5 Bikers for Valentines

“It’s just a question,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said. “But why are you asking it?”

“It’s my job,” I said. “If a patient is showing signs of abusing prescription drugs, then I need to ask.”

“Are you fucking serious?” he scoffed.

“You don’t need to get defensive,” I said sharply.

“This is ridiculous,” he said. “I’m not abusing my pills, Tara. I’m in pain, and I lost the damn bottle. That’s it.”

“Okay.” I knew arguing was pointless.

We said our goodbyes and I left for work, still unsure of whether I believed him. Caleb wasn’t the type to lie, but if he really was abusing his drugs, then he wouldn’t just come right out and say it.

I wanted to believe him. As the day progressed, I felt guilty for accusing him. I wished I could take it back, but I didn’t want to apologize over the phone. He had a physical therapy session scheduled for that night, so I decided to wait and bring it up then.

He walked through the doors of the PT building at exactly seven o’clock. I smiled and walked quickly over to him, standing on my tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips.

“I see you aren’t mad at me anymore,” he said without emotion.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was out of line.”

“Yeah, you were.”

He was still angry, but as we got into the session, his mood began to brighten. His muscle control was better than ever, and he was walking without the crutches more and more. I asked him to let go of the bars a few times, and he did amazing. He didn’t stumble a single time, but when we were finished, his face was contorted in a grimace.

“Are you in pain?” I asked, worried that I’d pushed him too hard.

“I didn’t get a chance to pick up my pills this morning,” he said. “I still can’t drive.”

My guilt worsened. It was obvious that Caleb’s pain was real. I felt like shit that I’d questioned him. I realized my worries were about myself and not him. I was scared about my cancer, and instead of dealing with it, I took it out on him.

“I’ll drive you,” I said quickly. “Come on. We’ll go right now.”

“Don’t you have to work?” he asked, glancing toward my desk.

I shook my head. “I can finish up in the morning.”

I handed Caleb his crutches and led the way to my car. Caleb slid into the passenger seat, and I tossed his crutches in the back. We drove through town toward the pharmacy. After we had his pills, I took Caleb home.

We lingered in my car outside of his apartment, neither of us saying a word. He was still mad at me for accusing him of abusing his painkillers, and I was still worried about my health. There was a giant wall between us, and nothing I did seemed to put a dent in it.

I turned to look at him. He was already watching me, his eyebrows pulled together and his forehead creased with concern. There were a million things I wanted to tell him, but when I opened my mouth, no words came out. He waited a few minutes, hoping I would say something. When I didn’t, he sighed and kissed me.

“I’ll see you later, Tara.”

“Goodnight.”

I watched him disappear inside his apartment, the door swinging shut behind him. It took me five minutes to drive away, and when I did, I instantly regretted it.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - CALEB

My mother came over for breakfast the next day. She brought donuts and coffee and sat down at my kitchen table with a silly smile on her face.

“You’re happy,” I said, reaching for a donut.

“Is that a crime?” she asked.