I learn my drivers will be Talon ‘Tripp’ Crews, Catawba Hellions prez and owner of Crews Transports, along with Tank. Since they want to make sure anyone following won’t question it, I have to hide inside a crate. There is a chance we could get searched at a weight station, or if we were to get pulled over by a trooper, the crate wouldn’t raise suspicion.
Tank tells me to grab my bag and get ready to roll. They are going to back one of their transportation trucks up to the doorway, and I’m to jump in as soon as they open the doors. Moving a crate with me already inside it would be dangerous, and that is a risk we aren’t going to take.
A few minutes later, I hear the heavy rumble of a diesel engine and watch through a crack in the living room window’s blinds as they back the truck up. As soon as I see the truck’s brake lights light up, I grab my bag and run to the front door. Boomer opens it and motions for me to go. The truck door slides up, and I run out and jump up into the back.
Tank is there with a LED lantern and a stern face.
“You’ve got a pillow, blanket, and your file on Ethan ‘Hammer’ McCoy. We’re stoppin’ only when we have to, so if the need it, you’ve got a bucket to pee in.” Shoving a small, disposable cell phone into my hand, he orders, “If there’s a reason you need to get ahold of me, you text me ‘911’ and nothing else. My number is the only one programmed in here. I see that, and Tripp and I will find a place to pull over and sort you out. But that’s for emergencies only. It’s gonna be a rough ride, babe, but you hang on, and we’re gonna get you there, okay?”
I nod.
He points to the crate and my pad of blankets.
Settling down, I huddle in the blankets with my head on the pillow and secure the lantern so it won’t slide around in the truck. I feel the truck move forward and say a prayer that we get wherever we are going safely. I hate the idea that I might have put Tripp, Tank, or any of the other Hellions in danger, but I’m so grateful they are willing to help me. I have no idea what I would have done without them.
The truck makes a few slow turns, and eventually, I feel it accelerating in such a manner that I assume we are on the highway now.
Opening the file I was given, I start reading its contents. The personal information is incredibly sparse, almost as if someone was purposely hiding information, but that’s none of my business, anyway. All I have to do is help a disabled man with his physical therapy without asking too many questions, and that’s the least I can do for everything the Hellions have done for me.
Turning the pages, I take in his medical history and prognosis. Injuries due to being hit by a car. Surgery, metal plates and pins to fix an intertrochanteric fracture, but an excessive amount of swelling and scar tissue is noted. It’s possibly causing complications on whether or not the patient will regain mobility in his legs.
It looks like it is going to be a tough case for me, but I have treated injuries much worse than this with success, so I’m optimistic. With any luck, I will have Hammer out of his chair and back on his feet with time, hard work, and a regular training schedule.
I turn to the last page and see a blank page that was tucked in at the bottom of the file with a messy scrawl across it.
Fair warning:
HE’S AN ASSHOLE.
Ice
Rolling my eyes, I wonder why all men become giant babies after they experience some pain. Well, this Hammer guy can be an asshole all he wants. He is about to meet the one person who won’t put up with his shit: me. Or as Tank likes to call me, Drill Sergeant Bust My Balls.
Chapter
7
~Hammer~
“Dammit to hell!” I scream, launching my coffee mug across the kitchen. “Fucking crippled ass can’t even make coffee.”
This is what life has become: a prisoner in my own body. Sure, I can feel. I’m not paralyzed, so everyone says how this could be worse.
Fuck everyone and their opinions. I’m only human. I crash. I hurt. I burn. I fall apart.
Yes, I feel every bit of pain. The metal holding my hip in place is just as cold on the inside as it would be on the outside.
It takes time they say.
Fuck that, and fuck them.
I’m trying to keep my eyes on the prize, my mind on my new mission: build up my tolerance then be free of my chair. I’m a motherfucking soldier, a green beret, not an invalid. Yet I’m dying inside. Slowly, this is killing me.