Janet created the characters below, and I neither receive nor deserve any credit for it.
Jenny (JenRar) I feel as though a simple thank you at the top of the page doesn't come close to recognizing all that you do as the beta of this story. Still…thank you.
Chapter 8 – Knowing When to Back Off
Ranger's POV
"Today we're going to start easy, but don't think it will always be this way," Maxwell warned, not moving from where he's stood when we were introduced. "I need to see what your muscles are capable of, and we'll work from there."
I nodded, not in the mood for a lot of small talk. The idea of hearing that I was losing strength and unable to support myself was more than I was capable of talking about right now.
He pointed at the sheet and asked, "You wearing anything under that sheet?"
The way he was looking at my waist almost made me think he was hoping I was going to say no. It looked like this was about to be his lucky day. Every day, Henderson got me clean in the morning and handed me a fresh gown, which I promptly tossed on the dresser table next to the bed. I'd rather have the staff here staring at me naked than have anybody catch sight of me in a dress that opened over my ass.
Shaking my head no to let him know it was just me and cotton he was looking at, there was a brief glimmer of a smile before he tamped it back down. The more I watched him, the more he continued to remind me of the most lethal man at my company despite the differences in their physical appearances.
He moved to the bottom of the bed, pulled the sheet out, and rolled it to my upper thigh. "All right, then we'll use the sheet for today, but tomorrow, I'm going to have Henderson put you in pants. We've got a lot to do, and I have to be able to concentrate to be sure it all gets done."
It wasn't the first time a guy had made a comment like that to me, and it didn't bother me. But I was glad that Lester or Bobby weren't here to hear it. Lester would have given me hell for my gay physical therapist coming onto me, and Bobby would have given Maxwell hell for getting distracted and not focusing solely on my care.
For the next hour, Maxwell moved each of my joints, asking me to resist, to mirror his movements, or to hold a position as long as possible. He didn't make any notes, but I could tell from the expression on his face that he wasn't missing a single detail. By the time he was done, I was sweating, and I'd decided he didn't remind me of a surfer anymore – he was every bit as much of a task master as my first drill sergeant had been. His slightly smaller body did nothing to hold back his killer edge.
When he pulled down the sheet bunched up at my upper legs, I assumed we were done for the day. Maxwell pulled a chair from the side of the room over to sit next to my bed so that we could see each other eye to eye. His eyes reminded me a little of Stephanie's, in that I could see his mind was spinning as he formulated what he wanted to say to me. My experience with her had taught me to just wait her out, and I figured it would serve me here, as well.
"You want the good news or the bad news?" he finally asked, obviously unsure of how to proceed with what he wanted to tell me.
"Always lead with the weaknesses and then move to the strengths," I quoted my initial military strategy instructor.
He nodded and jumped in, not even hesitating in delivering what he had to know was going to be stunning news to me. "You've got some nerve damage from the injury to your spinal column. The spine itself has healed, the swelling is virtually nonexistent, and despite the recent lack of movement, I was expecting better touch nerve responses."
"What does that mean?" I asked, needing to be sure I got the full impact so I could decide my next move.
"It means that you have never second-guessed your legs before, and that's probably a thing of the past. I can get you up and walking, but there's going to be pain involved in it. And I don't mean the kind of soreness you experience from getting into shape; I mean the stabbing kind of pain that will make you turn around to defend yourself because you're going to be convinced I'm stabbing you with a knife. Even once I finish with you and you go back home, you'll probably always live with an amount of soreness and discomfort when you overdo it that will be new to you. I doubt anything can be done to completely remove that other than medication, massage, and careful monitoring of your activity level. Those roundhouse kicks you probably used to dish out by instinct, you'll have to concentrate on to perform. The fact that the nerve damage will cause intermittent numbness is enough to get the word 'honorably discharged' stamped on your file. This is your last injury on a mission because that was your last U.S.-sponsored mission."
He stopped for a moment, so I waited, hoping that he hadn't finished his report. If a life of physical uncertainty and pain and forced retirement was what he was telling me was the good news, then I didn't need to think about what I was going to do next.
