Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21815 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 109(@200wpm)___ 87(@250wpm)___ 73(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21815 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 109(@200wpm)___ 87(@250wpm)___ 73(@300wpm)
“As fun as that sounds, you’ll have doctor’s appointments, and I’m sure I’ll have to run into town too.” He pulls the truck into the driveaway.
“It’ll happen, sooner than later, Blake.” This time, it’s me who does the running, right into the house, that is.
Fifteen
Knox
“Blakely, simmer down.” I hobble to her. Yep, I’m now in a knee brace for the time being. We’re at the doctor’s office, and I don’t know who’s more upset about hearing the news, her or me.
“But you love riding bulls.” Tears are gathering in her eyes. I wrap her up in my arms.
“It’s not the end of the world. I knew it would be quit riding bulls for the time being or go under the knife. There’s no way I’m going to have surgery, then get back on a bull to tear my knee up again.” The doctor advised I could do therapy to help rebuild strength in my knee from tearing not only my ACL but also my MCL.
“It still sucks. Are you sure you don’t want to have the surgery? You’ll be back, good as new faster. Even if you don’t ride again, you won’t be in pain.” I know she wants to point out all of the pros and cons of what to do, but I’m set in stone.
“I’m positive. I want to see if I can do this without surgery first. If the time comes and I do need it, then I’ll get it taken care of. But right now, physical therapy will be my best option, I think.” She tips her head back, goes up on her toes, and her mouth is on mine. The past two nights, I’ve had her body wrapped around mine. The only thing stopping me from taking her is my fucking knee, but I know the time is going to come when I’ll finally take Blake. The heat simmering beneath the surface only gets hotter with every kiss she gives me.
“Now, how about we stop on the way back to the house to grab some groceries, since, you know, Mom was feeding me, but now that she’s gone, there won’t be any food unless Trace cooks, and I’d rather not be subjected to that pile of burnt toast.” I’m trying to get her mind off the battle that’s sure to come.
“We can do that, but you do realize you’ll be in physical therapy twice, if not three times a week. I have no problem taking you because I guarantee that afterwards, you’re going to be dragging ass.” Apparently, food isn’t going to get her mind off it.
“You’re right about that, I’m sure. I appreciate you dropping everything to come and help me.” I kiss her forehead and move to grab my crutches, but she’s already got her hands on them and is bringing them to me.
“Well, I’m not dropping everything. I’ll probably see if I can bring Trigger over to your barn and work with him while you’re resting. Plus, school is online, so I can do that in between your appointments.” She’s got it all figured out, it seems.
“That’ll work. You know our place is just as much yours, and if the shoe were on the other foot, it’d be the same way.” Shit, if my mom were home, she’d be grabbing me by the ear and dragging me to the jewelry shop.
“But still, I don’t want to take over, and as far as food is concerned, I’ll cook. Is anyone helping out with the food for your dad? I know Momma has meals readily prepared, so all Dad has to do is thaw it out. Now, tell me again our moms weren’t in cahoots?” I’m only using one crutch, much to her and the doctor’s dismay. I even got the look, but this allows me to place my hand on her lower back and guide her out the door.
“Oh, I have no doubt about it. Mom’s done this a time or two with other things. Dad can fend for himself. It’s the one time he gets to eat steak, bacon, and all the gravy he wants without Mom telling him to watch his cholesterol or taking it away,” I tell her.
“Well, since that’s handled, then yes, we’ll go to the grocery store, but you’re not walking around. You heard the doctor. They want you off your feet until physical therapy starts.” We make it outside, the fresh air and sun beating down on us.
“And what am I supposed to do while you’re grocery shopping, huh?” I ask her.
“You have two options, sit in the truck and wait, or we get you one of those scooters in the store.” Blakely definitely is full of shit if she thinks I’ll let that happen.
“We’ll see about that,” I mumble under my breath, letting her think she’s won this round. I know relationships are about give and take, but I’ll be damned if I allow the town to see me in some damn wheelchair. Instead, I help her into the truck, walk around to the driver’s side, and finagle my way in, all while she huffs and puffs with the way I’m not allowing her to drive.