During the week Jenna would find a few minutes to talk to Ashley, catch her up on how Brady was doing. The two of them had gotten close. Jenna could tell they were going to be friends, just like she had believed that day when Ashley came to her school.
Just yesterday Ashley had asked about the future, whether Jenna saw any hope for her and Brady.
“That’s tough.” Jenna felt comfortable sharing this. Ashley seemed to understand the situation better than almost anyone. Even Brady. “We’re very . . . different. Especially in our faith.”
Deep conversations happened between Ashley and her nearly every morning.
Then, in the afternoon, Jenna would head to the rehab facility.
Brady worked hardest when she was there, Jenna was convinced. Each morning the therapist would teach him the day’s routine, and when Jenna arrived she’d cheer on his practice. She’d go home for dinner and then return for another few hours with Brady.
Today Jenna parked in her familiar spot and headed into the facility. If things went right, this would be Brady’s first day on his feet. They’d gotten him up several times already, but with a lift and only to keep his circulation going. This would be Brady’s big test, the chance to see the full extent of his damage and just how far he had to go to walk again.
Jenna knew something was wrong as soon as she entered his room. He was sitting on the side of the bed, his shirt off, his muscled back to her. Sweat glistened on his arms and shoulders and his head hung in defeat. He sounded out of breath.
Should she leave or find his therapist? Maybe he didn’t want her to see him right now. She stopped and was about to turn around when he must’ve heard her. He looked over his shoulder and the muscles in his jaw flexed. He shook his head. “Go, Jenna.” His voice was tight, like he was speaking through clenched teeth. “I can’t see you now.”
“Okay.” Jenna stepped out of the room and walked to the nurses’ station. She waited until Brady’s therapist, Kyrie, spotted her.
The woman was from Kenya, a strong, no-nonsense type. Today, though, her face was marked with compassion. She motioned for Jenna to follow her down the hall and when they were out of earshot, Kyrie turned to her. “It was a rough morning for your friend.”
“I see that.” Jenna felt her heart start to pound. “Did . . . did you get him on his feet?”
“I tried.” Kyrie narrowed her eyes. “It didn’t go well. The combination of pain and muscle atrophy. The rods in his thighs.” She shook her head, clearly discouraged. “I have to be honest, Jenna. Some people never regain use of their legs after an injury like his.”
Please, God, no. Jenna could feel the blood draining from her face. She turned and took a few steps in the direction of Brady’s room and then back toward Kyrie. “Brady has to walk again.” Tears welled in her eyes as she looked at the therapist.
“I feel the same way.”
Jenna’s head was spinning. Walking was all Brady talked about. That and how happy he was that she was here, that they’d found each other again. She managed to speak. “Is there a way . . . some sort of test to know? Whether he’ll walk?”
“Not at this point.” Kyrie sighed. “He has feeling. It’s really a matter of whether he can tolerate the process.”
Tolerate the process? Jenna wanted to laugh at the woman. Of course Brady could tolerate the process. He had fallen through a burning roof. He had lived his whole life in foster care with no one to love him. And he had waited for her eleven years without giving up.
Jenna forced herself to sound polite. “Ma’am. Brady can handle anything.”
“Well then.” Kyrie nodded toward his room. “Maybe he needs a little encouragement.”
“From me?” Jenna thought about how he’d looked, how he had asked her to leave. “He sent me away.”
“They all do at first.” Kyrie stood a little straighter, more hopeful. “You say he can deal with anything. So go back in there and get him on his feet.” She patted Jenna’s arm. “I’ll be right back to help.”
A sick feeling came over her. In the weeks since she’d been in Oklahoma, she hadn’t once seen Brady down. Never experienced a single moment of the utter defeat she saw in him today.
Jenna steadied herself and walked toward Brady’s room. With every step she found a new level of determination. If he needed someone to push him, she was up for the task. She reached his room and walked inside. He was still sitting on the side of the bed facing the window, his shirt still off. But his breathing was more normal and he wasn’t as sweaty.