"On the plus side, I can get you up and walking again. According to the scale your average civilian would be judged on, you might even be above the norm in ability as far as balance, endurance, and strength. But, I think the discomfort you'll be learning to live with will keep you from ever hitting your previous levels." He paused, letting that sink in, and then added, "But your arm will be fine and back to normal. Your upper body strength will be your greatest asset, and we'll be bulking that up to compensate for some of what you'll be missing at first with your legs. There's work we can do now, and I'm willing to start it tomorrow morning."
"Why wait?" I blurted out, not sure it mattered, but I figured while I tried to figure out what I was willing to handle, I should have the whole picture.
"Just what we've done today will be enough to make your back sore later. I want to give your muscles a chance to acclimate to moving again before hitting them hard tomorrow. Plus, what I'm telling you will be required won't be a damn walk in the park. I want you to have time to decide you are willing to do it. If I come back tomorrow and you aren't fully invested in what we're doing, then I'll pass you off to someone under me – and you'll walk, but I can't promise you'll run."
Maxwell was smarter than he looked. He could tell I was on the fence if it was worth it to give everything I had to just be a fraction of my former self. If I wasn't willing to commit, then he wasn't willing to work with me. I couldn't blame him. If he was the best this place had to offer, why should he have to waste his time with lost causes?
There weren't words for me to assure him I was willing to make the commitment he was looking for.
After the silence began to stretch, he stood up and said. "Besides that, everything else I could do with you will require you to get out of that bed, which means pants are going to be necessary. Until Henderson finds a way to cover your ass, I can't promise you'd be getting my full professional attention."
His remark should have pissed me off, but he was willing to make a joke in order to leave without me needing to respond to anything he'd said so far, and I appreciated that. Without another sound, he turned and left, shutting the door behind him, allowing me to have a few moments of complete silence.
I threw my good arm across my face to cover my eyes – another barrier to separate myself from the world around me. Damn it, I was hoping for an all-or-nothing answer to make my next move apparent. If I wasn't going to walk again, I was going to find a way to end it all here and face death over a life in a chair. If I could return to my life as I'd always been, even if it required hard work, then I would go back and put this all behind me. But being stuck somewhere in the middle – walking, but living with pain...I hadn't thought about that.
I could return to my company, but I'd have to either change my duties or learn to hide my weakness in the field. I'd done it before after a mission, and no one had been the wiser. A broken rib hurts like hell, but no one has to know that you're in agony if you learn to keep your face blank. And after a few weeks, you're back to normal, so going into the darkest parts of town and wreaking havoc proves you're as tough as you've always been. Could I live behind a mask for the rest of my life?
Calling the guys to the mats wouldn't work anymore. Before this mission, I could beat anyone on the core team unless Tank was really pissed off. At times, my margin of victory was paper thin, but I still came out on top. Reducing my ability to fight, even by a small amount, would mean they could each take me. And with the required training I made all the men go through, it would only be a matter of time before most of them could take me down, too. The respect through fear would be gone.
Never in my career had I issued a command for one of my men to do something I hadn't done myself. They knew this, and it brought about a kind of earned allegiance I depended on. If the guys figured out I was forcing them to do the things I wasn't able to do, then my credibility would be shot to hell, too.
And then there was Stephanie... How could I return home and try to claim some kind of life with her if I was only a shell of who I had been? She turned to me when she needed protection and help, and I could always provide it. It wouldn't take long before her being referred to as my woman would no longer bring any degree of protection for her because my name would no longer mean what it once did. The streets were a fickle place, and people there were a lot more observant than the general population would like to think. They'd notice the change in me, and they'd find a way to use it against me.
As easy as it would be to take all that and use it as the basis for ending it all right here, the thought of never seeing her again, of never holding her again…
My door opened with a resounding thud, causing me to jump in surprise and throw my arm away from my face to see what was happening. Henderson was standing there, and she didn't look happy at all. We glared at each other for a period of time, causing me to wonder what had upset her and why her irritation was being directed to me.
Without speaking, she moved into the room, letting the door close behind her. I expected her to move to my bed, but she went to the table next to me instead. She fiddled with the power cord that rested there, sticking it into my secure phone and handing it to me with a look that dared me to refuse to take it from her.
Stretching out my arm, I took the phone, waiting for some sort of explanation. Finally, she took a slow long breath, never breaking eye contact with me – an attempt to calm herself before speaking.
