After talking to Logan and arranging for his team to come quickly, he went to the pool. Standing, he dove into the water and used the bionics, forcing his brain to develop neural pathways needed to command his new legs. Cell regeneration was happening, but at a much slower rate than anyone had anticipated. He had to be careful because one of the drugs they used was so dangerous. It healed-and then it killed.
He swam, trying to direct his body to think through the mechanics of each kick. He stood in the shallow end near the network of bars and performed exercises. The water made him light, so if his legs failed-as they often did because his concentration was not exact-it didn’t matter, although he knew Lily would be upset with him for working alone.
When they had operated, he had been so certain he would just stand up and walk. It wasn’t anything like that. All of his training in the SEAL program, his GhostWalker training, none of it compared to this. His head ached constantly. His legs shook and were weak. Pain flashed up his thighs and into his hips. He fell constantly, and that was the worst. His legs just went out from under him, refusing to work if he wasn’t thinking about the mechanics of how they worked every second. The smallest distraction could bring him down.
He cursed over and over as he forced his brain into the pattern of telling his legs how to work. He visualized each muscle, the pathways he needed, the ligaments and tendons, pulleys to force his legs to take small steps. Sweat ran down his body along with droplets of water when he pulled himself to the stairs and sat, his lungs burning and his head screaming.
He’d given himself another bloody nose, the only thing that made him quit. He didn’t want another transfusion. He snagged a towel, furious that he’d ever agreed in the first place. His legs were too weak to hold him up. He exercised twice a day and did physical therapy, but here he was every day, exactly the same, his legs shaking and his head aching and nothing to show for it.
Noticing that the water in the pool bubbled in reaction to his anger, he took several deep breaths to calm himself. He was mostly angry that he couldn’t tell Saber. That she wouldn’t tell him about her life. They lived in the same house. He’d seen love in her eyes, tasted it on her lips, yet they couldn’t talk about who they really were.
Cursing, he caught the bars and pulled himself to a standing position. It always amazed him how everything looked so different when he stood up. It amazed him how different he felt. He was a strong man with an amazing amount of upper body strength, his thighs were strong, but the weakness in his calves could send him crashing to the ground in a heartbeat.
He was going to walk to his chair. His fingers curled into two tight fists and determination molded his mouth. He would do it this time. It was only a couple of feet. It was a matter of visualizing the way a leg worked and giving the information to his brain to carry down his body to his calf and foot.
He took a step. Beads of sweat dripped into his eyes. He forced air through his lungs. Jackhammers drilled at his temples and pain shot up his leg. He held the picture in his mind, everything working in tandem, his muscles contracting and expanding. He took a second step. He was so close to his wheelchair, only a scant two feet. A part of him wanted to try to sprint and another part wanted to lunge, keeping his feet in place so he wouldn’t have to use his brain anymore.
His legs shook and he went down hard, crashing to the cement before he could stop himself. He banged his head and one elbow against the ledge as he sprawled awkwardly on the ground. Hell, he couldn’t even fall right anymore. The legs just went with no warning, not giving him enough time to roll or simply brace himself with his arms. He lay there, furious at himself, slapping the cement with his open palm, alternating between swearing and trying to breathe.
The telephone rang, but he was too far away to reach it. He swore again and dragged his body using his arms over the cement tiles. He left a streak of blood behind as the rougher spots took skin. Patsy’s voice came on, ordering him to pick up. He caught at his chair and just lay against it, resting for a minute. Finally, using his upper body strength, he managed to crawl into his chair. By that time Patsy had given up and left him alone. He was grateful. He didn’t want to talk to or see anyone. For just a few moments he had felt totally helpless.
He rolled into his office and slammed the door, locking it, although no one was there to interrupt him. He stared in the mirror at the blood running from the cut on his head and sighed. It was going to be a long night. Technically he should call Lily and report the injuries. With even a small amount of Zenith in his system, he was at risk for bleeding out from even a minor lesion, but he’d be damned if he’d tell her or anyone else he fell.
“Holy crap, Saber,” Brian said. “You really know how to stir the boss up. He’s cut you off for the rest of the evening. And he’s angry. Really angry. I’m not certain you’re going to want to go home tonight.”
Saber leaned her chin on her palm and eyed him with suspicion. “You didn’t by any chance call him and tell him to tune in to the broadcast, did you? Because I don’t think he usually listens to it.”
Brian put his hand over his heart dramatically. “You’re killing me.”
She fanned her lashes at him, struggling not to get up and kick him. “You should have a little loyalty, Brian. Someday you may need a favor.”
The smile faded from the soundman’s face. “He’s my boss too. He’d fire me over that stunt you pulled-not you, me. Everyone at the station knows he’s gone on you. And he’s protective as hell. Sending out an invitation to a crazy man is over the top, Saber, even for you. You can’t talk in that voice and not expect to get a million whacked-out or drunken callers. One time and look, the board’s lit up like a Christmas tree.”
“You didn’t need to tattle on me. We’re grown-ups for heaven’s sake.”
She pushed her hands through her hair in agitation. She’d used her enhanced voice to lure the man who had been calling the station into calling again. She had sent her soft, sexy voice with that buried compulsion out over the airwaves. “To that special someone out there so anxious to reach me, I’m waiting for that call. For my romantic listeners we have a little mood music.”
Brian had thrown his arms into the air, furious with her. “Calhoun is going to murder you,” he mouthed through the glass.
And the tattletale had called the boss. If Jess had heard that recording, he would have known instantly she was using an enhanced voice. Any GhostWalker would. It had definitely been a calculated risk, but she’d just lost if Jess had heard her. She could have strangled Brian for his interference.