Again he turned to her, his expression a mix of despair and frustration. “I said go, Jenna.” He faced the window again. “I can’t . . . I can’t have you see me like this.”
“Like what?” She set her bag down and walked to him. So she was right in front of him. “Kyrie says you need practice.”
He lifted his face to her. Tears pooled in his eyes and his lip quivered. “Practice?” He laughed, but it was more of a cry. “Jenna, I can’t put weight on my feet.” He shrugged his bare shoulders. “My legs won’t work.”
“They will.” Jenna was acting. All she wanted to do was run out of the room and let Kyrie take over. She was scared to death he might be right. But Brady needed her strength, not her fear. “Come on.” She held out her hands. “I’ll help you.”
Jenna heard someone at the door. She looked up to see Kyrie. The woman had her hands on her hips. “You can do this, Brady. Use your thighs.”
“My thighs?” He was shaking now. As if just the thought of standing again was more than his body could take. “I don’t have thighs, Kyrie. I have metal rods. Remember?”
“Okay, so you’re bionic.” Her voice didn’t hold a drop of compassion now.
Jenna understood. Brady needed tough love. Otherwise he wouldn’t push himself to the next level. She still stood in front of him, arms stretched out toward him.
“You got the prettiest girl in physical therapy willing to help you.” Kyrie clucked her tongue. “Use your metal rods, then. And push from your heels. But get that specimen of a body up.” She raised her voice. “Now, Brady. Do it now.”
Anger flickered in his eyes and Jenna watched it catch, watched it burn through his whole being. He gritted his teeth and took hold of both Jenna’s hands. Then with an effort that took Jenna’s breath, Brady pushed off his heels until his body began to rise from the bed.
“Good.” Kyrie came a few steps closer. She nodded, emphatic. “That’s it, Brady. You got this.”
Once Jenna had watched a documentary on a woman who had gotten lost in the jungle and nearly died of malaria. That was how sick Brady looked now. Every inch of him was shaking and sweat streamed down his face.
“Breathe.” Kyrie stayed back far enough to let Jenna do the assisting. “You gotta breathe, Brady.”
A rush of air came through his clenched teeth, his face red from the exertion. When he was almost fully upright, he hit a wall and dropped back to the edge of the bed.
“There. See.” Kyrie gave a firm nod. “Don’t tell me you can’t, Brady. You’re one of Oklahoma City’s finest.” She had a fervor in her voice. “You most certainly can and you will.” She turned to Jenna. “Next time don’t let him fall back to the bed. I want him on his feet for three minutes. Then he can rest.” She pointed at Jenna. “And don’t you do the work. You’re just there for support.”
Clearly satisfied, Kyrie smiled at Brady. “Again, Mr. Bradshaw.” She headed toward the door. “Come on. Again.”
Kyrie left the room and Jenna stared at Brady. His sides were heaving, and he looked ready to pass out.
“Is she kidding?” Brady’s eyes found hers. The anger was still there, but something else now.
Hope.
Jenna grabbed a towel from the shelf in the corner of the room. She could hardly wipe the sweat from his body. But he needed help. She handed him the towel. “Where’s your shirt?”
“Drenched.” He took the towel and ran it over one arm and then the other. His moveme
nts were slow and shaky. “I’ve never been so tired.”
Jenna thought about what Kyrie wanted. She found her confidence and stood in front of him once more. “Let’s try it again.”
Brady ran the towel over his forehead and then tossed it on the bed. He searched Jenna’s face. “You’re serious?”
“Kyrie’s serious.” She forced a determined smile. “You ready?”
He laughed, his breathing still fast from the previous attempt. “Do I have a choice?”
“Apparently not.” She held out her hands.
He gripped her forearms, and she could feel him trembling. “You sure you want to do this?”
She wanted nothing more. “That’s why I’m here.”