"You will pick up that phone and call this 'Babe' person you've been talking to. You will not hang up the phone until you have whatever you need to commit yourself to working with Maxwell. He came out and told me you had nothing but an uphill climb ahead of you, but he didn't see any spark in your eyes to start climbing. If he comes back tomorrow and doesn't see some kind of desire to get your ass out of this bed, he will give up on you."
When I didn't respond, she jumped in again. "Damn it, Manoso, if you are too selfish to do this, then you are not the man I thought you were."
"Selfish?" I questioned, not sure how that word made sense in light of the fact that it was my body, my life, my ability that we were discussing. Who the hell else was I supposed to think about? If ever there was a time to be selfish, this was it.
"Selfish," she repeated with certainty. "You're thinking only about how this will impact you, and you aren't even considering what it would do to the person you've spent hours talking to just since you've been here. You check out, and damn you, I'll find out who it was, and I'll tell her you gave up and that's why you didn't come home to her."
"Isn't that against hospital privacy regulations?" I bit back, knowing it was a lame response.
"Yes, but the only person that would know I'd done it would be her, and she'd be too upset to consider that I broke the rules," she arrogantly asserted.
"I'd know," I pointed out.
"Unless I'm misunderstanding you, it's hard to sue somebody for an ethics violation if you aren't breathing," she nailed me.
I looked away. Years of training to never be the one to back down first, and I pulled my eyes off her, admitting she'd won.
"You aren't the first soldier I've had come through here. You think I don't know what the look on your face means? So help me, Manoso, I'll kick your ass if you do something stupid on my watch."
Meeting her gaze, I lifted my chin in defiance, pissed at the world, pissed at my mission, pissed at my fucking useless legs, and allowing all that come out aimed at her because she was the only person brave enough to face me. "So as long as I do something stupid when you're off shift, then my ass would be safe?"
She pointed at my phone, which I noted I was gripping like a damn lifeline. "Pick up that phone and call whoever you've been talking to." She turned around as though leaving but faced me when she reached the door. "And whatever you do, don't say something as stupid as you just did to me. I wouldn't blame her for hanging up on you, and I think if she shut you out, then your last tie to hang on would be gone."
Leaving me no time to respond, she quickly opened the door and left, closing me in solitude once more. With no real reference of time, there was no way to know how many hours passed with me running scenarios of how my life in Trenton would look if I wasn't at my physical best there. I knew the day would come when age would catch up with me and I'd no longer be the toughest man on the streets, but I hadn't counted on it being now. In my stupidity, I'd figured if it happened gradually, I'd be able to handle it better.
The rumbling in my chest began to sound before I even noticed it. The growl turned into words when I opened my mouth and shouted, "Damn it to fucking hell!" I'd never had to channel strong emotions without being able to move, and I didn't know how to let it go while I was flat on my back.
I waited, feeling the echo of my noise in my ears, and wondered if anyone would come in and check on me. After a reasonable period of time with no interruptions I figured Henderson had called them off, knowing I needed to get some of this shit out and my vocal chords seemed to be the only muscles I had enough control over to use right now.
Forcing my hand to relax, I lifted the phone up and stared at the number pad. Henderson had commanded me to call Stephanie. I didn't have to obey, but something in me knew it was a good idea. Why it mattered, I had no idea, because I wasn't going to tell her anything about my current physical state.
Hell, it would be hours before this disaster of a day was over, so I hit the buttons and raised the phone the rest of the way to my ear. It took three rings before she answered, and just from the single word "hello," I felt some of the tension in my body relax.
"Hey, Babe," I started off, not sure where to go from those words.
"Hey, Ranger," she replied, letting out a breath I could hear across the line. "How are you?"
It was one of those questions people asked without really caring one way or the other. Typically, I ignored it and didn't bother with the expected pleasantry in return. But it struck me that Stephanie didn't usually ask that question. When the situation called for it, she could pull out her 'Burg manners and present herself beautifully, but at heart, she didn't give a shit about the surface stuff and tended to jump into what was on her mind. In fact, I didn't remember her ever asking me that except when I would visit her after returning from a mission, and then it had a specific meaning – are you hurt?
"I've been better," I responded finally. "Much better."
"Yeah," she agreed softly, "Me, too."
"What happened?" I asked, my internal alarm going off that something was wrong with her.
