Downpour: Chapter 9

This was a disaster. I don’t know what I had been thinking when I requested that Brooke live here full time.

Actually, I know exactly what I was thinking. And what I was thinking with.

It had been three days and not a single one had gone smoothly. The upside was that my family had more or less left me alone. The downside was that this was the first time I had to ride in a vehicle with Brooke.

“Why is there a sticker on your dashboard?” I asked as I buckled my seatbelt.

Brooke plopped into the driver’s seat. Her denim shorts rode up even higher.

Fuck me. I looked away quickly.

Since she was living with me and only reporting to her boss through phone calls, she had ditched the ugly polo.

I didn’t mind at all, but it was an inconvenience.

“The check engine light has been on for a while. It’s annoying. So I put a sticker over it.”

I pressed my head against the back of the seat and closed my eyes. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. How long has it been on?”

“Like a year or so. It’s fine.”

“And you haven’t taken it in to get checked out?”

“Why would I do that?” she asked as she buckled her seatbelt. “It still runs.”

I glanced at her odometer, then at the oil change reminder sticker in the corner of the windshield. “You’re—” I groaned “—fifteen thousand miles past due for an oil change.”

“Oil changes are expensive!”

“So is buying a new car!” I shouted. I pinched the bridge of my nose. “That fucking bull didn’t kill me, but you and this car will.”

Brooke laughed. “Look at you making jokes this morning. Someone’s in a good mood.” She twisted the key in the ignition, but nothing happened. She tried again. The engine sputtered, then went silent. “Sometimes this happens when I haven’t driven her for a few days.”

“I’m sorry. Her?”

“Yeah. Her name is Winnie. You’re supposed to name cars.”

“You’re supposed to name nice cars.”

“Winnie’s a nice car!”

I shot her a sharp look.

“You and your grumpy, judgmental ass can keep your thoughts to yourself.” The mirrors groaned as she adjusted them. “And if you behave at physical therapy, I’ll bring you a coffee.”

“If we even make it out of the driveway.”

“Ye of little faith,” she said as she twisted the key again and the engine heaved to life. “There we go!”

The car died before she could put it into drive.

As much as I didn’t want to go to physical therapy this morning, I needed to. I huffed and unbuckled. “Get my chair out of the back and bring it around.”

Brooke raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Hop to it, Sunnyside. We’re burning daylight and I want to get an early start on my afternoon of doing nothing.”

Reluctantly, she got out and pulled my wheelchair out of the backseat, setting it up beside my open door.

“Pull the tarp off,” I said, pointing to the other vehicle in the driveway. “The keys are tucked up in the visor.”

Brooke’s curiosity got the best of her. She pulled the tarp off my truck and balled it up. “Um. What the hell?”

“I didn’t ask for commentary,” I grunted as I shifted into the wheelchair, got settled, and slammed the door to her pile of scrap metal.

I knew what surprised her. The truck I hadn’t driven since my accident was wrapped in brand logos from companies that used to sponsor me.

“Holy crap!” She propped her hands on her hips and walked slowly around the truck. “This was all you?”

I shoved on my wheelchair, glided over to the passenger’s side of the truck, and reached up to yank open the door. “Just get over here.”

Brooke’s flip-flops snapped against the pavement as she scurried over.

“Hold the door steady. Don’t let it push open,” I said as I put one hand on the seat and one hand on the interior door handle.

Brooke braced her body against the door. “Are you sure you don’t want me to help?”

“I’m fine,” I grunted as I heaved myself up with my arms and paused with my ass on the floorboard. I could barely reach the “oh shit” handle at the top of the interior, but I managed to get my fingers around it. I took a breath and muscled myself up to the seat. “Just put the chair in the bed,” I said as I slammed the door.

Brooke hopped behind the wheel and found the keys right where my brother, CJ, left them almost two years ago.

Honestly, I didn’t know if the truck would crank up. It was basically new, but it hadn’t been driven since it was brought back to the ranch after my accident.

Brooke didn’t hesitate. She stuck the keys in, and the engine purred.

“It’s so high up,” she said as she adjusted the mirrors.

I was aware. My shoulders ached from getting up into the seat. Truthfully, I felt good this morning. Had Brooke not been around, I would have tried to stand up. But we didn’t have time.

“Let’s go,” I said.

Brooke babbled the entire way into town. She drove the truck like she was driving a bulldozer. We hopped up on nearly every curb and straddled the painted lines.

I didn’t let the air release from my lungs until I spotted the medical complex.