Brady positioned his feet, his heels and he clenched his jaw. His determination was like a physical force. Gradually, one inch at a time, he lifted off the bed until he was upright. Jenna’s breath caught in her throat. “You’re doing it . . . You’re standing!”
As soon as she said the words, she felt his body give out. This time, though, instead of dropping to the bed he leaned into her. His chest pressed against her, his body hot and shaking. He hung his head, clearly embarrassed. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to do this.”
“It’s okay. I want to help.” A million thoughts fought for her attention. He was taller than she remembered and somehow he smelled amazing. Which didn’t actually make sense. Maybe it was his shampoo or the lotion they used to keep his skin from chafing while he lay in bed.
Whatever it was, Jenna could barely focus. She could feel him breathing, feel his heartbeat against her body. He struggled with his balance, but he remained close to her. “How long?”
Jenna hadn’t been keeping track. She swallowed, trying to find her own stability. “A minute. At least a minute.”
Finally he looked down and stared into her eyes. But only for a second. Never mind the hardship he was working through or the fact that this was merely an exercise. The attraction was absolutely there for both of them.
Like all he wanted to do was kiss her. And all she wanted was for him to do it.
He steadied himself, easing back some so he was bearing his own weight. “Longest minute of my life.”
And mine. She kept her thoughts to herself. She glanced at the wall clock and the second hand. “One more to go.”
He looked at her again. His arms and body still shook, and he was sweaty all over. But he managed to find a smile. “I have a question.”
“Go ahead.” She braced herself so he could lean against her if he needed more support.
“So . . .” His eyes searched hers as he blinked a sweat drop from his lashes. A single laugh slipped from between his lips. “How am I supposed to think about standing . . . when all I want to do is kiss you.”
She felt the heat in her cheeks even before he finished his sentence. “I was sort of thinking the same thing.”
For the next ten seconds she was sure he was going to kiss her. But his strength was giving out. “Jenna . . .” He was breathing harder, the strain pushing him to the edge. “I have to believe . . . there will be a better time.”
She laughed and lost her balance. He dropped back to the bed and she narrowly avoided falling on top of him. Instead she landed beside him. Despite his exhaustion they were both laughing now. Laughing so hard that they fell back onto the bed, side by side.
Kyrie walked in then. “The goal is to be standing.” She gave them a stern look, but her tone told them she was teasing. “Let him rest for ten minutes.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jenna scrambled to sit up. She wondered if Brady’s heart was beating as hard as hers. Whatever was happening between them, she couldn’t stop it.
“You’re right about one thing, Kyrie.” Brady was still lying on the bed. He grabbed the towel and wiped his arms and chest and face again. Then he shot a teasing look at the therapist. “She kept me on my feet longer than you did.”
“I figured.” Kyrie shook her head and left the room. “Ten minutes. That’s it.”
And so it continued. Every ten minutes for an hour, Jenna would act as support for Brady as he practiced standing. And every time he seemed to do all he could to keep from looking at her. They weren’t going to kiss. Brady was right, of course. This wasn’t the time.
But Jenna made a note to bring him a few new T-shirts tomorrow. She could only take so much.
• • •
AS JUNE PLAYED out Brady proved everyone wrong, even himself. Two weeks after checking into the rehab facility, with Jenna at his side, Brady took his first steps. After that there was no stopping him.
Kyrie explained it best. The body remembers. Once Brady started working the muscles in his legs, his memory took over. That, and the fact that Brady had been in top physical condition at the time of the accident, meant he would get stronger every day.
The third week of June, Brady was discharged. Jenna was there when it happened.
His doctor told him the good news. Brady’s legs were strong, his lungs were fully functioning and the swelling in his brain had completely subsided. “You’re healed, Brady. Someone must’ve been praying for you.”
