Page 14 of Room 1017

I heard him struggling to reach the brake on his wheelchair, his gasp of pain making me flinch in sympathy. Finally, he grunted, “Fuck this,” and a minute later, he was limping his way to the dining room. He paused to lean against the doorframe, judging the distance to the table. His clothes hung off him, giving me an impression of the way he’d once been built, before he’d lost all his muscle mass. I vowed to do what I could to get him back there.

Fork hovering halfway to my mouth, I paused to watch him. It was only a few feet, but without his walker or even a cane, it might as well have been a mile. I held my breath as he tried to find his balance, bracing himself for a fall. Shuffling forward, he kept his hold on the wall for as long as he could, then all at once, he practicallythrewhimself forward. I dropped my fork, muscles tensing as I prepared to catch him if I had to. With a clatter, he collided with the table, but he managed to stay on his feet.

Relief rushed through me, but I forced on a passive smile, even as adrenaline made my hand shake as I picked up my fork. “There, was that so hard?” I said evenly. I would make a big deal about it if I thought it would help, but he would likely see that as patronizing.

Peter was sweating as he pulled out his chair and collapsed jerkily into it. “Child’s play,” he grunted, clearly in pain, panting to catch his breath. And while he looked utterly miserable, it was impossible to miss the pride glistening in his eyes. Yes, that right there was exactly what we needed more of. He’d lost faith in himself, in his abilities. It was my job to show him everything he was still capable of. I had no doubt he could move mountains once he set his mind to it. He just needed to use his stubbornness for good instead of evil.

He picked up his fork, but before he started to eat, he peeked up at me through his dark lashes. “Thank you… for dinner and for cleaning up,” he said softly.

“You’re welcome.” I knew how hard it was to accept help, being fairly independent myself, but he didn’t need a lecture. Right now, he needed to find a new normal. So, I continued my light banter, with no pressure on him to reply. “Speaking of weird dreams,” I said, coming back to the earlier conversation, “I once had a whole dream of me just sitting at a red light, waiting for it to turn green. It felt likehours. Have you ever heard such a boring dream? I wonder what that one means.”

“That you’re a rule-follower, probably,” he said. Holy shit, that could almost be counted as a conversation. Now we were getting somewhere!

The meal was nothing fancy, but it was hearty, and from the number of frozen meal trays I saw in the garbage, it was probably a little healthier than he’d eaten in a while. We finished eating fairly quickly, but even for that short length of time, I could tell Peter was having trouble sitting for so long. These chairs didn’t have cushions, and it was likely pinching something in his hips or back. A muscle had begun a rhythmic ticking in his jaw as he ground his teeth together. Maybe I should’ve brought his wheelchair in here anyway…

Peter closed his eyes, fists clenched on the table. “Hey, Peter… are you okay?” I asked before I could stop to think about what a stupid question that was.

“No, I’m not fucking okay,” he snapped, his eyes flying open. They were bloodshot and glassy with unshed tears. “It never stops, Casey. The pain never fucking stops! Every second of every day. It’s like being hit with a hammer, over and over again on repeat. Even when it’s better, it’s still fucking awful.”

As tears spilled over, tracking down his cheeks, I reached out and set a hand over his fist. He flipped his hand over and grabbed hold, squeezing tight. “I know while you’re in the thick of it, it feels impossible to bear. It gets harder to remember what it felt like to live without the pain. You can’t think straight, can’t move, can’tbreathewithout it taking center stage. And I know that it can be so isolating, but Peter, you are not alone in this. Okay?”

His throat worked on a swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing, and he nodded once hard.

“Just give me one month, okay? We’ll take it one day at a time, you follow the plan I make for you, and in one month, we’ll sit right back here at this table and reassess where you’re at. Deal?”

He nodded again, this time more easily, with a hint of relief. Peter was an agent, and there was no way an agent would jump into anything without a plan. Schedules, meal plans, exercises—I would plan the hell out of his rehab.

I stayed long enough to load the dishwasher, but he was flagging fast. He needed proper sleep. When I left that evening, it was dark outside. I didn’t make him walk me to the door.

“I’ll be back to pick you up tomorrow morning,” I said, grabbing my jacket from where I’d tossed it. “And you’d damn well better open the door when I knock this time.”

He nodded, but I arched an eyebrow, waiting for an actual response. “Yes, I will answer the door,” he said with zero conviction, sighing in exasperation. I halfway expected him to throw in an eyeroll for good measure.

I frowned. “Maybe you should just give me a spare key… you know, just in case.” My eyes flitted to the pill bottle. We both knew exactly what I meant by “just in case.” Depression always came for us in the dark of an endless night.

Peter didn’t argue, just pointed and said gruffly, “There’s a key on the hook by the front door. Help yourself.”

I paused by the door, fingering the silver key. He trusted me enough to offer me free access to his home, and that meant something to me. I decided that it was time I put my trust in him too, so I left the key on the hook. I hoped like hell I didn’t regret that decision.

As I got in my car and drove home, I tried to ignore the fact that I’d never made house calls before. I’d never cooked, or cleaned, or had dinner with a patient before. The boundaries between us were already blurred, and considering I had every intention of being back tomorrow morning, I had no doubt things were about to get murky as hell.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” I muttered to myself, though I truly didn’t have a clue.

9

Peter

Aspromised,Caseyknockedon the door at precisely 9am, fresh as a godsdamned daisy. He seemed almost surprised when I actually answered the door. His eyes raked over my body, a slow smile spreading on his lips. He obviously liked what he saw, but I didn’t make more out of it than it was—a professional assessment.

“Well, would you look at you,” he said, making no effort to contain his grin.

Not only was I currently using the stupid walker, but I was also freshly showered and shaved, dressed in a clean pair of gray sweats and navy tee. I was not, however, wearing a smile. I’d told him I would open the door, but there was no rule saying I had to be happy about it.

“I know, I know. I’m real pretty when I put in the effort,” I joked with a tight smirk, proud when it made Casey laugh.

In truth, I’d slept for absolute shit. I’d felt so guilty about the overdose scare that I’d done everything I could not to take a painkiller.I don’t need them, I lied to myself.I can handle a little pain. Turned out I was wrong.

Around 3am, the throbbing had invaded my dreams. The shadows were closing in, coming to drag me beneath the soil, to bury me alive. I was never meant to escape with my life, they whispered to me. I awoke with a gasp, the sheets drenched in sweat and tangled around me, my shivers triggering little electric spasms down my legs. I finally gave in and took two pills just so I could catch a couple hours of sleep. I took another two a few minutes ago so I could get through whatever torture Casey had planned. I was smart enough to leave the whiskey off the menu this time, though—he would’ve smelled it on my breath.

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