Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 95886 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95886 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
“You’re not surprised. Hell. Does anyone think I can beat the odds anymore?”
“Do you?” Rain’s tone was thoughtful.
Oh, now that was uncalled for, putting it back on him like that, and Garrick made a frustrated growl.
“Yes. No. I don’t know. It’s...the odds.” Just getting those words out stung like a scrape. “They’re small now. Most big improvements with spinal cord injuries happen in the first six months, some within the first year, and rarely more within eighteen months. Walking again, that was huge. I thought... I really believed after that that I could come the rest of the way back.”
“But now?” They were nearing town, same small streets Garrick had known his whole life, but they’d somehow never looked bleaker even with what looked to be a spectacular sunset looming.
“Time isn’t on my side,” he admitted. Whispering helped, like kids sharing ghost stories under the blankets, easier to speak his fears aloud. “My PT says I can still expect incremental progress. Incremental. That’s not going to be enough to get me back out there smoke jumping. I want to tell her to go to hell, that I will have that big breakthrough, run again. But...”
“Yeah?” Rain prodded when Garrick went silent again.
“There’s optimism and then there’s reality. And reality is what I haven’t wanted to face for months now. It’s easier to believe, really believe, down deep that I’m going to be different. The exception. The odds breaker. But at a certain point...” He swallowed hard, not sure he could continue.
“And that’s where the anger comes in,” Rain guessed. “You’re mad about having to confront those odds.”
“Yeah, exactly.” He exhaled hard. “I’m fucking pissed that all my hard work and belief hasn’t been enough. It’s so unfair.”
It was the first time he’d said that word aloud, and it banged its way out of his brain, seeming to echo through the small SUV. Unfair. Unfair. Unfair.
“It is,” Rain agreed as he turned down their street. “It’s entirely unfair.”
“Other people have it worse.” He tried to backpedal, but the anger was still there.
“It’s not the pain Olympics. Sure, other people have shitty deals too. Lots of unfairness to go around. But that doesn’t negate the fact that this is unfair and it does suck. You’re right. You worked hard. You had a good attitude. You did everything you were supposed to. Anyone else would be mad and sad and pissed off about the unfairness of it all.”
“I’m lucky to be alive.” God knew he’d had enough people telling him that over the past year.
“You can be lucky and grateful and still unlucky in this instance, in how the recovery odds worked out. You’re not getting what you wanted most. It’s understandable.”
“Well... I don’t know about that. I’ve got a good life. House. Family. Friends. You.”
“Me?” Rain sounded both surprised and pleased.
“Yeah, you. I mean, for now. But we’ve got a good thing going here and I don’t discount that.”
“I agree. It is pretty awesome. And you can have a good life and still be mad because you wanted to return to smoke jumping.”
“Yeah. I did. I really, really did.” His voice broke right as Rain pulled into his driveway. This. This was what he’d been running from. The heavy weight of failure. He’d tried and tried and it wasn’t going to be enough. People had been trying to tell him that for a while now and he simply hadn’t wanted to listen.
“I know.” Rain shut off the engine and grabbed Garrick’s hand, held it tight. And he didn’t speak, didn’t offer up platitudes or try to joke the heavy silence away. Just him. There. Holding on. And somehow that presence, that simple acceptance of his pain, undid him.
“In the pool yesterday, I kept thinking how I didn’t know that would be my last jump. I didn’t slow down, didn’t take a minute, didn’t know. I didn’t know what was coming. I didn’t know I’d miss it this much. Fuck.” He didn’t even realize he was crying until his hand came away wet when he scrubbed at his eyes.
“It sucks,” Rain agreed quietly, still squeezing his other hand. “It does, and I’d give anything for you to get to skydive again. I know how much your job meant to you. It’s okay to be sad at that loss. You take as much time as you need coming to terms with that.”
Stupid tears still falling, he nodded, unable to do anything other than cling to Rain’s hand and replay his favorite jumps in his mind. Free falls that lasted extra long. Stunts he’d done for fun and maneuvers he’d pulled off for work. Gorgeous vistas stretching out in front of him. Perfect landings. Let himself really miss it in a way he hadn’t before. Loss. That was what Rain had said, and that was what this was. A loss. One he wasn’t sure he was ever going to get over.