Rico's Recovery (Detroit Heat Book 2) (6 page)

To prove his point, Rico squeezed my hand. I bit my bottom lip. The muscle definition may have faded away, but I could tell that he was plenty strong. A small part of me wondered if he knew how I felt and he was doing this to tease me. If that was true, good for him. I wanted him to have some motivation, and if that motivation was me, all the better.

“Feels good,” I said, trying to sound like his physical therapist. “I came up here to see how you were doing, and I wondered if you might like to get some air?”

Rico looked out the window to the sunshine waiting beyond it. When he turned back to me, there was a smile on his face. “I’m game if you are.”

He insisted on getting himself into the wheelchair. I wanted to see how much he struggled, and I was surprised by how little effort it took him to slip into it. He was determined, and he had great motor skills. He heavily favored his right arm, but who could blame him?

By the time he was seated there was sweat on his brow and he was huffing. He kept breathing through his nose, though, not wanting to let me know just how hard he had worked to get into the wheelchair.

“Ready?”

Maybe he knew that his voice would give him away, because he only nodded.

My intention was to give Rico a taste of the world outside the hospital. It had been his only view for months. I wanted to give him a chance to breathe the cool evening air and give him a space to relax for a few. What’s the saying about the best-laid plans of mice and men? They often go to shit.

At first Rico tried to wheel himself, but his left hand was still pinned and it wasn’t angled right. After he gave up and said, “You’re up, champ,” he hung his head until we got outside. There was so much sadness in his voice.

I hoped that the beauty of twilight would snap him out of it, but he didn’t seem to notice. My heart sank probably as hard as his. I knew that he needed a small victory, something to show him that he was still capable. I just couldn’t think of what that would be.

The sun was setting and there was a slight breeze dancing through the courtyard. I sat on the top of a picnic table, my feet on the bench. There were other patients outside, some with their families, some out on their own, but I could see Rico was turned completely inwards. He couldn’t feel the sun on his skin, and he couldn’t hear those around him.

After letting him have his silence for a few minutes, I spoke. “Tired of this place yet?”

Rico didn’t look up at me, but he did answer. “I’ve been sick of it since day one. I’ve helped too many people into ambulances to send them here. Never thought one of them would be me.”

“Do you really think you’re invincible?” He still didn’t look up, so he missed the playful smile I was giving him.

“I did.”

“Rico, look at me.” I had all day, and I’d wait until he actually did. His empty eyes finally met mine. “You can’t be serious. You can work out all day, every day, and you can train twenty-four seven, but it won’t make you bullet proof—or flame resistant.”

“I had it all. That’s the killer thing. I had everything I’d ever wanted, and now I know it’s gone.”

Rico’s words hurt me. To hear someone talk so passionately about their dreams crumbling made my throat close up. I did my best to hide my emotions. “You don’t know that.”

If Rico heard me, he chose not to acknowledge what I’d said. “I only got to taste the victory for a second. It tears me up.”

I took in what he said for a few moments. Most of the time, Rico played the pity party, but I really felt what he had said. I had worked hard to get where I was. I knew the taste of victory, and I knew the cost.

I’d sacrificed relationships and partners to get into one of the best hospitals in Detroit. Back in San Francisco, my fiancé had said it was Detroit or him. I hated that he had made me choose, and he hated my choice. He’d proven to me that putting my career first was the right move, but it still stung.

“Your dream isn’t dead, Rico. Adversity is throwing everything it’s got at you, but that doesn’t mean that your dream is dead.”

“Eh.” Typical male response.

“I’m serious. I don’t lie to patients. I know when they have honest chances.”

For the first time, I saw a spark of something in his eye. “Really?”

I stretched a leg out and turned his wheelchair with it so that he was facing me. I nodded.

“We’ve got to get you thinking differently. You feel like you had achieved your dream, right?” After Rico nodded, I continued. “Look at it this way: you got a taste, and now you’ve just got another hurdle to jump before you reach the real finish line. Sure, you made it onto the Detroit Fire Department, but imagine the story you could tell your kids and grandkids if you got back into fighting shape.”

The mention of kids distracted me. I almost didn’t hear him when he asked, “Have you talked to Dr. Jolie?”

“Not in a few days, but I’ll find him tomorrow and get an update.” In reality, I wanted to talk to Rico’s physician every day, but I knew I was already close to crossing professional lines. I pulled my foot back off of Rico’s wheelchair, and I saw his eyes follow it back to the picnic table.

Rico’s gaze traveled up from my leg until he met my eyes again. He made no attempt to cover up just how slowly it took him to wander up my body. I felt heat course through me as he looked me over. There was something so confident in his gaze.

“So,” he said, “what’s your story?”

“That is one hell of a broad question, Rico.”

He smiled. He was so handsome when he smiled, but it was hard to get one out of him. I took it as an accomplishment. Rico’s dark eyes seemed to lighten, but that might have been the setting sun. His skin wasn’t all that tan, but I guessed that if he hadn’t spent nearly two months in the hospital, it would have been. Sun-kissed and rounding out the trio of tall, dark, and handsome.

“All right, all right. Is this what you like to do? Physical therapy?”

It was my turn to smile. “I love PT work. I get people back on their feet.” Taking the chance to look Rico up and down, I nodded at his legs. “Sometimes quite literally.”

