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My backside ached. That was a new development in the last week since the accident and the reconstructive surgery to fix my shattered leg. I tallied my aches and pains: my leg hurt, breathing hurt, sitting hurt, and any moving at all left me breathless for several minutes. At least, the headache went away and so did the blurry vision. Dr. Glanders, my orthopedic surgeon, said the broken bones would take eight weeks to heal, the reconstructive surgery on my ligaments would take sixteen weeks, and my ribs would be at least eight weeks. It was going to be a long recovery, and I hated every moment of my current situation. I rang the little bell beside my recliner and waited for what seemed like forever until a little Hispanic woman bustled into my room.
“I needed you ten minutes ago,” I growled and she cringed away from me. The black mood that controlled me rejoiced in her fear. “This chair is uncomfortable. Bring me a different one.”
She nodded as she backed out of the room. The darkness of the room settled on my soul. The docs said I wouldn’t be ready to ride at the Bull Riding Finals in November, if ever again. Three months away from living my dream, the accumulation of all the years of scratching it out in dirty hotels, poor arenas, and long days on the road. One ride and everything was torn away from me. I threw my glass of water against the wall. The glass shattered with a loud crash. The door whipped open and slammed against the wall. Kaleb’s large frame blocked out the light from the hallway.
“What’s going on in here?” He demanded. His eyes roved from me to the fragments glittering on the floor. “Was that necessary?”
“The woman has not brought me a new chair.”
“All of this over your butt hurting.” He stalked closer to me. His brows pulled down over his eyes. “The family’s bull riding golden boy throws a fit when his backside hurts so much that he has to smash things like a two-year-old.”
“It’s uncomfortable.” I ground out.
“Deal with it.” He turned to go.
“Is she bringing another chair?”
“No, she quit.” He tossed over his shoulder before leaving the room.
I swore under my breath. My body rocked from cheek to cheek, seeking comfort. I slouched and tried to sit up straight. No relief was found. I grabbed a couple of pain killers, swallowing them dry. The glow from the TV dimly lit the room as cowboys rode their horses across the screen. My eyelids got heavy, and I reclined back into the chair, drifting off to sleep.
The house was quiet when I woke back up. The TV was still playing. This time, John Wayne raced through a field shooting off rifles in each hand like the legend he was. I straightened in my chair, grimacing as the pain came back. My neck cricked with the way I fell asleep. I rolled my neck and shoulder, gently, trying to work out the tension. My bladder begged to be empty, but there was no way I was calling Kaleb. He would do his big brother thing and make sure I knew how much I needed him, which I did not. I could go by myself without help from anyone.
I stretched to reach my crutches because the emasculating wheelchair sat in the corner, out of reach. I couldn’t get to it if I wanted to. With each armrest firmly tucked against my body, I took a step. The pain. It shot through me, leaving black spots covering my vision. My chest clenched as I drew in a ragged breath. I gritted my teeth and kept going. Step. Hop. Step. Hop. I was going to do it. Step. I swung the crutches forward.
The foot of one crutch hit the water still on the floor. As I transferred my weight forward from my good leg, the crutch slid out to the side. The next moment, I was sitting in a puddle of water. My boxers were soaked, my side hurt, and my legs pointed in opposite directions. The darkness spun around me as I tried to breathe through the pain. One breath in. One breath out. Grimacing, I repositioned my legs so I wasn’t doing the splits anymore, and I pushed up with my hands, but I couldn’t balance on my one good leg. I didn’t have the strength to get my body up as pain coursed through me. With a sigh of defeat, I laid back down.
I didn’t know how long I was like that before the door swung open in my room. A sliver of light fell across my eyes, causing me to shield them from the bright light.
“What are you doing on the floor?” Kaleb towered over me.
“Having a tea party. Wanna join?”
“Not particularly.” He wheeled the chair over to me. Grasping me at the armpits, he hoisted me into the chair. “You could’ve called.”
“Didn’t want to bother you.” The sarcastic tone colored my words.
“You can just say you’re sorry.” He muttered as he pushed the chair out of the room. “And maybe, ‘thanks for taking care of me, big brother.’” The chair rolled down the hardwood floors. One of the wheels squeaked. “I’ve had to give up things to help you.”
“Thank you, Kaleb.” What else could I say to that?
He grunted in response. “Use your chair next time.”
I hated that chair.