Page 9 of The Baxters
Tim Jacobs was living proof.
At least Elizabeth hoped so.
3
Rehabilitation was an ongoing process for Ryan Taylor. Probably would be for the rest of his life. His neck and spine were fused together in two areas, so mobility depended on a complex regular series of stretches and exercises. While he was home, twice a week he worked with a therapist who came by his mom’s house.
Three doors down from the Baxters.
Ryan’s family had lived in Bloomington as long as he could remember. His dad had been an administrator at the hospital before his death, and his mom was still a volunteer there. Ryan had an older sister who lived in California and only came home a few weeks each year.
“Bloomington doesn’t do much for me,” she had said more than once. “I don’t miss it.”
Ryan was different. He loved Bloomington for a hundred reasons. But maybe most of all because he could see Kari Baxter’s house from his bedroom window. Where she still lived.
At least until five o’clock today.
Yes, whether he would’ve had a long career playing football or not, Ryan had always intended to return hereone day. He still did. So that when it came time to marry and put down roots, he would get reconnected at his family’s church. Where his mother and the Baxter family still attended. That had always been his plan.
It still was.
Ryan stretched his arms over his head, one way and then the other. His therapist was Stan Guyer, a man in his mid-forties. The guy practiced what he preached in the gym because he didn’t look a day over thirty. He had helped Ryan set up a training area in the basement, where they were now.
Pushing through the last ten minutes of a tough workout.
“How you feeling?” Stan stepped back and studied him. “You’re slow today.”
“Sorry.” Ryan didn’t know the guy well enough to tell him what was really going on. How his pace that morning had nothing to do with his energy or his spine or the way his body was responding to therapy.
It was his heart.
Ryan doubled his efforts. Two hundred pounds hung on a bar resting on his shoulders, and under it he finished a round of ten squats. The room was floored with thick black rubber and outfitted with more than a dozen machines and exercise stations. He had spent a fortune on the setup, a gift to himself. A reason to never miss a therapy session, and something else.
An incentive to come home and make things work with Kari.
Two more. Ryan forced himself to move his legs, to finish. On the last squat, he slid easily out of the way and let the weights hit the floor. “I always wondered…” He was out of breath, and he could tell his face was red. “How putting a couple… hundred pounds on my neck… was good for me.” Ryan laughed. “Given my history.”
“I’ve told you.” Stan chuckled. “The stronger the muscles around your neck and spine, Taylor, the more mobile you’ll be. Even when you’re old and gray.”
“I know, I know.” Ryan grinned and waved him off. He was still breathing hard. “You’re the best. I get it.”
Stan directed Ryan to the floor. Push-ups were next. Fifty of them. Stan was there not so much to count the reps, but to make sure Ryan’s form was perfect. Anything less could hurt his back.
Working out was more painful now than it had been before his injury. But it was nothing to what he was about to live through when his watch hit five o’clock today. A part of him wanted to go by her house. See her one last time. Talk her out of it.
There was still a chance.
I can’t do it, he told himself.I have to let her go.
“Seven, eight.” Stan’s voice rose. “Come on, Taylor. Really work it.”
Sweat dripped down Ryan’s face. “Yes, boss!”
The idea of seeing Kari, knowing she was about to wear a wedding dress and walk down the aisle toward some other guy, was more painful than anything Stan could ever put him through. Tim would probably be atthe house before the wedding. So, no… he wasn’t going to do it.
What would be the point? Just so Kari could look the other way and ignore him? Like she’d been doing since his injury?
Ryan could feel himself slipping into autopilot with Stan. The workouts were a part of his life. His muscles would respond even if his mind was years away. He closed his eyes and kept pushing.
