Downpour: Chapter 11

I tried to take a nap, but sleep never came. I tried to watch TV, but the only shows on were crap. I watered and pruned that stupid plant in my room, but it didn’t calm the war in my head. I sat outside on the deck and tied knots, but I never entered that mindlessly distracted state.

I felt sick every time I thought about the look on Brooke’s face when I yelled at her. She was just trying to help, and I had lashed out at her because—well—that’s what I did.

I hurt people.

I was an inconvenience.

I was a burden.

Today had been a good day. Therapy—as much as it sucked—went well. I had showered and managed to get out by myself. Any other day, I would have been borderline happy. I would have been proud of my progress.

Then I had to fuck it all up by yelling at her instead of handling my emotions like a grown man. Why couldn’t I be more like Christian? Nothing bothered him. The man was a walking bottle of Xanax.

Nate had a short fuse, but he knew how to control it. The military made sure of that.

CJ just hung out with animals all day. They didn’t care if he was in a sour mood.

I was the wild child whose path ended the way everyone always said it would. And now I was making it everyone else’s problem.

That thought brought me back to Brooke. Where was she?

She had been gone for the better part of three hours, and I was starting to get worried. The ranch was big. Hell, I’d get lost if I went too far out.

The front door opened and I heard the soft rhythm of her footsteps. I dropped the rope in my hands and wheeled out to the living room.

Brooke froze at the kitchen sink like she had been caught red-handed. Her cheeks were flushed a sunset pink, and sweat coated her sun-kissed skin in a sheen.

“Hey,” I grunted.

She looked down at the glass in her hand. “I just came in to get a drink. It’s hot out. I’ll be gone in a minute.”

Shit.

“Brooke—“

“I won’t tell anyone,” she whispered. “I swear.” Her fingers trembled against the edge of the sink. She looked like she was about to pass out.

“Brooke, sit down.”

“I’m fine. I’m going back out⁠—”

“Sit. Down.”

She bobbled the glass in her hand and fell silent.

“On the couch,” I said as I wheeled over and locked my chair. Brooke watched me as I lifted one knee, then the other and slowly put pressure on my feet.

Nope. It wasn’t happening again today. Apparently, I had exhausted my lower extremities for the day. I couldn’t lock my knees and my thighs were Jell-O. I sighed and used my arms to get on the couch.

At least physical therapy had ended with a massage. My shoulders were killing me, but the pain was a little more manageable.

It wasn’t until I was fully on the couch that Brooke dared to come near.

“I’m not gonna bite,” I grumbled as I moved the throw pillows out of the way.

“Yeah, I don’t believe you,” she said as she took the far end of the couch.

I leaned over and grabbed the rope I had been working on out of my wheelchair so I would have something to do with my hands. “Where did you go?”

She sat tall and proper as if she were at a job interview. “Outside.”

“I figured as much. You got sunburned.”

Brooke just dropped her shoulders. “I didn’t have time to put on sunscreen. I went for a walk.”

“Is that why you smell like the barn?”

“Am I in trouble? CJ said it was fine. I just hung out there for a little bit and then watched Anny.”

Anarchy was an asshole. But for some reason, she and CJ got along just fine. That horse didn’t like anyone but him.

I raised an eyebrow. “Anny let you watch her?”

Brooke nodded. “I didn’t touch her or anything.”

“Probably a good thing. She bites.” But the fact that Anarchy had let Brooke near the paddock fence was surprising. If that horse was within lunging distance, she would snap.

Brooke picked at her fingers. “If that’s all, I’ll go back to making myself scarce.”

I sighed as a headache brewed in my temples. “No.”

She stiffened.

“I… I need to apologize.”

That piqued her curiosity.

“I’m sorry.”

Brooke waited. “For?”

“I’m just… Sorry. Okay?”

She shook her head. “It’s not an apology if you don’t say what you’re sorry for.”

I held back a growl and rubbed the throbbing in my temple. “I’m sorry for being a jackass. Not just today. I’m sorry for most days.”

She relaxed a little bit. “Can I ask you a question?”

I knew what was coming. It was the inevitable question I didn’t want to answer. But she deserved to know.

“How long have you been able to…”

“Use my legs?” It wasn’t walking. It felt more like trying to use stilts blindfolded.

She nodded.

“A few weeks. It’s hit or miss. I’ve been working on it in physical therapy. Sometimes my body decides it’s going to cooperate and other times I can’t get out of my wheelchair.”

Warmth and pressure wrapped around my hand. I looked down to see that Brooke was squeezing it. “You can trust me. I won’t tell.”

Because she needed the money. Not because she wanted me. I couldn’t let myself forget that.

“My therapy team thinks this is as far as I’m going to go. Everything after this is just maintenance. I don’t want to get everyone’s hopes up.”

Brooke tilted her head to the side like a curious puppy. “Why not? Hope is a great thing.”

