“Keep it that way,” I tell her.
“I will. But you really need to move ahead with naming someone to officially hold the reins while you’re recovering. It’s becoming a shit show over here, with everyone thinking they’re in charge.”
“It’s got to be Matt Lindley, without a doubt. Senior partner. Level-headed. Not looking to stab me in the back—yet.”
“Good. It’s who I’d have chosen, too. I’ll make it happen. But Spencer?” she says more softly. “Don’t rush this. We miss you, but we’ll keep the wheels turning.”
I hang up and stare at the ceiling.
My mind goes to her.
Rhea.
I wonder if she’s heard about my accident. Probably not. Gina’s good at what she does. But part of me hopes shehas—that she’s thinking about me, too.
I want to reach out. But not now.
Not until I know how this shapes up. Not until I’m standing on my own two feet again.
Literally.
I’ve already had enough OT and PT to understand this recovery will be more brutal by far than the race I came here to ride.
But I’ll be damned if I’ll sit in bed and feel sorry for myself. I’ve worked too hard on my body, my business, my future—to let it all unravel now.
The race didn’t go the way I planned.
But I’ll be damned if the rest of my life doesn’t.
NINE
RHEA
It’s three days before departure
I haven’t felt like myself in weeks.
The fatigue won’t let up. My appetite’s off. I’m queasy every morning and on edge the rest of the day. I keep telling myself it’s stress. The move. The grant. The house sale falling through at the last minute.
But yesterday, Ron was eating a tuna fish sandwich in his office when I stepped in, and what followed wasn’t just nausea—it was full-on, relentless dry heaving.
Today, I beg to be squeezed in with Karen, my longtime nurse practitioner. She’s smart, steady, and no-nonsense. She cared for my mom through the hardest parts. If anyone will shoot straight with me, it’s her.
I explain everything—fatigue, sensitivity to smells, the emotional static buzzing under my skin. She listens without interrupting, her brow creased in thought.
“Have your periods still been quite irregular?”
“Yes.” I chuckle, “Which I can’t say I mind.”
“Are you experiencing any tenderness in your breasts?”
I pause. And then slowly raise my hand to my left breast.
Oh, God.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Actually… both.”
And just like that, panic claws its way up my throat.
