A sigh of relief escapes me. Thank God for small favors. Now I just have to get rid of the headache talking to me, and I can finally get back into my own damn place.
“Roger that. If I need someone to hold my dick so I can piss, I’ll call you.”
Ice growls back, “Don’t be a smartass. That’s what I expect from your brother, not you.”
Knowing I have overstepped my bounds with the one man I shouldn’t, I grudgingly nod back my understanding. “Sorry, boss. I just need some peace and quiet for a few days. I’m sure I’ll be back to fuckin’ and fightin’ in no time, right?”
I do my best to keep an optimistic tone to my voice, but it rings false even to my ears. I know Ice sees right through my shit.
Instead of giving me shit about it, he gives my shoulder a clap and orders with a gruff voice, “You know how to get ahold of me.”
Ice walks away to his machine, fires it up with a loud roar, and rumbles out of the parking lot without a backward glance.
Hearing the engine of his bike twists something ugly inside of my gut. For a moment, I wonder if I am going to be sick to my stomach. Closing my eyes and letting my head fall back to the headrest, I let my mind wander to the worry that refuses to leave me or be ignored.
What the hell am I going to do if I can never ride my motorcycle again?
Perhaps I became a biker as part of a long-term undercover operation, but along the way, the Regulators have become more to me. This isn’t just my job; it’s my way of life. I couldn’t imagine a future where I couldn’t straddle hundreds of pounds of metal, kick start it to life, and fly down the roads with the wind whipping around me.
“You gonna sit there all day, feeling sorry for yourself? Or are you gonna get your ass out of that truck and go inside?”
For Evan’s sake, he better hope I never walk again. Otherwise, when I get out of this chair, I am going to stick my foot up his ass for being such a pain in mine.
Pulling on the door handle, I throw my truck door open, hitting my brother in the process and making him stumble backward. He makes an “oof” sound, but it didn’t really hurt him. It might have been a cheap shot, but something inside of me needs to let him know that, just because I am temporarily crippled, it doesn’t mean there isn’t any fight left in me. I just fear I don’t have enough fight in me to get back to standing on my own two feet.
“Stop gabbing like a girl and get my chair. I swear to God, you working around all those bitches is starting to rub off on you.”
Laughing, Evan grabs my chair out of the back of the truck, unfolds it, locks the wheels, and puts the pad of my seat back on for me.
Looking back at me, he asks, “You ready?”
Is any man ever ready to be carried around like a baby? Fuck no. This is probably the most humiliating part. I don’t want my little brother to see my obvious indignity, though, so I put on a mean face and do what I do best.
“Drop me and I’m gonna put you in your own damn chair, got me?”
Evan snorts, ignoring the threat, and scoops both of his arms under my lower back and legs. Picking me up, he manages to put me in the chair without dropping me or showing any strain from my heavy frame. He might be smaller than me, but my little brother obviously can hold his own.
Too bad the same couldn’t be said for me.
Refusing to throw myself anymore of a pity party, I unlock my chair’s wheels and start rolling myself toward my condo’s front door. Next comes the shiny elevator doors I never really appreciated before. They are fucking death traps, going up and down on the whim of mechanics I can’t control, and now I have to depend on one.
Once we make it up to my floor, we turn the corner slowly, and I lay eyes on my front door for the first time in months. As much as I want to get inside familiar territory, seeing the front door makes me pause.
Can I really do this? I know I fought tooth and nail to get out of the hospital and go home, but the realities are starting to pile on top of me so fast I am sure to be buried under the weight of it all.
“For fuck’s sake, bro! Open the damn door and go inside already. I wanna get us settled and turn on the TV to catch the football game. You staring at the door is holding up progress.”