"I had a skip pickup this morning, and I found the guy easily. Of course, he decided he didn't want to go back to jail, so he thought it would be a good idea to try scaring me in the hope it would keep me from coming back."
"Were you scared?" I wondered, balling up a fist with my free hand. Despite it being in a cast, I was ambidextrous when it came to beating the shit out of someone for hurting Stephanie, and my body was responding off pure reflex at this point.
Her breath crinkled over the phone before she replied, "Shitless."
There have been many times in my life that I've been called an animal because of the ruthless way I've fought or worked, but it never seemed as fitting as it did when she confessed her fear. My throat instinctively allowed a rumbling sound to bubble out that sounded like some kind of jungle cat warning off a threat with a low growl.
"He spun me around, used one hand to hold my right hand behind my back, and used his other arm to tighten around my neck. He was locking around my neck with every word and cutting off my ability to breathe. When he told me he was going to wait until I passed out and then he was going to teach me a lesson I wouldn't forget when I woke up, I knew he was serious." She stopped talking then, at the worst possible point in her story.
"What happened?"
"It pissed me off that Lester was right that I obviously needed more than just a single day in the gym to work on my ability to defend myself. Then I remembered Bobby's voice when we stopped the official lesson and how he said that no matter what happened, I had to learn how to stay calm and then think on my feet, allowing my body to do what they had drilled into me. So, I stopped struggling, which gave the creep a false sense of accomplishment that I was about to pass out, and then I used my free arm to whack him in the balls at the same time I stomped on his foot, and I was able to spin away when he doubled over."
"Proud of you, Babe," I said without even thinking about it. Some people weren't able to calm themselves and think straight in a crisis situation, but she kept her level head and didn't panic, which could have saved her life.
"Hold off on that pride until I finish," she told me, causing my fist to reform once more. "I spun away and took off running, but I guess I didn't hit him hard enough to take him down because he took off after me. Of course, he had to be in shape – why don't the criminals I go after have trouble running?"
I waited while she worked through her side discussion, assuming it was more of an internal debate with herself that wasn't intended for me anyway.
She managed to pull herself back to the present. "Anyway, he caught me by grabbing a hold of my purse and yanking me backwards."
"How did you get away?" I had to ask, despite how much I knew it annoyed her when I interrupted.
"He broke the strap on my purse and that pissed me off because everything I carried was spread all over the front yard. We may not have been in the 'Burg, but people still talk, and I didn't want everybody to know what I was carrying around with me."
I decided to ignore that remark for now, knowing I could and would ask what she wished to keep a secret from the neighbors later.
"My eyes took in the mess he'd made just as he tackled me. Barely within reach of where I fell was a can of hairspray and my stun gun."
Ah, so she'd knocked him out... I'd talk to her later about having the weapon in hand before knocking on the door.
In my haste to jump to a conclusion about she'd done, I missed her next sentence and caught up when she said, "…so when I sprayed the hairspray in his eyes, he started screaming that I'd blinded him, and he got off me to cover his face. That gave me the chance to reach my stun gun and zap him."
"You went for the hairspray first?" I asked, even though she'd clearly said that was what happened.
"Hey!" She was in defensive mode at my question. "I've tried to use my stun gun before, and it hasn't worked because I forgot to charge it or it wasn't on. But I've never misfired a canister of hairspray... I'm a woman from Jersey." The last part was filled with enough sass that I had to laugh.
I conceded her point and had to admit it was perfectly valid when she explained it that way. "All right, I see the logic. How are you now?"
"My head hurts," she said softly. It had been just a few days before that Miller had given her a concussion. "And now I have to go back to Lester and Bobby and ask them to work with me a little more so that I don't end up in that same position again."
"Are you willing to do the work?" I asked, unsure why I was pushing her.
"I hate exercise," she replied, not exactly answering my question. "But I hated that feeling that he was going to hurt me and I was powerless to stop it. I guess I finally have the motivation to do what they think is necessary. When it was just to be able to snap my jeans, it wasn't enough to keep me committed – I could just buy bigger jeans. But it seems more like a matter of life or death now, so…yeah, I'll do it."
"That's my girl," I replied, not sure where the hell that had come from. I'd called her my woman on the streets for a few years, but to call her something like that was much more personal. The inner teenager in me wanted to kick my own ass for saying something that sappy to a commitment-phobic woman.