“Because I could hear Christian praying when I was in a coma,” I blurted out. “I can’t explain it, but I remember hearing him. My brother’s not a praying man, but he kept praying for miracles. Not telling them is more merciful than getting their hopes up and letting them down when I don’t recover.”

“But that’s such a burden,” she said softly. Her hand still hadn’t left mine and it felt so fucking good.

“I should have died, Brooke. I should have died instantly, but I didn’t. And then I wasn’t supposed to wake up in the hospital, but I did. And then I wished I had died in that arena. I was supposed to be quadriplegic for the rest of my life, but I’m not. My hands weren’t supposed to work, but they do. I was supposed to be paraplegic, and I am. It’s not an all-or-nothing diagnosis. Some mobility doesn’t change that. Everything I’ve gained could disappear tomorrow. I can’t keep expecting miracles. I’ve already gotten my share and then some.”

Her blue eyes were soft like a twilight sky. “Can I give you a hug?”

That… wasn’t at all what I expected her to say. “Why?”

“Because I have a feeling that you haven’t had one in a while. And if we’re keeping secrets, what’s one more? Besides, I like hugging it out after an apology. It seals the forgiveness.”

I stared at her optimistic face for a moment before turning to face her on the couch and opening my arm. “Come here, Sunnyside.”

Brooke laughed and scooted over.

She didn’t go for a quick side-hug. Nope. She wrapped her arms around me and rested her head on my chest. “See? Don’t you feel so much better?”

I wrapped both arms around her and held her tight. “Yeah.” I let out a heavy breath. “It feels good.” And I didn’t want to let go.

Smoke filled the kitchen, and the fire alarm let out a piercing shriek. “What the hell are you murdering in here?”

Whatever it was, the smell was atrocious.

Brooke waved the oven mitts at the oven door to try and clear the smoke. “I thought I’d smoke a brisket. But brisket is super expensive. So, I bought a pound of ground beef and shaped it into a brisket. I mean, they both come from cows. It’ll be great! I think the smoke is a good sign.”

I paused. “Wait. What? Smoking a brisket takes at least twelve hours. And you don’t do it in an oven.”

“I know,” she said, coughing. “That’s why I turned the oven all the way up so it would cook faster.”

“How high—“ I froze when I looked at the oven. “Five hundred degrees?! Jesus, you’re going to burn my house down. Turn the damn oven off. I didn’t even know it went that high.” I rolled across the kitchen and grabbed the oven mitt from her. “Open the front door and get the box fan out of the hall closet.”

I yanked open the oven door and winced as smoke billowed out. I reached in blindly and found the baking sheet. I pulled it out, rolled over to the sink, and tossed it in. The little lump of charcoal in the middle looked like a petrified hamster.

Brooke hurried back, set the box fan on the kitchen counter, and plugged it in.

I glanced at the clock. It was already a quarter till seven. The thing that sucked about living on the ranch was the inability to order a fucking pizza. We were outside of the delivery radius for the handful of restaurants in town.

“Do we have sandwich stuff?” I asked.

“Tomorrow’s grocery day. We used the last of the bread for lunch.”

I had some frozen microwave dinners, but I would have preferred eating the charcoal in the sink.

Tonight was family dinner at my parents’ house. I could text my mom and see if she’d set two plates aside, then send Brooke up there to get it.

But I’d feel like shit over it.

“Do you want to go into town?” Brooke asked. “It would be pretty late and I don’t know what places would still be open. We could go to Buc-ees, but you probably hate crowds and it’s always packed.”

I didn’t feel like going through the hassle of driving into town. Deep down, I knew I could show up for family dinner without giving mom a heads up. Even when I was living in Colorado, my mom always set a plate for me. Hell, she had probably been setting one for Brooke since she hadn’t gone running for the hills yet.

But Christian’s girls would be there.

Brooke’s hand on the back of my shoulder snapped me back to the present. “You okay? Maybe I should open the sliding door and get the rest of the smoke out.”

I coughed. “Yeah. I’ll cut the ceiling fan on.”

“What do you want to do for dinner? I can see if there’s some pasta or something in the pantry I can throw together.”

“No,” I said before she could attempt culinary arson again.

Honestly, I would have been fine with a protein shake and a power bar, but Brooke needed dinner too. It had been a while since I had someone else to think about.

“Go get in the truck.”

Brooke cocked her head. “I thought you said you didn’t want to go into town? I can cook. I just have to figure out what we⁠—”

I huffed. “Get in the truck, Brooke.”

A few minutes later, we were bumping and bobbing down the dirt lane.

“Go up to the main house,” I said, pointing to the left as we neared the split in the path.

A coy smile painted her lips. “Wanna tell me what we’re doing?”

“Getting dinner.”

She peered at me from behind the wheel. “At your parents’ house? Shouldn’t we tell them we’re coming?”

“Momma will have a place set.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“When do you want me to pick you up?”

I paused. “What?”

“I’ll just hang out at your house until you’re done. You can just text me when you’re ready. I’ll keep my phone on me.”

I shook my head. “You’re eating too.”