Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
WYATT
SIX WEEKS LATER
“Your bone has healed.” Dr. O’Mara taps at the x-ray of my leg, right at the spot where the bone has mended. “But that doesn’t mean you’re out of the woods yet.”
I withhold the eye roll that I want to give him. I mean no disrespect, but if I had a dollar for every time someone in the medical field told me I wasn’t out of the woods or I still needed to be cautious, or some variation of that sentence since the accident happened, I’d be a rich man.
“Yeah, yeah. I still need to take it easy and watch what I’m doing.
No worries. That’ll be easy since I’m still not back at work.
” And I’m climbing the walls at home. Bored out of my mind and still pissed.
Not at the fact I broke my leg, no. I’ve reconciled with myself that shit happens, and I need to move on.
I’ll be back at work probably by the first of the year.
“Right. Because I haven’t signed off on you returning to work yet either. You’re going to have to give that till at least January.” He studies me from over the top of his glasses, and this time I do roll my eyes—and let him see it too.
“Doc, give me a break. I’ve been off work since August.” That feels like a lifetime ago. It was a lifetime ago. I was a different man then. Happier.
“I’m fully aware of how long it’s been.” He sniffs, vaguely offended, I’m sure. “You’ve run into some complications during the healing process. A couple of setbacks. We have to move cautiously.”
My wound where the bone busted through my skin got infected, and I got put back into the hospital almost immediately after going to the rehab center.
They were worried the bone could get infected, which meant they were monitoring me carefully and no one could come visit me. Not my family, not Dottie, not anyone.
Didn’t matter. The only person I really wanted to see—besides my precious Dot—had already left me.
What the hell is wrong with me anyway, that I somehow always end up making a woman run?
It’s fucked up. But maybe I’m the fucked-up one because I drive them away.
I have issues. I’m too intense, too emotional, maybe?
When I do fall, I tend to fall hard. I can’t help myself.
And it’s not like I go around and fall for a different woman every few months.
I hadn’t allowed anyone in my life, in my fucking heart, for years, and the one time I let down my emotional guard, she still walked out on me.
Can I blame her, though? After being angry for a while, I started to realize that I was the problem.
I’m the burden. Rachel is young, and our worlds are nowhere near alike, while I’m an old man—compared to her—who has to handle some serious shit.
Like recovering from a terrible accident, and oh, I’m a single dad.
Plus, how could I ever properly provide for her?
Rachel is used to the finer things in life, and I’m just a fire captain.
It’s a great job with excellent benefits and the potential to make a lot of money, thanks to overtime, but that got squashed this season.
Then there’s the fact that the job is dangerous . . .
“Yeah, I understand.” I sort of don’t, but there’s no point in arguing with him.
“Think of it this way: You’ll have the holiday season off. You can enjoy Thanksgiving and Christmas without having to work,” Doc says, looking for the bright side.
Big deal. I don’t really care about having the holidays off. It’ll be nice to maybe schedule some more fun holiday-themed activities with Dot, but what will that get me? Complete and utter misery because I’m alone. Without Rachel.
Dottie’s asked about her a few times, and I always give her ambiguous answers.
How can I tell her the truth when I don’t fully understand it myself?
Dottie’s also been asking about having a mom.
She wants one, and she doesn’t seem to care who it is.
She sees other families at school, with her friends, and she tells me often she wants a mommy like her friends.
And she wants siblings too. She told me so just a couple of nights ago, when I was putting her to bed.
She made me feel like garbage, like I can’t even manage to find a nice woman to get married to and have a couple more kids with.
This isn’t Dottie’s fault for saying that. I’m dealing with my own hang-ups, which are emphasized when questions are asked.
In other words, I’m a head case, and I need to get over myself.
Eventually, my appointment is over, and I walk out into the waiting room of the doctor’s office. My brother is perched on the edge of one of the uncomfortable chairs, scrolling his phone. “You ready?”
He nods and jumps to his feet. “Let’s go.”
We walk outside to Nate’s car, and I’m a little slower than normal. Nate keeps pace with me, though, never walking ahead, and I hate that he has to accommodate me.
“Did he release you so you can drive?”
“Next time, he said.” My leg aches like a bitch when I have to keep it bent for any length of time, so that means driving is difficult. To the point that my doctor forbids me from driving much at all. It’s crazy how restricted I am after this injury. I really fucked myself up.
“Well, that’s good news.” My brother took the morning off—got subs to cover his classes and everything—to take me to the doctor since Mom and Dad are out of town at a funeral for an old friend they went to high school with. “Right?”
“Sure.”
We climb into the car, and I sit in silence.
Nate hasn’t started the engine yet, and I don’t know why.
I can feel him watching me, but I refuse to look at him, that old stubborn streak of mine coming out in full force since the injury.
I’ve become the ultimate dick. Impossible to deal with.
I annoy myself, but it’s like I can’t help it.
“You’re an ungrateful son of a bitch, you know that?
” Nate starts the car and backs out of the parking spot at full speed, causing my entire body to jerk against the seat belt.
Normally, he’s careful, tiptoeing around me so I don’t get hurt.
Now it’s like he doesn’t give a fuck if he’s hurting me or not.
“We’re all trying to rally around you, help you out where we can, and you act like a big . . . baby.”
“Let’s see you deal with a broken leg and not being able to work.
Not being able to drive and get around. It fucking sucks.
You’re lucky I can wipe my own ass, or you’d be doing it for me.
” I glare at him, wishing he weren’t driving so we could really get into it.
I’m in the mood to fight, which isn’t good.
“I wouldn’t touch your ass if you paid me.” He pauses, turning onto the main road and hitting the gas extra hard, throwing my head back. Dick. “You need to stop sulking.”
