Rescued(61)

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t keep myself from crying. Anger crept up inside me anew.

Here I was, sobbing into Hunter’s pillows, leaving them wet and messy. Hunter was trying to deal with being in a wheelchair and I was a sobbing mess.

How could I help him? How was I going to help myself?

I grabbed a pillow and pulled it tight to my face so I could scream into it. Why was I falling to pieces when Hunter needed me most?

Why?

Why?

WHY?

I turned onto my back and stared at the ceiling numbly.

This was just another step. I had to figure out how to get past this mess. I had to be stronger for Hunter.





Chapter Twenty-three

FRONT DESK




Hunter





I rolled into Clint’s Gym in a shitty mood. Adjusting to the wheelchair had been more of a pain in the ass than I expected. It had only been a few days but I already hated being in this fucking chair. I could barely do anything for myself, which made me feel more and more like a burden on the people around me.

I was fucking things up again. Lorrie just wanted a healthy relationship, but it was hard to see a way to do that now. We’d almost had it, but now with my MS it was ruined.

Lorrie had worked her ass off for that art competition and she could’ve fucking won. Because of me, she couldn’t go. How many other sacrifices was she going to have to make?

I knew she wanted to stay with me, but every time I thought about it, the more I realized how much she was giving up. My MS was totally unpredictable. It was impossible to make plans for the future when we didn’t know when the next attack would strike. I wracked my brain endlessly for a solution, but nothing had come yet and I wasn’t hopeful anything was coming.

Shaking my head, I rolled past the front desk. There was no point thinking about it anymore for now.

The desk was unoccupied again. I wondered if there were any days it was actually manned full-time. It was clearly still in use based on the papers and stuff, so someone came in at some point. Just not either of the times I’d been around.

Maybe Clint had his coffee there in the morning. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense it was just him that used the desk in the early morning. It was hard to imagine anyone putting up with Clint long-term. Or him putting up with anyone, for that matter.

I passed the desk and went into the gym. Guys were hitting the bag on the right and wrestling on the left, just like last time. Two were fighting in the ring, but to my surprise Clint wasn’t there. I swiveled my head around. He was nowhere in sight.

After wheeling myself closer, I stopped in front of the boxing ring and watched the two fighters spar. They were both Hispanic kids, fifteen or so by my guess. Both were pretty skinny. Compared to the wrestling I’d seen before, these kids looked to have pretty good technique. The defensive skill of one of them in particular was sharp.

As I watched him duck and weave around his opponent’s punches, I wondered if I would ever get to do that again.

“I see you got some new wheels,” a voice said from behind me.

It was Clint. I turned around as quickly as I could. “Yeah,” I said with a shrug. I tried to think of some joke to make about it, but I had nothing.

His blue eyes bore no trace of any pity. By the look of it, my newfound condition surprised him about as much as his alarm in the morning. “You down long-term? I don’t see a cast or anything.”

I looked down at my legs as if to confirm there was no cast. “Yeah. I mean, hard to say.”

I took a deep breath. Clint waited patiently, seemingly with no place to go at all.

Might as well tell him. Couldn’t pretend there was nothing wrong with me at this point. “I have MS,” I said steadily. “Multiple sclerosis.”

I watched for his reaction but he simply waited for me to continue, the corners of his eyes wrinkled in polite attention.

“Normally I just have to manage it, but I had a flare-up,” I continued. “This was the worst one I’ve had. Is the worst one, I guess. So I’m stuck like this, for a while at least. Hard to say how long it will last.”

Clint nodded and thrust his hands into his jean pockets. “You doin’ therapy or anything?”

I shook my head. “Not yet. Gotta go back to the doctor in a couple weeks. If my tests are good, they’ll let me start doing therapy.”

Clint shook his head. “Hell of a disease, son. Best of luck to you.”

“Thanks,” I replied. “I was wondering if you’d still let me come in and do some coaching.”

Clint shrugged and looked me in the eye. “If you can. Can’t promise I’ll pay ya if you can’t do it, but I’m happy to give you a shot.”

I nodded. “I appreciate the chance.”