The doctor’s mention of prayer was the only moment that day when Brady looked indifferent, irritated almost. Before they left, Kyrie scheduled outpatient therapy a few times a week. “It’ll be a year before you feel like you did prior to the accident.” She smiled at him. “Keep working, Brady. Every day.” Then to Jenna, “You stay on him. He’ll get there.”
There was nothing but joy between them as Jenna pulled up the car and loaded his things. Brady made it to her passenger door without any problem. Fifteen minutes later, she walked with him into his apartment and suddenly his eyes lit up. “The letters!” He motioned to her. “I’ll be back.”
He returned with a manila envelope and then he nodded to the living room. “Sit with me.” He took her hand and they sat side by side on his sofa. “I want you to read them.”
Jenna took the envelope and opened it. Inside were the letters he’d written to her. One every year since they met. “I wish . . .” She looked at him, deep into his eyes. “I wish we could go back and live those years again.”
“Me, too.”
She read one of the letters while he watched her. The sound of their heartbeats filled the inches between them. “Thank you. For these.” She stood. “I have to go, but I’ll read them later.”
“Okay.” He looked relieved. “I’m just glad you finally have them.”
They walked to the door and before she left he took her in his arms. This time he didn’t need any help keeping his balance. He ran his thumb along her cheekbone and seemed to get lost in her eyes. “Jenna.” His voice fell to a whisper. “Will you . . . go out with me tonight?”
She wanted to tell him yes, of course. Being out with him was something she’d dreamed about ever since that day in rehab, when they had almost kissed. She was about to respond when he moved closer.
“Before you answer . . .” He ran his hands down her arms. Jenna could smell the mint on his breath, feel the heat from his body. He framed her face with both hands. “I need to thank you. For helping me.” He searched her eyes. “You’re the reason I’m here.”
Jenna had never felt more attracted to any guy in all her life. She grinned at him. “I loved it.” This was intoxicating, standing here in his embrace. The way his strength had returned. Her voice was barely audible. “The first day on your feet was the best.”
“What a mess I was.” He chuckled under his breath and his eyes found a place in her heart that was his alone. He eased back some and his laughter faded. For a long time he only looked at her. Straight to her heart. “Even so . . . I’ll remember it forever.”
She felt her breathing pick up. “You told me we needed . . . a better time to kiss.”
“Exactly.” His voice fell to a whisper, his fingertips soft against her cheeks, a mix of strength and tenderness. “Like now.”
And in slow motion the moment s
he’d longed for was happening. His lips found hers and the kiss was more wonderful than anything she could’ve imagined. Despite the time they’d spent together at the hospital and rehab center, Jenna was almost certain she was dreaming.
He drew back a few inches. His eyes told her he felt the same way. “I’ve dreamed of this as long as I can remember.” He kissed her again, and she knew. She would be his forever. The kiss was everything they’d both thought about and hoped for. Not since she’d arrived in town.
But since they were seventeen.
19
T he Baxter family’s Fourth of July picnics at Lake Monroe were always epic and this year figured to be another memorable one. Everyone had set up their tables and blankets near the grassy shore, and now Ashley and Cole were trying to organize what had become their latest tradition. The one Ashley loved best.
A sand castle contest.
Each family was responsible for building a single sand creation. Their dad and Elaine would create one, too, so in all there would be six entries. Cole had come up with a voting system. It was a complicated but effective idea: each person could choose two sand castles, a first and a second place.
Every first-place vote was worth ten points, and a second-place vote was worth five. Also, you couldn’t vote for your own sand castle.
Once Cole was done explaining the rules Luke yelled out, “There will be a test on this later, in case some of you weren’t paying attention.” He pointed to a few of the younger kids and then he chuckled. “No, really. You can help us grown-ups.”
Everyone laughed and Cole set a timer. One hour to build the best sand castle. Dayne and Katy and their kids were there, too, and this year they’d brought a dozen different-shaped buckets and turret molds and shovels. Kari and Ryan provided each team with a box of decorative seashells.
When Devin saw the supplies he announced that the news should cover the competition live.