“That might have crossed my mind.”
A somber expression filled his face. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for. I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“Healing is going to suck, isn’t it?”
I didn’t want to lie, but I didn’t want to make him feel defeated before he even began the recovery process. “Let’s not worry about that right now. Just recover from surgery. ’Kay?”
“Okay.”
Thirty-Six
When Chris was a teen, the thought of using crutches seemed kind of cool. Lean on something and let it take your weight, then you just propel your body forward. Fun.
But at forty-two, he could say crutches were for the birds. He hated them with every fiber of his being. They annoyed his arms, his armpits, and that soft skin no one talked about that covered the side of his ribs. But without the devices, the pain of putting his body weight on his right leg would be unbearable.
Next week, he’d start in-person rehab. But it seemed too late. Sure, he recognized that logically his body had suffered a traumatic event, and he needed to recover. However, being laid up meant he’d missed his friend’s wedding. Lamont had sent Chris a recording of the ceremony, but it wasn’t the same. Their wedding had been small and intimate but obviously with glitz and glam. Nevaeh dazzled in some kind of lace dress that reminded him of leaves. Lamont had cried, and Nevaeh couldn’t stop grinning.
He hated that he’d missed it. Chris had been in a funk since the ski resort, so to keep himself from taking it outon the girls, he’d remained holed up in the guest bedroom on the main floor—because he didnotwant to navigate the stairs going up to his bedroom. Christmas had come and gone, and the flip of the calendar had brought a new year.
Happy New Year to me.
This wasn’t how he’d imagined he’d be ringing it in. This year was supposed to be about new beginnings and things to look forward to.
You’ll look forward to the use of your leg without crutches.
Without a doubt, but he had to get through recovery first. The thought of dealing with this over the span of four to six months made his throat raw with unshed tears—the shed ones were saved for showers and rain. He prayed there would be no lingering limp afterward, but that wasn’t a guarantee. Chris didn’t have the kind of money it took to tip the odds in his favor. If his insurance determined after a certain point that he didn’t need more rehab and his leg didn’t heal the way he prayed ... then his life would forever be altered in ways he didn’t want to even contemplate.Yet still you do.
PathLight had been less than pleased to hear of his injury. The docuseries was on a definite pause since Chris couldn’t exactly go out on excursions and showcase the beauty of Colorado and native wildlife anymore. The thought of hiking or even climbing onto the back of an ATV made him wince with pain.
His coworkers at the nonprofit were more than happy to pick up his slack and post on YouTube for him. After all, his profile was the nonprofit name, not Christian Gamble. Still, he felt like dead weight. He was useless to his coworkers, unless answering the phone and applying for grants counted. That he could do at home, and he forced himself to do it so he didn’t become panic-stricken from all of the what-ifs.
Chris couldn’t even help Erykah the way he wanted. Cooking dinner had become an Olympic event because of the crutches impeding his movements. He couldn’t pick up Ash and balance both herandthe crutches. Just the walk to meet Cheye at the bus stop was agonizing. Still, he made himself do so. He didn’t want to be completely useless.
Heat pricked the back of his eyelids, and he looked up at the ceiling, hoping the threat of any emotions would recede. Instead, liquid ran down his temples and onto the pillow.It’s not raining outside. Get it together, Gamble.
But being flat on his back had messed with his emotions more than he cared to admit. Chris couldn’t remember the last time he was this still. There’d always been something to do or somewhere to be. Now he couldn’t go anywhere at the pace he wanted, so why bother moving?
In everything give thanks.
Was this a situation Chris was supposed to thank God for? And if so, what exactly would he be thankful for?
Not being dead, for one.
He winced. Okay, that was a concession he could make.
That an artery wasn’t hit.
Right, because then being dead would’ve been a surety.
That Erykah has done everything to help your recovery.
His heart warmed at the thought. Erykah had been a rock star since he’d been injured. Even Cheyenne had been sweeter to him. Offering to bring him a snack or just sit and watch TV with him—when he decided to move from the bed to the couch. And little Ash was comfortable just curling up in the crook of his arm. The ladies had given him more reasons to smile than he’d have if he were recovering all alone.
Then that’s another thing to be thankful for. You’re not doing this by yourself.
Even now with Erykah at work, Cheyenne at school, and Ash at the daycare, Chris wasn’t alone. Charlie lay at hisfeet as if his mere presence would bring comfort to Chris.Which it has.
