Forever (35 page)

Rebuild decks.

The back door was broken, so she had no trouble getting in. She worked her way through the downstairs and up into every room on the second floor. Finally she returned to the backyard, where she was scrutinizing the windows when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She screamed and spun around.

“Sony.” It was Luke, and he was by himself. He laughed and made the same face he used to make when he was a kid. “I couldn’t resist.”

“Thanks.” She bent over and willed her heart to remember how to beat. “You scared me.” She caught her breath and stood straight again. “Hey … what are you doing here?” Now that the shock had worn off, she squealed and flung her arms around his neck. “You’re a month early.”

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He laughed and put his arms around her waist. “Dad’s good. I asked him to keep it a secret.” His expression fell, and he searched her face. “I have to talk to you, Ash. I’ve messed things up with a lot of people. I want to start changing that.” He released her and slipped his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the back of the house. “It has potential.”

“It does. I made a list of what needs to be done.” Ashley handed it to him.

“It’s ten pages.”

Luke let out a low whistle. “Dad says you’re working with a contractor?”

“I was. He’s doing the counters and floors.” She studied her brother, and joy lifted her mood. Luke had been her best friend when they were kids. She had to spend only a few minutes with him to remember why. “So what brings you? Work?”

A grin lightened Luke’s expression. “Yep. All month.” He pointed at the old house. “Working right here next to you.”

Ashley’s mouth opened, and she sucked in a slow breath. “Are you serious? That’s why you’re here?”

“It is.” The teasing left his eyes. “I figured something out.”

She wandered to the old, broken-down picnic table and sat on top. He followed and took the spot next to her. “What?”

“I figured out why I was so mad all the time.” He put his hands behind him and leaned back against his arms. “You knoNN with the whole Dayne situation.”

“Why?” Ashley had wanted this moment for a long time-tilt! chance to sit next to her brother and try to decipher his heart

He looked out toward the lake. “All my life I wanted .1 brother.” He grinned at her. “You were a good substitute, Ash But I still wanted a brother.” He turned his attention back to tilt lake. “It wasn’t something I talked about.”

A glimmer of understanding flickered in her soul.

“Anyway, so here I am all grown up with a family of my m and I get word that hey, what do you know? I do have a brot I Only he’s a famous movie star and he’s moving to Bloomingt oil

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Strange as it sounds, I think I was mad at everyone. Mad at Mom and Dad for never telling us and mad at Dayne for not being there all those years. And maybe mad that he turned out to be so famous. Because now-even if I did find a way to connect with him-he wouldn’t have time for me.”

Ashley didn’t have to state the obvious. That none of what had happened to their family was Dayne’s fault. Instead she slipped her arm around Luke’s shoulders.

“I can see that.”

“Even hearing myself tell you makes me mad. What right do I have to be so selfish? It’s like you said. None of us can change the facts. We have a brother.

He has a very public life. And right now he has more than that-he has hurdles to overcome that I know nothing about.” He narrowed his eyes, and his expression grew determined. “That’s why I’m here. My brother needs me.”

Ashley rested her head on his shoulder. “You’re right. And I need you too.” She took her arm from his shoulders and studied her list. “There’s so much to do.”

“Let’s see.” Luke looked at the first page. “You have people lined up to help, right?”

“On the weekends, yes.” She felt the doubts rising inside her again. “If Dayne gets through rehab in record time, we have just four weeks and two days to get the job finished.”

“Well then.” He rolled up his sleeves. “Let’s see what we can get done right now.”

And with that, they headed into the house and spent the next few hours dragging out broken bookcases and old blinds and other damaged items.

By the end of the afternoon, they were tired and dirty. But Luke looked happier than he’d been since last spring. Ashley knew him well enough to understand why.

He wasn’t only talking about having a brother. He was loving him.

In the best way he knew how.

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No ONE could believe the progress Dayne was making. Not Dr. Deming or Dayne’s therapist or anyone at the rehab center. Not anyone involved in conventional understanding of traumatic brain injuries and the recovery time after a month-long coma. No one who heard about his progress or saw it detailed in a file or witnessed it firsthand could believe it.

No one except Katy.

Dayne looked at her. She was sitting across from him, the same place she always sat while he did his four daily workouts. He had the bar across his shoulders, about to do another series of knee bends. The therapist had already laid out the routine for this session, and now he was in his office. Katy and Dayne were alone-just the two of them and the clank of the weights balanced on either end of the bar.

“Want me to count?”

“No.” He clenched his teeth and stared across the room, as if he could tangibly see the goal in front of him. “Hit Play.” Katy hit the Play button on the CD

player. The pulsing beat of

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No ONE could believe the progress Dayne was making. Not Dr. Deming or Dayne’s therapist or anyone at the rehab center. Not anyone involved in conventional understanding of traumatic brain injuries and the recovery time after a month-long coma. No one who heard about his progress or saw it detailed in a file or witnessed it firsthand could believe it.

