Page 11 of Chelsea’s Knight

“Babe, they run an animal sanctuary and Nick gets government grants to help him train the dogs who show promise for becoming therapy animals. There would be no cost except of course, the food and what-not the dog would need.”

She looks at me, suspicion dripping from her expression and snorts, “No cost. I find that suspect and near impossible to believe. I don’t want the club taking on a financial burden like this. It’s an issue I’ve lived with for well over a decade, and so far, I’ve been fine.”

She’s always been buried in the shadows, observing others' happiness, watching life happen around her and passing her by. It has her standoffish to the point that us offering her a helping hand confuses her. I need her to understand that not all handouts are charities or come with any sort of strings attached with a price tag.

“How many times have you had a seizure and unintentionally hurt yourself in that decade?” I question.

Her face reddens as she glares at me, snapping out, “A few times.” Her volume is low, but her words are sharp, laced with a perturbed hiss.

I suspect it’s been more than a few times based on the scars I’ve seen on her upper arms alone, wounds that make it obvious she’s struck something hard enough during an episode to warrant stitches.

“Mmhm. And us having access to someone who can get us a dog trained to assist you would minimize that from happening in the future, Chels. I swear, we may donate to their charitable cause every year to help keep them afloat when we do a fundraising run, but it won’t cost us a fucking dime out of our personal pockets. Well, outside of the food we’ll eat while we’re there during the dog’s training with you. No doubt about it, Chelsea, I will be at your side the entire time.”

Before she can respond, I pull into the parking lot of the clubhouse. “We’re not done talking about this, Canyon,” she warns, a stubborn, piercing glint shining in her eye.

The spark of defiance reinforces the fact that she’s going to be okay and come out of this like a beacon illuminating the night sky.

“Looking forward to it, beautiful.”

Chelsea

I feel as though I’m smack dab in the center of a spinning whirlpool right now, being tossed to and fro with all the information Canyon has thrown at me. My head pounds and I know that soon a fierce migraine will be coming, something I’m now prone to having and wish I could escape and just go to my room and lie down in the dark.

But that would be rude to do, and I won’t disrespect Momma M or Mary in that manner, so I’ll suck it up and fake my happiness until I can find the appropriate time to break away and go rest.

“You’ve got a headache coming on, don’t you?” Canyon asks as we make our way indoors where a huge colorful and slightly gawdy banner is droopily hung in the middle of the alcove in the entryway welcoming me back home.

My eyes well with tears because I know one of them handmade that banner, putting a lot of thought and time behind it. Twisting my midsection, I notice that balloons are strung and floating around aimlessly, and streamers are sporadically hung everywhere.

When the group yells out, I can’t help the wince that spans across my face from the higher pitches. “Yeah,” I quietly admit even though I’m reluctant to let anyone know, including him.

He’s so intuitive where I’m concerned it’s kind of scary, to be honest. They’ve gone to so much trouble for me that I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings or let them down by leaving or asking them to tone things down a notch or two. They’ve gone out of their way to show me how welcomed and wanted I am here.

“Let me get you settled, then I’ll run and grab you something to drink so you can take your pain medicine to hopefully keep it from getting too bad,” he conveys.

“Thank you. I’d appreciate that, Canyon.” My voice is wobbly, it’s been a long damn time since someone, outside of my nonni and poppa, have put my well-being and interest above all else.

“No thanks are needed, babe.” He leads me over to a table and pulls out one of the chairs. I gratefully sit, genuinely smiling from ear-to-ear as Noah comes up to me, maneuvering his wheelchair like a pro.

“Hey, little man, how are you?” I ask.

“I’m still having to wear the braces, but the doctor says I’m making progress or something like that,” he brags, as he should, through a proud, beaming smile. “How are you feeling, Miss Chelsea? I’ve been praying every day that you’d get better and come home. I’ve really missed you.”

Taking a moment and inhaling a deep breath, I think about what he asked. “Well, I remember everyone now, which is a very good thing, don’t you think? I mean, it was kind of scary at first when I woke up and I knew who Gia and Trident were, but almost everyone else was a virtual stranger.”

Plus, not remembering that my nonni and poppa were gone threw me for a loop because I was genuinely upset that they weren’t at the hospital keeping vigil over me. Canyon was beyond gentle when he explained the reasoning behind why they couldn’t come, then he held me as I cried and mourned them for a second time.

“You knew me, though,” he gloats, pride radiating from his every pore.

“Yes, I did, and I don’t understand why except you must have made an impact on me, buddy. I know I’ve missed you terribly. Have you been keeping up with your schooling?”

“Yeah, Daddy’s been double checking my daily work for me. He’s not as much fun as you with different types of voices when he’s reading the boring history stuff, but that’s okay. He’ll learn, eventually. He makes up for it in the pool when we’re defeating the sea dragons.”

His excitement has me giggling despite the headache looming. “Hopefully, he’ll let me take over the teaching and he can stick to the pool time fun.”

“That’s not a problem at all, Chelsea,” Specks advises, coming over and sitting down. “I’ll happily pass you back the teacher's wand. We figured you’d want a day or so to get settled back in and then you can take back over, hopefully for good because none of us are teacher material. Honestly, I’m just praying we didn’t botch things too badly and make a mess out of your manuals and grading sheets.” Specks sends me a cross-eyed look which impresses the point that he didn’t enjoy playing the teaching role as much as he does the water therapist.

“I think it’ll be just fine, and I can’t wait,” I reply. “Surely you just followed my lesson plans and didn’t go rogue on me.” I smile at Specks.

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