“My parents were supportive,” he’d told me. “I mean, as supportive as they could be considering they knew nothing about the sport.” He’d laughed, but I could tell by the pained look on his face that it bothered him a little bit. “My mom always said she didn’t understand it and my dad has always been more focused on my riding as a business. Which is good, I guess. He helped me invest my money and I’ve got more in the bank now than I would have if I was left to my own devices.”
“At least they were supportive,” I’d told him.
“That’s true,” he’d replied. “I mean, I wish they would show a little more interest. I used to think that the bigger and better I got, the more they’d come around, but it never really happened.”
I was glad that he was successful. I was in awe of his commitment and determination. Over the last few week’s I’d watched him breeze through his recovery. He rarely complained and only once had I heard him doubt his abilities. He was as passionate about his career as I was about mine. But still, every time I thought about watching him ride, I got that feeling in the pit of my stomach that reminded me exactly how dangerous his career was. I was always looking for the safest, most responsible way of doing things. Probably because I’d experienced loss. I knew what could happen. I knew what it felt like to bury someone you loved. My idea and Brett’s idea of living life to the fullest were very different. He was no risk, no reward and I was no risk is the reward.
“Hey baby,” he said greeting me with a kiss the second I walked through the cabin door. “Missed you today.” He quickly headed back to the kitchen. His face was flush and he’d thrown a dish towel over his shoulder.
“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were actually cooking me a meal.” I kicked off my shoes and shrugged out of my jacket, tossing it on the bench that sat next to the door. The extra pep he seemed to have as he swaggered into the kitchen—clearly proud of himself—had me smirking as I followed him. “No take out tonight?”
“I actually did cook,” he told me. “It was touch and go there for a minute, but I managed to pull it off with a little help.” He winked as he pulled open the oven. “Baked chicken.” He grabbed the towel on his shoulder and used it to retrieve the dish he’d prepared.
“You made this?” I was impressed. It smelled as good as it looked—seasoned chicken and cut up potatoes were still simmering as he sat the dish on the counter.
“Like I said, I had a little help. Iris Shaw actually gave me the recipe when I ran into her at the grocery store today.”
“She did?”
“Yep. Turns out I’m pretty charming. It seems she had a change of heart about giving me dirty looks and writing me off.”
“That’s good,” I replied with a smile. He was definitely charming. “I actually went to see her the other day,” I confessed. I’d remembered how upset Brett was when I wasn’t honest with him about my dinner with the Shaws. “When you were napping.”
“You could have told me.”
“I know, but I didn’t want to bring them up with things between you and me going so well,” I explained. “And honestly, I did it more for me than anyone else. I went over there to tell her that I wasn’t going to be joining them for family dinners anymore and that I was ready to move on with my life.”
“I know how big that was for you,” he said, placing his hand on mine. “I appreciate it more than you know, even if it wasn’t just for me.”
“Thank you.” I kissed him lightly on the lips. “And, I wouldn’t have been able to do it if it wasn’t for you,” I confessed. “I guess it was for both of us.” I looked into his eyes and he smiled.
“It couldn’t have been easy,” he said. “How did his mother take it?”
“She was a little resistant at first, but she heard me out in the end.” I reached for his hand. “And clearly, she’s accepted my decision. She even suggested that I donate some of the clothing I have of Jamie’s,” I said. “Not to mention, I don’t think she’d give out her Grandma’s Baked Chicken recipe to just anyone so she must be okay with you.”
“Guess I’m way more charming than you’ve given me credit for,” he said, tugging me closer to him. His arm circled my waist as he leaned in for a kiss.
“I know exactly how charming you are.” I rose up on my tiptoes to meet his lips with mine.
“In the spirit of full disclosure,” he said, breaking our kiss. “I need to tell you something too.”
“Okay. Should I sit down?”
“You don’t have to,” he smiled, “but if you want, I’ll fix you a plate while I tell you how my day went.”
“Deal,” I said, I pressed my lips to his chin before making my way over to an empty barstool.
“My physical therapy was awesome,” he began, pulling two plates from the cabinet behind him. “Will thinks I’m ready to get released.”
“Oh. Sooner than expected.” I was glad I was sitting. It seemed to make it easier to process exactly what he was telling me.
“He’s sending his recommendations to Dr. Forlani,” He said as he worked on making me a plate. I didn’t miss the way he was focusing more on the chicken than me. Was he scared to tell me? Did he think I was going to lose my mind?
“So when will you go back to Texas?” I asked the first question that had popped in my mind.
“I don’t know. I haven’t got that far ahead in thinking about what it all means. It will all depend on how my next appointment with the doctor goes.” He looked up and I immediately knew exactly why he was avoiding eye contact. The second his blue eyes locked on mine I felt the first tear fall down my cheek. I wasn’t sure which was more upsetting, the fact that I was crying or the fact that he knew me so well to know I would.
“Please don’t. It kills me to see you cry,” he said, reaching over the counter to wipe my cheek. “This is good news. I’m healthy. My leg is better.”
“I know. I know,” I assured him. “These are happy tears,” I lied.
“You don’t have to placate me.” He shook his head as he walked around the counter and sat down next to me. He placed his hands on my shoulders, turning me to face him. “I know you’re worried. I know you’re running every worst case scenario through that pretty little head of yours.”
“Maybe.” I was.
“What’s on the top of the list?” he asked. “Most worried about...”
“Us. What if we can’t make a long-distant relationship work?”
“We will,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’m not ready for this…for us,” he waved his hand between us, “to end. Are you?”
“No.” I’d just got him. I wasn’t anywhere near ready for us to be over.
“Okay then. We’ll figure out a schedule and make time to see each other,” he assured me. In theory, he was saying exactly what I needed him to say. His optimism was just enough to make me feel a little better. “What’s next?”
“What if you get hurt?”
“Then you’ll get to nurse me back to health again.” He cracked a smile.
“I’m serious.”
“I know you are. Getting hurt is always a possibility. I don’t know what else I can tell you, other than I’ll be careful. Believe me, the last thing I want to do is get hurt. I know it scares you, but I’m a professional motocross rider, Georgia. I’m not some amateur that isn’t thinking through every single move I make. The last accident was way unexpected, yes, and you better believe I’ll be checking out my bike every single time I get on it from here on out.”