Chapter 11
11
Colt Bishop
C oming to a stop in front of the clinic, my dad doesn’t bother putting the car in park. “I’m going to run a few errands, but I’ll be back to pick you up by the time you’re finished.”
I unbuckle my seatbelt with a nod. “Sounds good, thanks.” Climbing out of my dad’s truck, I offer him a quick wave before I head into the office.
I have a follow-up appointment with William this morning. My first physical therapy session was last week, and this is to check the progress on that, I guess.
Once I’m checked in, I have a seat in one of the chairs in the waiting room. There is one other person in here, but that’s it. It’s still pretty early, the office having just opened. If I wasn’t in such a sour mood, I’d probably be excited, knowing I’m about to see William. It’s going to be the first time since I played footsie with him at the diner, and something about messing with him, riling him up even just a little bit, brings me joy.
I’m trying to not let the injury bring me down, but it’s hard. I should be well on my way to qualifying for finals again. On to the next stop, the next rodeo. But instead, I’m stuck here, unable to work out, train, or do any-fucking-thing, and I’m sick of it. Why me? Why’d this have to happen to me? Despite knowing I shouldn’t, I found the footage of the injury on the internet, and I’ve started obsessively watching it. Over and over, I’ll replay it, pinpointing the exact moment everything went wrong.
Last night, I was scrolling through social media, and I saw some rodeo coverage on a couple of my buddies’ pages. It’s such a weird juxtaposition; the happiness and pride I feel for them, seeing them work their asses off and do well, while also swallowing down the bitterness that comes from knowing I should be out there too. I wish I hadn’t seen those photos because it’s done nothing but reignite all the feelings I’ve been trying to tamp down.
“Colt?” Glancing up, I meet Meg’s gaze. She’s smiling warmly at me, and I try to return the gesture, but I’m sure it looks forced. “If you want to follow me back,” she says.
After she checks my weight, we settle into a room toward the back. I shrug out of my jacket and set it on the chair in the corner before climbing up onto the bed.
“How are we feeling this morning?” Meg asks, taking a seat in the swivel chair in front of the computer. She swipes her card over the reader, unlocking it.
“Fine.” My one-word answer comes out clipped. My shoulder is on the sore side this morning, probably from overdoing it on the stretches last night after I saw those pictures, but like hell am I about to tell her that.
“Incision site is looking good?” she asks, clicking away on the keyboard. “No redness or swelling?”
“Nope. Looking good.”
Meg asks me a few more questions before she rises off her chair and crosses the room. We’re quiet as she checks my vitals. Finishing up, she inputs all of her responses on the computer before standing once more and glancing over at me. “Okay, Dr. Braylon will be in momentarily.”
My brows clash together. “Dr. Braylon?” I repeat. “No, Dr. Andino is my primary care doctor.”
Looking as confused as I feel, she walks back over to the computer and scans her card once more. After a few moments, she says, “It looks like care has been transferred over to Dr. Braylon. Were you not notified?”
“Obviously not,” I grit out, realizing a little too late how harsh that came out. “Can I speak to Dr. Andino, please?”
“He’s not in the office right now,” she offers, looking apologetic.
Not wanting to cause a scene when I’m already feeling irritable, I nod. “That’s okay. Thanks, Meg.”
With a nod, she offers me a small smile before exiting through the door.
Why would he switch me over to Dr. Braylon? And without telling me to boot. Was he really that pissed by me playing a little footsie? What an asshole.
A few minutes later, a knock sounds at the door before it’s pushed open. Dr. Braylon steps inside, closing the door behind him as he regards me with a warm grin. “Morning, Colt.”
I don’t know Dr. Braylon all that well; I think he moved here after med school, but he can’t be much older than me. He seems like a nice enough guy, but again, I don’t know a whole lot about him .
I tip my chin up at him by way of greeting as he sits in the swivel chair and scans his badge to unlock the screen. He’s quiet for a moment as he appears to read through my chart, the silence grating my nerves.
“Where’s Dr. Andino?” I blurt out.
Gaze darting over to meet mine, he looks confused. “He’s not in the office yet.”
“He’s my doctor.” In the back of my mind, I’m aware that I’m behaving like a petulant child who’s not getting his way, but something about this entire situation is annoying the fuck out of me.
Dr. Braylon’s brows pinch together. “Oh, I’m sorry, Colt. I figured you would’ve been notified about the switch, but in an effort to lighten Dr. Andino’s workload, we moved a couple patients over to me. I thought you knew.”
“No, I did not know.”
Dr. Braylon glances at the computer screen, then back at me, his lips turned down into a frown. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but his lips open and close a few times like he’s trying to find the right words to calm the situation. Not wanting to cause a huge fuss, I blow out a breath.
“It’s fine,” I finally offer. “Can we get on with it, please?”
His shoulders visibly relax, and the smile returns to his face. “Yes, of course.”
