull me out. I remember that. Thank you.”
“All in a day’s work. I hope you’re doing better,” he says.
Jackson looks at me as if to ask how much bad news I’m willing to bestow upon the firefighters who worked diligently to extricate me from the wreckage. I shake my head slightly. Telling Cai would be one thing, but telling all of them that I might never be able to do the one thing I love ever again seems like smacking them in the face. They put their all into saving me, and the knowledge that my life might be changed forever might dampen their spirits.
Jackson heeds my request and says, “Well, she’s doing a lot better. Slow and steady, right?”
“For sure,” Kempler says.
We carry on polite conversation while we eat, then my brother picks up on my subtle hints that I’m ready to go. Oddly, so does Cai and he winks at me before pushing away from the table and clearing our dishes. “I’ll walk you out to the car. Wouldn’t want you to get stuck here if we should get a call.”
“It was good seeing you, Miss Whitmore,” Captain Swanson says and waves us out with a polite smile and chocolate brownie on his chin.
Out in the visitor parking area, Jackson and Caius continue a superficial conversation, primarily about what we’ve been doing for the past decade, until we reach Jackson’s car. I trail along behind trying to refocus and catch my breath. A short visit to a firehouse should not drain me this much, but my body is still in recovery mode even after two months.
“Well, I’m glad you both stopped by. Feel free to come over anytime you want,” Caius says.
“We shouldn’t lose touch again. We’re all back in Denver, so let’s try to meet up sometime,” Jackson says. “I hate that we drifted apart during college.”
“Me too. We should definitely do something, especially if it means I get some more of your mom’s brownies. And cake. And cookies, and everything else she makes.” Caius grins but his eyes focus on me. I’ve been much quieter than usual. Of course, for all he knows, I’m no longer the speed-talking, never shuts up, sunshine and sweetness girl from his past…except that I am, when I’m not miserable. His grin falters and eyes soften, but he doesn’t say anything more.
“I work about sixty hours a week, but I’d love for you to meet Deni. Maybe next weekend?” Jackson asks.
“Ah, I have a forty-eight hour shift next weekend, and this weekend I promised the guys I’d go riding with them. Do you ride?” Caius waves toward a white and red sport bike and his eyes widen at the prospect of bringing Jackson along on a motorcycle ride. As usual, Jackson dashes them with the most moronic statement imaginable. Sometimes, I think words fall right out of my brother’s mouth without going through his brain for filtration first.
“Not really a fan of bicycles, if I’m honest.” Jackson shrugs.
I smack my forehead, which sends radiating pain up to my elbow. I wince but hide it well enough that the men don’t notice. With a grumble, I say, “I think he means motorcycles, Jax. What about Cai says that he rides a bicycle all over Denver?” When I motion over his body—which is certainly lithe enough to indicate he’s a cyclist—my cheeks burn. Why am I pointing out his athleticism? And why does it suddenly scream bad boy biker to me? I try to cover my sudden blushing marathon by waving in the same direction he did. “Motorcycle, see?”
Bad boy biker. Ha! Cai has said more words in this conversation than he used to say in a month. There’s nothing bad about him. At least, there never was. Not unless a lot has changed over the years, but something tells me he’s the same comedic, golden boy he’s always been. Cai only chuckles and nods toward me.
“Yeah, what she said. A motorcycle.” He motions toward his bike again and glances at it over his shoulder. It’s a beautiful bike, but I’m more focused on something I don’t see . I can’t help noticing there is no ring on his finger, which I assume means he is also not married. Unless firefighters don’t wear them at work. I once read that regular rings can be a problem for them, but I don’t remember exactly why. When Jackson talked about Denise, Cai didn’t mention a wife or girlfriend either. Not that it’s any of my business anyway.
And it’s fine. I don’t need to know those things. Totally…don’t…need to know.
“Unfortunately, no. I don’t ride, but I could be convinced if you can make the case to my wife.” Jackson smiles but we both know there is no chance Deni will support the purchase of a death rocket.
When Cai’s gaze bounces back to me, wide with a question, I shake my head. “Aw, come on, Whits.”
“Nope, not a chance. I’ve put way too many people back together after crashing on those. Please be careful.”
“Always am, I promise. I wear full gear and nothing less.”
A blasting tone emanates from the building, indicating our visit is definitely over.
“Sorry, I gotta go.” Without another word, Cai grabs me around the waist and pulls me into a quick hug, then he’s off to save the day. I’m left stumbling but catch myself on the trunk of the car. I can’t pull my eyes off him as he jogs to the bay where men flood the trucks, pulling on turnout gear and boots. Cai snatches his from the locker and pulls it on then hops into the back of an engine. Then they’re off, alarms blaring.
“Well that was fun and exciting,” Jackson says. “I hate that you had a wreck, but I’m glad we’ve reconnected with him. I didn’t realize how much I missed him around until now.”
“Yeah,” I whisper as I stare down the road where the red engines disappear, wondering why we ever lost touch in the first place. There was no real reason other than the usual distance that comes from going off to college. Like Jackson, I bear the sting of that loss along with the swell of hope that this might be the one good thing that comes from my accident. Reconnecting with Cai.
“Let’s get you back to the house. Am I taking you to yours or back to Mom and Dad’s?”
I sigh, knowing it’ll kill our parents for me to up and leave, but I need it. I need to be in my own space again, among my own things where I’m more comfortable. And with my books. All of the dozens of books I haven’t gotten to read with my hands out of commission. The bookish girl in me longs for some quiet moments with book boyfriends, funny heroines, daring adventures, and maybe even a dragon or two.
“Take me home, and I’ll break it to them. I’m ready to sleep in my own bed again.”
“They’re all dead,” I mumble to no one and drop a handful of dried, brown leaves into the trash. Every plant, save a persistent aloe, died while I was away. My own little botanical heaven is gone, leaving one spikey friend to share the space with me. I relocate the lone survivor to my office where I can sort through the books that have been piling up on my to be read list for months.
There’s a stack of non-fiction, mostly memoirs and biographies about people I admire, but I’m not in the mood for real life. I push them aside and gently sort through a stack of sweet romances. My fingertips barely register the smooth covers, only enough to know I’m touching something but not how fine the texture is. When I don’t find one that jumps out at me, I sort through the fantasy stack until I land on something that catches my eye.
Across the room, my plush sofa invites me to lay down, relax, and get lost in another world, one where the main character’s problems are bigger than mine. Problems I don’t have to solve. Things that take my mind away from the odd sensations in my hand.
I glance at my palms. Scars run across the left one and down across my wrist, a constant reminder that, for some reason, my hand went wonky and through the window. My airbags deployed, but in a rollover accident it’s difficult to know what happened after that. Knowing how it happened doesn’t change anything, so I try to focus on healing instead.
Holding the book is harder than I expect, even though it’s a paperback. Still, I manage to rest it on my thigh and read a few pages before the pain is almost unbearable. It isn’t fair that the intense ache radiates up my arm, all the way to my shoulder, yet I feel nothing in my fingers. I turn another page and wince. Even the tactile aspect of reading is lost. It’s just not the same with only one feeling hand. I’d forgotten how much the feel of the pages, the rough texture and crinkle, brought to the whole experience of reading a book. Soon, frustration makes it impossible for me to focus, so I close the book and lay it on the table.
Frustration is soon followed by anger, which gives way to depression. Even in my own home, I still feel out of place. I’m not myself, and I’m not sure I ever will be again.