“Oh, God.” She hadn’t imagined the flicker of pain on his face earlier. Although he’d masked it quickly, there was no doubt now. Besides the brace and the ice, she saw a bottle of prescription pain medication on the table beside him. Obviously his leg was still giving him a great deal of trouble.
Her presence and the two words she’d uttered were enough to wake him. He opened his eyes and looked at her. Then he tried to sit up and grab for the remote, but it had fallen out of his hands and onto the floor.
She retrieved it for him, but by then she’d already seen what he probably didn’t want her to see. He’d been watching the footage of his own fall. From what she could tell, his support crew was a couple of hours into trying to get him help. She could see the dark speck he made on the mountain, hear the helicopter from which they were filming and the frantic discussion going on between the cameraman and the pilot. She could also feel the tremendous concern, the sheer urgency of the situation. According to the stopwatch on the screen, whoever held the camera had been filming for two hours and forty-four minutes, but rescuers hadn’t yet been able to reach Brandon on that steep slope.
How long did he have to lie there, in a crumpled heap, waiting? She’d never thought about that. She’d seen the same clip as everyone else—the part where he lost control and tumbled like a rag doll down the cliff, hitting rocks and trees along the way—but not this extended version. This wasn’t for public consumption. She hadn’t even considered how hard it would be for emergency help to get to him or how it must’ve felt for him to lie there suffering. It was a miracle they’d been able to rescue him at all.
“Are you wondering how you survived?” she asked.
He scratched his head as he relaxed into his seat. “I’m wondering how I screwed up so badly, how I put myself in that position in the first place.”
“You’re good at what you do, Brandon, but…anyone can make a mistake. Especially on a slope like that.”
He took the remote and snapped off the TV as if he couldn’t bear to see any more, and she frowned as she studied his leg. “I hope you’re really going backpacking across Nicaragua in two weeks because, if I remember right, I was invited to join you.”
“I’ll take you next summer.” He shifted so he could remove the ice packs on his leg.
“So that invitation—it was just a fake?” Nudging his hands away, she stripped off the packs.
“Sort of. I have to leave town, but I won’t be doing any backpacking.”
“Where are you going?”
Obviously uncomfortable revealing this information, he cleared his throat. “There’s a doctor in Europe. Thinks he can fix my leg.” He motioned to a small refrigerator in the corner near the wet bar. “The packs go in there.”
Apparently sitting up with his leg in a brace wasn’t an unusual occurrence. “You need another operation?” she asked as she opened the fridge.
“At least one,” he answered. “In order to regain full range of motion, it might take more.”
“And you’re not telling anyone because…”
Velcro rasped as he removed the brace and set it beside his chair. “I can’t risk losing my sponsors. If they think I’ll no longer be a force in the industry, they’ll sign someone else.”
“I see.” She folded her arms. “And you haven’t told anyone here at home because you’re afraid we might leak the truth to the press?”
“Figured if I’m going to lie, I might as well be consistent among all my friends.”
“What about your family?”
“What family?”
“Your mother loves you, Brandon.”
“And she loves Bob and Kyle and will soon have a grandbaby. I’m a big boy. I’ve made my decision and I’ll live with the results. There’s no need to worry her.”
How many times had his parents warned him not to take the risks he took? “That’s gallant of you. I think. Except, if I was your mother, I’m pretty sure I’d want to know.”
“I’ve considered that. But if I tell her, I essentially tell my stepfather, too, and I don’t want to hear him say, ‘I told you so.’ I especially don’t want to put up with having him act as if I deserve this.”
She could understand his feelings. She’d heard Bob expound on the subject of Brandon and his choice of career before, when she was at the Housemans’ with Kyle. At the time, she’d agreed with him. Now she felt…torn. She wanted Brandon to be happy, wanted to see him excel at what he loved. She just didn’t want him to lose his life chasing the next adrenaline rush.
“I heard the condescending way he was talking to you tonight.” Groggy from sleep and possibly the painkiller, he seemed a little out of it, so she helped him to his feet. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“My stepfather is a pain in the ass,” he grumbled, but he settled an arm over her shoulders so he could take some of the pressure off his bad leg.
She decided it was better not to comment on that, since she’d once been sympathetic to Bob’s frustrations where Brandon was concerned. “Back to Nicaragua.”
“Are you sorry the trip’s off?”
“I’m wondering why you invited me to go at all.”
“Wishful thinking.”
An adventure like that had sounded nice. It still did.
“And I knew you’d refuse,” he added.
He also knew it made a great cover, a believable cover, for the length of time he’d be gone. She had to hand it to him, he was good at hiding the problem. Until he’d winced earlier, she’d never even suspected. “And if I hadn’t?” she asked.
“You could come to Europe with me, travel around while I recuperate—as long as you stop by to see me once in a while.”
She could imagine how lonely that would be—to have an operation in a foreign county when all your friends and family thought you were having such a great time they didn’t bother to write or call. But, assuming he wasn’t any more serious about having her join him in Europe than he’d been about Nicaragua, she let that comment slide. “You made yourself climb these stairs. Maybe if you didn’t push yourself so hard, your leg would have a chance to heal on its own.”
“Stairs are the least of my worries. I’m going to have to do much more than climb up to my loft if I want to hang on to my career.”