From there, the appointment goes smoothly. He advises me to take it easy, to not push myself too hard, but to be sure to keep up with my exercises. I have physical therapy again in a few days, and I’m praying they tell me I can remove the sling after that appointment. As I’m leaving, I schedule my next appointment. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask the receptionist if William is here yet, but I bite it back. I don’t want to seem crazy or desperate, but I would like to ask him what his fucking problem is. So what? We hooked up one time years ago. Does he really have to fire me as a patient for that? And without even discussing it with me. What a coward move.
My dad is waiting for me in the parking lot as I exit the building. Aside from asking how the appointment went, the drive home is made in silence. All I want to do is go home and lie down. I’m agitated, but that seems to be the only emotion I’m capable of feeling these days. Dr. Braylon suggested it may be a good idea to talk to someone about all of this, like a therapist. Probably because he could tell how irritated I was, and he probably chalked it up to being about the injury. He’s probably right. Yes, I’m annoyed that William got rid of me as a patient, but if I’m honest with myself, had I not been injured and unable to compete, that fact probably wouldn’t annoy me as much. I’m on edge, that’s all.
Taking the steps up to my parents’ house two at a time, I stroll inside, leaving my shoes near the rack by the front door, and just as I’m about to barrel up the stairs in search of my bed, my mom pokes her head around the corner.
“Hi, honey. How was your appointment?”
“Hey, Mom. It was fine.”
“Can you come in here, please?”
For fuck’s sake. I just want to lie down. “Sure.”
“I was hoping you could help me,” she says as I step into the kitchen. “I’m baking sugar cookies for Ginny’s surprise birthday party, and thought maybe you could cut the dough for me while I roll out the next batch. You can do it with one hand.”
Clenching my jaw to ensure I don’t bite out that doing anything left-handed is not easy, I nod, taking a seat at the table where she’s got a huge thing of dough flattened and ready for me. There’s a circle cookie cutter beside it and a couple of cookie sheets lined with parchment paper on the counter behind me.
“Are you planning to go to Ginny’s party?” she asks as I get started on my task. It’s actually not as challenging as I thought it would be. “I think it’ll be fun.”
Practically the whole town is getting together at the diner this Sunday to celebrate Ginny’s birthday. Her daughter works in the shop next to Whit’s clinic, and she’s the one who told us about it. Well, told Whit, and Whit told me.
“I don’t know, not really in the party mood,” I murmur with a shrug.
Glancing over at me, something softens in my mom’s eyes as she takes me in. “Honey, I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you, to be hurt and not able to ride. I wish I had the magical fix to make you feel better, but I don’t. I know I’m just your mom and probably the last person you want to talk to, but please know, I’m always here for you.”
My mom is a big talker. She believes in talking about your feelings, getting them out there, and working through it all. She’s always been that way, while I tend to take after my dad and hold everything inside. What is talking going to do? Is it going to make my shoulder better? Is it going to get me back on a bull any faster? No. So, what’s the point?
A twinge of guilt squeezes at my chest, though. It’s not my mom’s fault that I’m in this situation, and she doesn’t deserve my anger or my poor attitude. With a tight smile, I say, “Thanks, Mom. I appreciate you saying that.”
“Know what I think?” she asks, a glint in her eye.
I shake my head.
“I think your shoulder is going to heal nicely, and you’ll be back to competing next season. I know it can be easy to wallow right now, when you have nothing but time on your hands, but the body is an incredible thing. You’re young and healthy, and I think it’ll surprise you how quickly you get back to normal with a little bit of time.”
“We don’t know that,” I mutter.
“A little positive thinking never hurt anybody,” she replies with a wink.
My mom isn’t the biggest fan of the rodeo, or my bull riding. Considering what happened to her husband when he was a professional bull rider, it’s understandable. I’m not dumb; I can admit that his injuries were significantly worse than the ones I’m suffering from. Hell, he was in a coma for a while and nearly died, but I can’t imagine the fear that clutched at my mother when she saw me get bucked off that bull and then stepped on.
It was a surprise to nobody when I announced I wanted to be a bull rider when I was younger. For as long as I can remember, I wanted to be just like my dad. I’d go with him to the arena, I’d watch him train, and every summer until sophomore year in high school, I’d travel with him as he competed on the circuit. I was his little shadow for as long as I can remember, bull riding always a dream of mine. I joined the rodeo club in high school, and dedicated all of my free time to learning to be the best I could be. My mom always supported my dreams, rooted for me, even when I knew it terrified her. Even though I know she has always wished I would’ve taken a different route.
She doesn’t say anything else, and neither do I. After I’ve cut the dough into circles and put them all on the cookie sheet, she puts those in the oven as I get started on the next slab of dough. Working side by side for the next hour or so, I allow myself to enjoy this little moment. I force myself to let go of some of the anger I’m holding on to and appreciate this time spent with my mom that, had the situation been different, I wouldn’t be here for.
Once we’re done, she fixes us some sandwiches, fruit, and chips, and we eat outside on the porch together. I don’t know how she does it, but by the time we’re finished eating, I’m feeling better than I have in days.