Lodged (Kinsmen Billionaires #2)

25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Ruin MacAllister

I t’s been a week since my casts came off, and the pain and discomfort are excruciating. Since I broke my shoulder, wrist, and ankle, not to mention a couple of ribs, the therapy has been very painful. I think it’d be easier if I was motivated to get better and go on with my life, but what life do I have to go back to? Not remembering the last four years feels like the ultimate slap in the face. I can’t go back to school because I don’t remember any of the things I’ve learned—I would have to start over. Right now, that’s the last thing I want to do.

The doctors thought I should stay in the hospital for the first four weeks of therapy to be more comfortable while getting my mobility back, but I was beyond tired of seeing the same four plain walls. I asked if I could start doing therapy remotely, and Dr. Davies decided to compromise—two more weeks here at the hospital, and then I could go home.

I’m heading home today, and it’s bittersweet. On one hand, I’m happy to finally be among my loved ones and with my things, but at the same time, I wonder if I’ll remember any of the things I have in my room as mine. I don’t even want to think how home will feel without Daddy being around.

“Hey, hey, Ruru,” Miles says in a chirpy tone as he comes into my room with a wheelchair in tow. I smile at him, and then River comes in next.

“Ready to go home?” River asks, so many emotions dancing in his eyes.

“River, I’m okay,” I lie, but he’s always carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and this was an accident. It was no one’s fault.

“River, cut it out. Remember what the doctor said,” Miles says as he smacks River on the head, and I laugh. Miles always has a way of cutting the tension in the most stressful situations.

“Right, let’s go home.”

They both help me out of bed, carefully easing me into the wheelchair. River grabs the few belongings I have here. I didn’t want them to bring anything from home—I wasn’t sure if I’d remember it or not.

“Now, don’t go all Grand Theft Auto , Miles. Be careful,” River warns.

But Miles, being Miles, speeds up, shouting, “What was that? I can’t hear you.”

I laugh all the way to the parking lot.

On the drive home, I tried to prepare myself for the wave of emotions I would feel. But the moment I set foot in the house, everything hit me all at once. The house is the same, yet it feels different. We have the same sectional sofa in the living room, the one we used to squeeze in for family movie night while eating popcorn. But now the pillows look fresh, and everything is tidy. We’ve grown up.

The same familiar smell of apples and leather lingers in the air, and I can picture Daddy clear as day. I close my eyes and go back to a time when he used to take his lunch break in the middle of the afternoon just to be around when we came home from school.

“Ruin, sweetie.” Mama rushes from the kitchen to greet me.

“Hi, Mama,” I say with a big smile. I want to hug her, but I have crutches, and I’m still learning to maneuver with them.

“Good Heavens, who thought it was a good idea to send Ruin home with crutches in the middle of winter when the roads are slippery with ice?” Granny says as she joins us in the living room, and everyone laughs at her bluntness.

“That’s what I said, Granny, but the big boss over here said there would always be one of us around to help her. So she should be good,” Miles says as he points his thumb toward River.

“Well, it’s the truth. Ruin can’t be left alone, so we’ll take turns being around to help her. Rain made a spreadsheet showing who’s in charge of Ruin and when.”

I know my family means well, and they love me as much as I love them, but I hate feeling like I’m another chore to them. They all have jobs to tend to, and I’m adding to the pile.

“Sweetie, you know this is no hardship for us, right?” Mama says, taking my crutches and giving them to Miles to put away. “I prepared your bedroom to keep you as comfortable as possible. Good thing it’s on the first floor.”

“Ruin, darling, think about it this way. Now Granny has a companion to take naps and wobble around the house like two drunken gals,” Granny says, settling into her favorite comfy chair by the window where she spends most of the day knitting or reading her tarot cards. I shake my head, amused by the things Granny comes up with. It’s good to be home.

I’ve been going to the hospital three times a week for the last month. I’m in therapy for all of my broken bones. We started with my shoulder because I would need to move my arm and hands to help with my ankle exercises.

The pain, sweat, and tears were a great reminder of what I went through and how hard things can be. Mama or Rain helps me the other four days at home. The family room has been transformed into a mini gym, and I love sharing it with my napping gal. It’s incredible how much mobility Granny has regained after doing the exercises with me. She says she feels like she’s in her fifties again.

I have the same therapist every session, so it’s been nice to build a relationship with him. Nick is kind and friendly, but he doesn’t take bullshit from anyone. During the first couple of sessions, I thought I’d have to quit. The pain was awful, and I just didn’t have the drive to do it. But Nick held me accountable, and as the days went by, the exercises got a little easier.

“I don’t work with quitters, Ruin," he said once. "If you’re here, it is to get better, not to simmer in what you think is a miserable life. Believe it or not, plenty of people out there would give anything for the chance to walk again, and they simply can’t. So, if you won’t do it for yourself, do it for them.”

That was the last time I complained. He was right. Even though I’m going through a rough time, I have my family’s support. With time and therapy, I can get back on my feet—literally.

When I got home from the hospital, I wasn't sure if Rain had taken things from my room or if I’d always had so few belongings. But the moment I walked in, one thing immediately caught my attention: the cutest stuffed animal—a husky with a tag that reads "Cobalt." I don’t remember when I got it or if someone gave it to me, but it feels special. I don’t think I’ve slept with a stuffy since I was nine or ten, but holding Cobalt at night makes me feel safe and cared for.

Lately, I’ve started bringing him everywhere with me. Remembering how I got him has become my main focus, and as the doctors said, the memories could come back at any time.