“I’m not sulking—”
“Yeah, you are. You’re barely putting in any effort during PT. Trust me, I’ve got spies, and they’re ratting you out.”
I blow out a harsh breath, scratching the back of my head. I wince when I hit the tender spot where it was split open, thanks to that damn pine tree. “What they’re making me do is stupid.”
“What they’re making you do is going to help you heal quicker and stronger. They’re trying to get you back to where you were, and you act like they’re trying to ruin you. It’s bullshit. How you’re behaving is total bullshit.”
Damn. My brother is mad. He doesn’t usually get this worked up unless his high school football team is on a losing streak—which they are currently so not, and I gotta admit, it’s been fun going to every single one of their games, including the away ones.
I tag along with Mom and Dad, and Dottie even seems to enjoy them.
“I’ve—”
He cuts me right off. Doesn’t even let me try to explain myself.
“At the very least, work on yourself for Dottie. Your daughter. Unless you like the idea of limping around for the rest of your life. Then go for it. But don’t you want to be able to toss Dottie around in the lake again?
Pick her up and have her ride on your shoulders?
She’s getting heavier, man. In the current state you’re in, I don’t think you can handle it. ”
“Low fucking blow,” I whisper, hating that he brought Dottie into it because the asshole is right.
I need to focus on my health and strength, and I need to do it for my family. For my Dottie.
“I’ll say whatever it takes to get it through your thick head.
” He goes quiet, and so do I, riding in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes.
I’m used to this. Nate and I have been maintaining this sort of mood off and on for the majority of our lives.
Then he goes and drops a bomb. “I spoke to Rachel the other day.”
“What the actual fuck?” The words roar out of me, making Nate jerk the steering wheel, nearly going off the road.
“You didn’t need to yell.” Oh, now he’s defensive, the jackass.
“What are you doing, talking randomly to my—” I almost said girlfriend, though we never defined what we were doing. A mistake on my part, no doubt. “To Rachel?”
“She called me.” That’s all he says.
She called Nate instead of me? That’s so messed up. “Why?”
“She was asking about you and how you’re doing.”
“Why didn’t she just call me directly?”
“Probably because she knew she’d have to deal with this.” Nate waves a hand in my direction. “You’re a fucking nightmare right now, bro.”
“So she just called you out of the blue to check on how I’m doing?”
“You want to know what she really asked me?”
“Hell yeah, I want to know.” I ignore the way my stomach twists at the tone of his voice. What the hell could she possibly ask him and not me?
Nate pulls the car over to the side of the road and puts it in park, turning his body so he can look directly at me. “She asked if it would be worth it for her to . . . come back here.”
Hope rises in my chest, and I mentally tamp it down. “And what did you tell her?”
“I said no.” His gaze narrows. “You’re not ready.”
My hands automatically clench into fists like I’m going to fight him, which would be pointless. Considering the current state I’m in, he’d win. No problem. “You’re a dick.”
“I’m just speaking the truth.”
“What, you want her for yourself? Is that why you were always trying to convince me to go for Paige?”
“Keep. Paige. Out. Of. This.” He speaks through gritted teeth, his eyes sparking with fury, and I’m tempted to say more. Push him harder. “This has nothing to do with Paige and me and everything to do with you and Rachel, and how you’re not ready to face her yet.”
“What the hell, Nate? How do you know I’m not ready to face her? What do you know about relationships and love and all that shit?”
Nate ignores everything I say. “You’re too angry to try and rationalize with. If Rachel were to come back here and try again with you, you’d say something awful, something you don’t mean, and ruin everything.”
“That’s not true—”
“It is.” His voice is flat, his expression blank.
“You’re pissed at the world about the accident and what it did to you.
You can’t even be grateful for the fact that you lived.
That tree fell on you, man. That was some scary shit.
If it had hit you just a little higher, you’d probably be dead.
A little lower? You’d most likely be paralyzed. Did you ever think about that?”
I remain quiet, dropping my head to stare at my still-clutched fists in my lap.
Yeah, maybe I have thought about that once or twice, but it’s almost too scary to face.
My mortality is something I never had to face before.
I started working as a firefighter when I was only eighteen because I thought it was fun.
A total rush. Chasing after fires and putting them out is badass.
Working the front lines and depending on your coworkers, who become your buddies and turn into lifelong friends—that shit is exhilarating.
But it’s also exhausting. Dangerous. The accident made me question everything. Is this the right career for me? The circumstance was unusual. Any other night with both crews in place at the station and no major fires going on, I would’ve never been out there cutting line.
That only means someone else would’ve got hurt. It feels like I saved people, and maybe I’m exaggerating, but . . . no.
I took the brunt of it that night when the tree fell. On purpose.
“You need to stop wallowing in self-pity and live, Wyatt. You need to focus on your health and get better. You need to be strong for Dottie. For yourself. For your crew. And then, maybe you’ll be strong enough to be there for Rachel again,” Nate says.
I bang the back of my head against the seat, closing my eyes. “She hates me.”
“Rachel? No. Not at all. I’m pretty sure she’s in love with you.”
That just makes everything ten times worse.
Fuck, I’m such a liar. That makes everything ten times better. Hearing Nate say he thinks she loves me is giving me hope.
“You really think so?” I glance over at him.
He offers up a shrug. “Paige and I have talked about it. We think you two are in complete denial.”
I almost say that’s hilarious, coming from two people who have been in denial about their feelings for each other for literal years, but I keep my mouth shut. “You actually told her no. Not to come here.”
“I did. And I stand by my answer. You’re a mess, bro. Fix your body, clear your head, and open your heart, and then I’ll tell Rachel she should come back,” Nate explains.
Fucker. He won’t need to tell her any of that.
Maybe I’ll be the one to tell her instead.