Fighting Our Way (Broken Tracks 2)

“I’m not making the progress I need to,” I tell her, spinning my chair around and wheeling into the small changing room. “I won’t be making the progress I want until I can walk.”

“Amelia—”

Lifting my hand in a wave, I say, “I’ll see you on Friday.”

I hear her huff out a breath, her feet padding closer to me. “You want to up the intensity in therapy?” she asks, following me inside the changing room. “Then you need to listen to me. When I say enough, it means enough. That’s the only way I’ll do this. If you listen to everything I tell you, I’ll try and do everything I can to help.”

“I will,” I say, swallowing against the dryness in my throat. “I’ll listen to you, as long as you up the intensity. I need to be ready for if I ever get the feeling back in my legs.”

“When.” She dries her body off, placing her tracksuit over the top of her still damp swimsuit.

“Huh?”

“When you get the feeling back.”

“Honey, I’m home!” I call into the house in my usual greeting.

It’s been a long day at work and I can’t wait for what I have planned for tonight.

When I don’t get an answer, I frown, placing the bag of groceries I’m holding on the side unit and walk along the hallway.

“Hello?”

“That’s it, half a length to go. Keep pushing.” I hear Traci’s familiar voice say.

I look down at my watch seeing it’s way past Amelia’s therapy session time and step into the pool room, watching as a red-faced Amelia reaches the end of the pool.

“One more length?” she asks out of breath but with a determined look on her face.

“Not today.” Traci shakes her head, and surprisingly, Amelia nods.

I’ve wanted to sit and watch her progress for months, but every time I try, she tells me to leave. I always do as she says when it comes to her therapy but it’s frustrating because she hardly says a word about how she’s getting on apart from “fine.”

She’s been having a lot more sessions lately than she used to which I suspect is normal at this stage, after all it has been five and a half months since she first started her physiotherapy. With her having so many sessions I was hoping there would be a change in her condition, but there’s been no major improvements as of yet.

Traci keeps her hands on Amelia’s thighs as they move over to the chair in the pool, making sure Amelia is situated before climbing out herself. When the chair is fully out of the water and Amelia has maneuvered herself back into her wheelchair, Traci notices me standing here.

“Hi, Nate.”

Amelia’s head turns toward me and she smiles wide. “What’re you doing home early? I thought you were working late?”

I wait for her to come over to me, placing a kiss on her lips and shrugging. “I had better things to do.”

“Is that so?” she asks, raising a brow as I grab her a towel off the shelves beside us. She takes it from me, wrapping it around her upper body.

“Apparently it’s a special day today.”

Her face screws up in thought. “It is?”

I chuckle and kiss the top of her head. “I’m going to grab a shower then start dinner.” I look behind her, seeing Traci has disappeared. “Tell Traci I said bye.”

“Nate! What day is it?” Laughter tumbles out of me at her insistent voice. “I hate when you do this!”

The truth is: I love that she hates surprises. I love that her nose screws up when I don’t tell her something right away and I love that when she finally finds out, her face lights up and just from that one expression, I know she’s enjoyed having one even if she doesn’t realize it at the time.

I shower and slip into a comfortable pair of sweatpants and a navy-blue t-shirt before picking up the grocery bag I left on the living room unit and walking into the kitchen to start preparing dinner: a quick chicken alfredo.

With the smell of cream cheese in the air, my belly rumbles. It’s been nonstop at work since I went back almost a month ago. Even though I kept up with the goings on from home, there’s a lot I missed out on and I’m only now catching up and getting back into a routine.