Or, at least, better than I had been.
“Giving up?”
I glanced over to see Kaleo with his hair soaked, his wet suit half-off and hanging at his waist, looking the way I wanted to look. But I hadn’t gotten in the water yet. Not since the accident. He smiled, and it reminded me of the crush I’d had on him once.Learning he was straight had only made it worse because I was the kind of disaster gay who always fell for men I couldn’t have.
Luckily for us, my crush eventually faded, and he turned into one of the best friends a guy like me could ask for. But it had been a struggle. And if I was going to be honest with myself and not ignore the hot feeling in my chest every time I thought about the grumpy asshole from PT, it was happening again.
I was in no mood to confront those feelings right now, though. Right now, I had a goal to reach. I’d get back in the water before the end of next month or die trying.
“I’m beat, man,” I told him. I hopped to the side, feeling good about my balance and shit about my progress, and I dropped to sit on my board.
Kaleo had been up my ass about getting back out there, but he was at least kind enough not to push it. “Any word on that new prosthesis you were eyeing?”
I tried not to laugh. It would be a long while before I was healed enough for one of those fancy athletic legs I could balance on a board with—not to mention, they cost a fucking mint, and I was on a teacher’s salary.
But I was barely past the big, clunky socket phase of my recovery while the muscles in my stump were still atrophying. I’d only just been given the go-ahead to try full weight-bearing with a cane instead of crutches, but only for short periods. And only if Kent, my physical therapist, continued to be happy with my progress.
“The good thing about your accident is that the damage to your leg wasn’t as traumatic as it could have been,” my orthotist had told me during my last socket fitting. “Eventually, it won’t hurt the way it does now, and you’ll be able to handle wearing it all day long.”
I’d wanted to laugh in his face. Or maybe punch him, though I’d kept that thought to myself. There was nothing good aboutwhat happened to me. And to make matters worse, when my parents had come down to see me during my recovery, my father had looked me square in the face and said, “I warned you about that bike.” There was no “I’m sorry this happened to you” or “how can we make it better.” Just a snide I told you so.
I couldn’t bring myself to feel anything in that moment. I’d been high as a kite with an epidural in my spine, keeping my lower half numb so the pain wouldn’t overwhelm me after the surgery. But three months later, sitting in my therapist’s office?
The breakdown had been long.
And epic.
I brushed a lock of hair out of my eyes and tried not to wince at how dark it had gotten. It was normally a sun-bleached blond from the amount of time I spent either in the water or on my bike, but these last five months, I hadn’t wanted to leave the house much unless it was for physical therapy.
Damn. I needed my life back. More than trying and failing to balance on my board in the sand.
And I needed more reason to do it than making Sergeant Creek look like a fool in PT.
“Heath?”
I realized I’d mentally checked out of the conversation with Kaleo, and I offered him an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I’m distracted. And I’m late. Kent’s expecting me.”
I reached for my crutches, which were lying a foot away, and got myself standing again. I hadn’t quite mastered the whole carrying my board while balancing on one leg with crutches thing, so I left the transport to him. Kaleo had bought the townhouse a few spaces down from me when he moved here from Kauai. For him, surfing was a lifestyle, so he didn’t mind helping as long as it meant I’d eventually be able to hit the waves with him again.
Kaleo bent and reached for my board with an ease I might never know again, and my chest went a little tight as I glanced away. When I looked back, he had it tucked under his arm, a cautious expression on his face. “You seeing him for therapy today?”
I shook my head. “Those parts came in for the new hand clutch on my bike. We’re gonna work on them today.”
Kaleo’s face brightened. He’d been one of the few friends who stuck around and actually encouraged me to consider riding again after my accident. Everyone else seemed freaked out by the missing limb and the few moments during the day when I couldn’t keep up the façade that nothing was wrong.
“I can’t wait to see it. I’m so stoked for you guys.”
I laughed. Kent—who’d lost his leg as a teen—had gotten together with a few other amputee guys and was planning a thousand-mile ride on adaptive motorcycles. Quietly, I was petrified to get back on, but I knew I needed this. I had to reclaim something of what I’d lost, even if it wouldn’t be the same.
Letting the crutch cuff hang off my arm, I waved a shaka at him, which he returned with a grin, and then I turned on my heel and began the slow trek up the sand.
By the time I reached my car, my mind was back on the PT session. I would have given anything to be able to think about something else, but Creek had looked at me with such…resentment the last time I’d seen him. So much that it had nearly bordered on hatred.
I wasn’t going to apologize for being better than him. I wasn’t going to be sorry for offering him a couple of pointers when I saw the look of defeat on his face. The only reason I’d even said anything at all was because I knew what he was feeling.
Six weeks ago, that had been me. I could remember the ugly feeling in the pit of my stomach as I stood between the parallelbars, barely able to balance myself, feeling the ripping nerve pain through my stump, making my nonexistent toes feel like they were on fire.
I’d been trying to be nice, and how had he rewarded me? By acting like an ass. And his constant protests about not being homophobic had gotten old pretty quickly. The hilarious part was thathewas the one panicking about it. Not me.