The pause began to grow long enough that I worried I had truly crossed a boundary but she cleared her throat, finding that storehouse of courage to speak that I seemed to be missing, and said, "Is that true? Do you think of me like that?"
I flexed the fingers of my hand, forcing them to relax from the fist they had formed earlier. This was a shitty time to have a conversation like this. I was considering never returning to Trenton, and now she wanted to pin me down on what we had. I'd heard a lot of men give foxhole confessions: when you think your life is about to end, you find a measure of strength to say and do things you hadn't been capable of. I'd never doubted them, so I hoped their advice didn't let me down when I opened my mouth.
"Yeah, I do." Once I started talking, I shut my eyes and pictured how she must look, hanging on every word, biting on her bottom lip like she did when she was nervous. "I know I haven't treated you that way, and I've told you the exact opposite, but that's how I think of you."
Again, silence filled my ears. Her deep intake of breath was loud enough to come through the phone before she spoke. "When you come home, will you treat me like you think of me?"
The question wasn't her clearest one, but I understood what she meant. "When you see me again, I'll treat you like I should have been treating you since DeChooch."
"It's been a long time since we made that deal," she pointed out.
"Then I've got a lot to make up for, don't I?" Hopefully she'd understand that with the hindsight this stay in the hospital had given me, I'd realized she deserved so much more from me. She deserved for me to treat her like I only had in my dreams.
"You going to be okay?" I asked, not wanting her to flip this conversation back on me.
"I will be." She sounded more confident this time. "Besides, I'll be too busy to think about much else because Tank has me overhauling your payroll process."
"What?" I asked, unable to believe he was using her to make his life easier. It was a brilliant idea, but it was still pretty low.
"Oh!" She made a sound of surprise. "I think I have to go. Are you going to be okay?"
"Yeah, Babe," I promised her, hoping it was true. "I think after talking to you, I'll be okay."
If she could find the courage to face her fears and do what was necessary, then I could at least try. If it didn't work, I could always change my mind, but giving up without even putting forth some effort wasn't like me. I was leaving open the option of going out by my own choosing, but it was too soon to fold yet. After that conversation with Stephanie, the game was way too interesting to walk away from these cards.
Stephanie's POV
I hung up and sat back, wondering what in the hell had made me rush off the phone. Ranger was finally saying things I'd wished he would say for years, and I'd run. It wasn't that I didn't want to hear them – my inner cheerleader had been doing backward summersaults at the idea of being his girl. But I felt like he didn't want to discuss it anymore, and if I'd stayed on the phone, I would have pushed him.
I'd watched a special on PBS about a guy who was a horse whisperer, and he'd said what he was able to accomplish was sometimes just as much about when he backed off as it was when he pushed forward. This was definitely a "back off" moment. Even though I had no idea what I was doing, I was convinced I was right.
Besides, I had a feeling he was a lot more injured than he let on, and the fact that he'd said he'd been much better told me whatever was going on with him was hard – really hard. It pissed me off that he didn't want anyone to know.
Hector walked by my desk while I was staring off, thinking about what I wished could happen. Ranger had reached out to me, obviously needing to hear my voice for some reason. He was struggling, and even though I didn't know what was causing his trouble, I knew that he was using our conversations to ease the worries he was enduring.
If I had a way to get to him, I had a feeling seeing me might be an even bigger boost than just a ten-minute phone conversation. In the back of my mind, I had a suspicion that there was a piece of him that didn't want to come home for some reason. Why would that be? Was there an injury that he didn't want to have to show around the guys?
My hand made a sound when it smacked down on the top of my desk, and I took off after Hector, calling his name when he opened the stairwell door.
"Hola," he greeted, turning his head to the side as a questioning expression that I thought was so endearing.
"I need help," I blurted out. I knew that Ranger didn't want the guys to know, but no one understood flying under the radar like Hector did, so I knew instinctually that I could trust only him in what I wanted to do.
He grinned at me and nodded. "Si, I help."
Now all we had to do was overcome the language barrier and hope that between the two of us, we could find what I needed to make this work. Ranger may have thought he was alone to deal with whatever this mission did to him, but if he was right about me being his girl, then it was about time I acted like it.
A/N: I thought I should warn you all that I will not be posting tomorrow morning. I am going out of town and won't have access to my computer again until Monday when I'll be back with more.