“I see what you did there, Lizzie.” His voice was as warm as his eyes. The orange glow of the sunset afforded him some color again, and I couldn’t help but notice how gorgeous he was. Hearing him say my name didn’t help anything. I could feel myself sinking. Slowly. Slowly.

A flush rose in my cheeks. “Glad your sense of humor is still intact. Really, though, I am able to help people walk again, knit again, or whatever it was they did before. I help them find a way to live. I give them confidence in themselves. Stroke victims have to relearn everything, or in some cases, they have to learn to do everything with the other hand, which, as you can imagine, is one hell of a task.”

Rico looked down at his left hand, the one that had been pretty much immobilized since he’d had come into the hospital.

After a few moments, he looked back up at me. “You give people their lives back?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I guess I do.”

“Are you going to give me mine back?” There was a childlike innocence to his voice.

“I’m going to do all I can to get your life back, Rico.”

He smiled so wide that his teeth showed. “Is that a promise, Lizzie?”

The professional inside of me was screaming.
Don’t make promises, don’t give him false hope, and
don’t
fall for him!
I had already stepped over the line. My relationship with Rico was way too personal. At first, I told myself it was crucial to get his motivation up, but I knew that flimsy excuse was fading fast.

“It’s a promise. Now, let’s get you back to your room before your hospital food gets cold.” I smiled despite the turmoil twisting me up inside.

As much as I hated giving Rico false hope, watching his body language change was incredible. I knew I might be setting his expectations far too high, but maybe he’d work that much harder. That was my hope, anyway.

I stood up, ready to unlock his wheelchair and get him back inside, but he grabbed my wrist as I reached for the handle. I felt another rush and I knew my cheeks were turning red all over again.

“I think I can get it this time.”

I gave him a look that said,
You sure?
His smile was my answer.

I let him hear the worry in my voice. “All right, but I’ll be following close behind just in case.”

Rico struggled to get his left arm moving, but after the initial start, he seemed to be pushing along steady and evenly. I kept an eye ahead of him to see if there were any cracks in the sidewalk. The hospital kept the courtyard in decent shape, but I wanted to be sure.

As we neared the ramp, Rico picked up some speed. I should have stopped and tilted the front wheels up into the air for him, but I thought he could get it on his own. I was wrong.

Rico hit the ramp and the wheelchair came to a violent stop. His left hand moved forward and crashed into the wheel lock. He let out a grunt and reached across his body with his right hand. I rushed to his side to see what had happened.

“What’s wrong?” I knelt down beside him, and I was glad to see that he wasn’t bleeding. It was a small victory, in the grand scheme of things.

“It’s my hand. I think I felt something snap.” His voice was calm, but I could hear the pain. Whatever had snapped, it wasn’t small.

I hit the call button on my Vocera necklace and said, “Call ICU.”

It chimed and repeated, “Calling… ICU.”

As I tilted Rico’s wheelchair back and got him back inside the hospital, a nurse answered the call in intensive care. “Hello?”

“I’m coming back inside from the courtyard with Rico Baggio. He’s injured his left hand, I think one of the screws might have come loose. We’ll be on the elevator up to you in two minutes.”

“Understood. Thank you.”

“Well, Rico, it looks like we’ll have to bring you back into surgery to reset a few of the pins in your left arm. I hate to have to operate on you anymore, but like I said, we can either reset it, or chance it not healing properly.”

I tried to keep the disgusted look off my face as Dr. Rob spoke. I felt sick. I was angry. I was hurt. I had gone through moments where I blamed Lizzie, but I quickly pushed that thought from my head. It wasn’t her fault at all. She had been doing a good thing, and I wouldn’t let anyone blame her. The blame fell squarely on my shoulders. I was the one that had pushed too hard, and I should have known better. I’ve never been a “slow and steady” kind of guy, and once again, it had bitten me in the ass.

As the doctor explained my injuries, I remembered the first day I picked up running. A friend had suggested jogging a mile and working my way up from there. I decided that anything less than a 5k would be a waste of time, and I paid for it with large and long-lasting blisters on my feet.

“You understand that your bones need time to heal, Rico?”

I didn’t like the doctor calling me Rico, anymore. It meant that I had spent far too much time in the hospital, and everyone knew me too well. Lizzie was different, though.

She was the only one in the place who didn’t look at me with pity, and that included my family. Lizzie saw me as someone who just had a hurdle to jump. I liked that. As the doctor turned my hand over and sent a shot of pain up my arm, I thought about the hurdle in front of me. I saw myself jumping it, and I saw Lizzie there cheering me on.

My imagination must have gotten carried away, because I went from seeing her cheer to seeing her in a cheerleading outfit. I blinked away the thought for a split second, but then I came back to it. Her bright and shining smile, her blonde curls, and her tanned legs. I had to guess on the last bit, because I’d only seen her in scrubs, but it was
my
fantasy, dammit, and it was the best I’d felt in weeks.

I liked her. It was an easy thing to admit to myself. Not nearly as easy to admit to someone else, but I didn’t have to worry about that. The only thing anyone ever talked with me about was my recovery. My family encouraged me, the doctor encouraged me—if “Rico, you have to be more careful” counts as encouragement.

I snapped back to reality when the doc said, “This is going to push our timeline back a few weeks. I’ll let PT know that there’ve been some complications.”