Brooke parked the truck at the back of the lot since she was too scared to try to pull it between other vehicles. Getting down into the wheelchair was easier than getting up into the truck. But because I was a stubborn asshole, I refused to let Brooke push my chair.

That old Sunday school saying about “pride comes before a fall” was fucking true. I was exhausted by the time I made it into the building.

“I’ll be done in an hour,” I said as I pressed the button for the elevator.

Brooke’s eyebrows lifted. “Okay.”

“I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

She chewed on her lip. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come up with you?”

The elevator doors opened. “I’m not a child, Brooke. I don’t need a chaperone.”

She nodded. “See you in an hour.”

I rolled into the elevator and watched her dejected face through the slit between the closing doors.

Great. Now I felt like shit.

It wasn’t just her; I didn’t let anyone come to therapy with me. I didn’t have much privacy or agency, but that was one boundary I had put up early.

I had to give it to my therapy team. Maybe they were just used to dealing with jaded assholes, but they were never put off by my rancor.

But they did get their revenge for my attitude by putting me through a gauntlet of exercises.

By the time the hour was up, I was exhausted. Making the trip to the back of the parking lot was a dreadful thought.

Maybe Brooke would be late, and I could catch a cat nap in the lobby.

Nope. She was right on time, sitting in the lobby and chatting up a stranger.

“Hey! All done?” Brooke chirped as she jumped up from the bench. She waved to the old man. “It was so nice talking to you, Robert!”

The old guy beamed like he had just had a conversation with an angel.

“I pulled up to the curb and sweet-talked the tow truck guy out of hauling the truck off,” Brooke said as she handed me a whipped cream covered coffee drink. “And that’s for you.”

I swore under my breath. “Just park next time.”

“I figured you would be tired, and I didn’t think to get the parking tag from your house before we left. I’ll definitely grab it next time so we can park close.”

I didn’t even bother arguing. I just took a sip and didn’t completely hate it.

Actually, it was pretty good.

Brooke looked hopeful. “Well?”

I took another sip. “Well, what?”

“How’d I do with the coffee?”

“Right. My aura.” I stabbed the straw into the cloud of whipped cream. It was delicious. “It’s fine,” I grumbled.

“You like it!” she sang. “Our auras match! This is great. I knew we’d get along.”

The truck idled on the curb. I managed to get up into the seat again, and buckled in as Brooke put my wheelchair in the back.

I missed driving.

I did a lot of it when I was traveling the rodeo circuit. I’d go from state to state, fueled by gas station coffee and radio shows. I liked the solace. Rodeo culture erred on the side of ‘work hard, play harder.’

When I was winning, the money flowed like the booze did. Women were attracted to that.

The fact that I had a few men’s underwear campaigns under my belt didn’t hurt.

But my truck had always been my place to be alone with my thoughts.

It was my place to get away from the chaos and get my head right. This truck cab was my church.

“Do you want to get lunch or something before we go home?” Brooke asked.

Hearing Brooke call it home, like it was hers, did something funny to my chest.

Honestly, there was a little Mexican place around the corner that I had been craving.

I didn’t go out in public unless I had to. I hated navigating places that were accessible to get into, but a crowded maze once I got through the doors. It was more hassle than it was worth.

“Nah.”

“You sure? I mean, you just had a workout. I’m always starving after I exercise. Do you want take out? Or I can make us lunch when we get back to the ranch.”

The thought of her cooking was enough to convince me to go the takeout route.

A few minutes later, we had food wrapped up in plastic bags and were headed back to the ranch.

I wanted to eat, shower, and take a nap. In that order.

Brooke brought my chair around while I eased down and sat on the edge of the floorboard.

It had been a good session, but I was fucking tired. I got up on my feet and worked on my joint stability using the parallel bars, but it had drained me.

We sat out on the deck and ate while Mickey hung out at our feet and caught the crumbs.

Brooke was unusually quiet.

“What’s the matter?” I muttered as I shoved my used napkins back into the paper bag.

Brooke’s eyes lifted from her aluminum container of chicken, rice, and cheese. “What?”

“You’re quiet. What’s wrong?”

She tilted her head curiously. “Did I do something wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t want me to come up with you.”

“It’s not you. I don’t let anyone go up with me.”

Her brows furrowed. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t need anyone to.”

She swallowed. “Right.”

“Thanks for suggesting lunch,” I muttered.

Her lips turned up slightly, but it wasn’t much. “Is this the part of the day where I’m supposed to start ignoring you?”

The twitch in my dick told me that it was for the best.

Because as much as I wanted her, I shouldn’t.