“It could pay for a couple of hours of childcare a week. Help you get the business off the ground.”
He’s got me there. If I didn’t have Noah to worry about, I’d work twice as fast and be able to fit in more jobs.
I’ve also got a replacement sign to pay for.
“Okay.” I guess I could use some help. Not that I’ll admit that out loud.
“Send me your bank details.”
I sit back, rub the back of my neck, and take a deep breath as a little tension eases from my body. I don’t know how far I could have gotten without the help of Hudson or my small circle of friends, but even so, I’ve always felt like I’ve been treading water. Ryan’s support might just give me the breathing room I need to find success.
21
RYAN
Morning sun glints through the windows of the gym floor as I heave myself out of the chair and onto a bench.
I use the strap Savanna, my physio, gave me to tie around my thighs and secure my legs to the bench, providing the counterweight I no longer have.
The antibiotics must be working, because the pain is less sharp today. I lie down under the bar and raise my arms to grab the bar above me.
The training program Savanna gave me focuses on my lower body and learning how to move with a different weight distribution and eventually with my prosthetic when I advance to wearing it.
But it’s not enough. My upper body’s gotten soft from weeks of lying around, and I’m determined to keep strong. I want to be able to lift my son. I want to be able to swing him around and play ball and do all the things a dad should do.
I grit my teeth as I lift the bar off the nook where it’s resting and move it above my chest. It wobbles, and I grunt just to keep it steady. I’m starting with lower weights than what I was lifting before the accident, but it wobbles unsteadily, and I haven’t even lifted it yet.
“I’ll spot you.”
Hudson comes into view above me, and his hands slide under the bar, hovering an inch away from it.
Gritting my teeth, I push the bar above my chest.
“And again,” Hudson says.
I lower the bar to my chest, and my muscles scream as I push upwards. The bar wobbles, and I tighten my grip under the strain.
“You got one more in you,” Hudson says with more confidence than I feel.
Once again, I lower and push upwards, letting out a grunt as my muscles protest.
“Good.” Hudson takes the weight off the bar and helps me put it back into place on the rack.
I slide out from under the bar and sit up. It’s only three lifts at a weight way less than what I know I can do, but it’s a start.
“Thanks.” I undo my strap and turn to Hudson.
He shrugs. “Can’t have you dropping a bar on your face. You’d be no use to Paige then.” He smirks. “Although it might be an improvement.”
He strides over to the cable machine, and I watch him go with a smile on my face. I’ll take Hudson’s banter over his silence any day.
I slide myself into my chair and wheel over to the assisted pull-up machine. It’s been adapted for wheelchair use, and I transfer myself over. Savanna warned me it could take a while to get my strength back, and I shouldn’t expect to do a full pull-up immediately.
After adjusting the machine, I grab hold of the bars, and my body protests as I raise myself into the pull-up position, putting pressure on muscles that haven’t been used for weeks.
Hudson strides over to the window, and I follow his gaze to see what he’s looking at.
A group in high-vis orange overalls strolls along the path. The community service group.
