Page 118 of Saving Grace

He nods, and I know the message sunk in.

“Just...” He sucks in a breath. “Don’t push it and end up worse off. Grace deserves the whole Mack, not the shell of him.”

He’s insinuating I’ll end up broken and leave her with less than a man. I punch his arm.Fuckin’ little shit.

We pull in by the doctor’s thirty minutes later, and three minutes late for my appointment. The doorbell chimes as I hobble through, making a halfhearted effort to hold the door open for my brother. He beams at the receptionist, and she perks up like a goddamn meerkat. Jesus, this guy will never lose that spunk, will he?

“Rawlins, for the ten o’clock,” I grunt.

“Doctor will be out in a moment. Take a seat.” She smiles and waves to the blue plastic chairs lined up against the wall. Only two others are waiting, both with their heads down, eyes on their damn screens.

I take the closest seat, and Reed drops into the one beside it, pushing his legs out. He tugs the ball cap down and closes his eyes before knitting his fingers behind his head.

“Worn out, gunny?” I mutter.

The grin splitting his stupid face tells me everything. I can only imagine the antics my little brother and his wife get up to. Ruby’s been his godsend. He’s the family and the loving arms she never had. It used to be hard not to be jealous of them both.

My thoughts drift to Grace. I need to get back to where I was. I refuse to be anything but whole. I won’t let her settle for anything less than a brilliant life and family. Meaning I need to man up and get this recovery done.

“Mackinlay?” the white coat says from the end of the hall, chart in hand.

Reed groans and sits up.

“Stay down. I got this. You look like you could use the nap.”

“Sure could,” he says with a shit-eating grin.

I shake my head at him and push to my feet. The corridor is short. I turn into the first room on the left and sink into the leatherette seat on the opposite side of the desk. I’ve been here before. Been through the motions. This time ‘round, I have a clear path, and the desire to power through this as soon as possible.

“How’s the pain?” the doc asks.

“Fine, nothing I can’t handle. When can I start the physio?”

“Let me check your most recent X-ray and your mobility, and we’ll see.” He shoots out of the chair he just sat in and pads to the light box hanging on the wall. So goddamn old school, like Lewistown was left behind when the rest of the medical worldwent digital. He plucks the pen from his pocket and taps the film with a hum.

Okay . . .

“The fractures are healing nicely. That’s good.”

“So, I can lose the support?”

“Should be okay, as long as you don’t exert yourself. Up on the bed and I’ll check your range of motion.”

I make a point of not using the cane and slide up onto the bed. A lance of pain travels down my hip and leg. I lay back and the doctor grips my calf, bending my leg up, to the side, rotating it in the ball and socket joint. I hold my breath.

He does the same on the other side.

“Hmmm. Roll onto your side, facing the wall.”

I roll and stare at the wall. His cold hands press and explore my lower spine. When he says nothing, removing his hands, I roll back over and sit up. “Well, when can I get back on a horse?”

His eyes widen before tightening with concern. “Mackinlay, your injuries may be healing, but I’m afraid riding is not recommended. Not anymore.”

“It’s not optional. Comes with the job description,” I snap.

Like hell I’m standing around watching my family pick up my slack.

“If you fall from a horse again, you run a considerable risk of permanent damage.”

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