No one except Katy.

Dayne looked at her. She was sitting across from him, the same place she always sat while he did his four daily workouts. He had the bar across his shoulders, about to do another series of knee bends. The therapist had already laid out the routine for this session, and now he was in his office. Katy and Dayne were alone-just the two of them and the clank of the weights balanced on either end of the bar.

“Want me to count?”

“No.” He clenched his teeth and stared across the room, as if he could tangibly see the goal in front of him. “Hit Play.” Katy hit the Play button on the CD

player. The pulsing beat ol

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something by the Fray filled the space. A week into his reli,11, Katy had brought Dayne his MacBook from home. He iTunes to create four CDs, each one loaded with music 111.0 helped drive him. There were movie themes and megahits and Christian songs, all with the same message-don’t stop tryinr, don’t ever give up.

When they weren’t talking about his progress or workin:, toward his progress, they watched inspirational movies or tool, turns reading the Bible. He posted Scriptures on the walls arid nightstand. Nothing is impossible with God… I can do evetythin,i; through him who gives me strength. . the battle is the Lord’s … and many others. His efforts were singly focused. He wanted to be sitr rounded by whatever drove him emotionally and spiritually.

The transformation was amazing. Dayne’s first day of rehal) had been so taxing that they’d both been sick. Dayne’s bock shook just shuffling with a walker three feet down the hallwa) Back then he was thin and pasty, and he broke into a sweat getting out of bed.

“Four.” Dayne pushed out the word and then bent again. He didn’t make eye contact. No distractions. Not until he marked another notch on his chart, finished another session.

His form was perfect now-a complete knee bend with more weight on the bar than a rehab patient almost ever used. Strength wasn’t the issue anymore, though he still walked with a slight limp. The goal was his fine motor skills. In fact, the therapist had told him that most patients in Dayne’s condition would be discharged by now. A person could receive help with finemotor-skill rehabilitation on an outpatient basis.

“If I stay,” Dayne asked a few days ago, “will my progress be faster?”

“The way you attack rehab?” The therapist laughed. “No question about it.”

“Okay.” He felt steely determination. “Then I stay.”

So Dayne split his time between the intense physical work 285

outs-like the one he was starting now-and sessions on improving his hand-eye coordination and other routine movements. He worked on eating without a spill and using a pen or tapping out numbers on a cell phone.

Time in the workout room helped, of course. The stronger his core muscles, the more likely every nerve and muscle in his body would respond. That’s why Dayne hadn’t let up. Not one day. Not one session.

“Push me harder,” he would say at the beginning of each meeting with his therapist. “It’s not enough.”

It was the same way with his meals. He wanted high protein and fresh vegetables and complex carbohydrates. In large quantities. As of this morning, he’d gained back all but five pounds of the weight he’d lost while in the coma.

“I’ve never seen anything like it.” Dr. Deming stopped in after his weigh-in.

“You’re a walking precedent, Dayne. Whatever’s driving you, stay with it.” The doctor flipped through Dayne’s chart. “I never would’ve said this before, but I believe you’ll make a complete recovery.” She patted her rounded abdomen.

“Before this little one comes around Christmastime.”

There was only one problem. The thing that was driving him had changed. At first it had been his Thanksgiving goal. He wanted out of Los Angeles, away from the paparazzi, and he wanted it without a change in the original plan. For the first week or so, his determination to heal had everything to do with the Baxters and his move to Bloomington. If he stayed on schedule, he could meet his entire birth family in one setting and know that he wasn’t a visitor.

He was home.

If he missed Thanksgiving, he might not have a chance to visit with his entire family in one setting until his wedding. So he worked. To the point of passing out or throwing up or falling exhausted into bed each night, he worked. And for that first week, nothing looked like it would get in the way of his goal.

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But then he found the magazine. At first he’d been angry at Katy for not saying something, angry with John for pretending everything was okay.

“Ten.” His face was sweating, his shirt damp.

Katy stood and took a step toward him. “Want help with the-?”

“No.” He didn’t look at her. “I’m fine.”

She sat back down.

He didn’t mean to snap at her, but he’d been doing it more often lately. Maybe because he’d become more of a machine or maybe because he was shutting himself off from feeling anything.

Whatever the reason, he knew his sharp answers and cold attitude weren’t good for either of them.

Even still, he could do nothing to stop himself.

Dayne was doing the bench press now, still driven, still focused. The song on the player was from the pop charts, and again the beat was fast, driving.

Katy sighed. The hurt was still there, every bit of it. She heard it in his short, clipped answers, saw it in the dark shadows on his face. But there was no question he’d found purpose again.

Forty-five minutes into his workout, he turned the music off, dropped to the bench closest to her, and wiped his face with his towel. “You talked to Ashley this morning.”

“I did.” She felt herself tense. She tried to take the calls in the hallway or at her hotel at night. Not that she liked keeping her conversations from him, but whenever she talked to one of the Baxters lately, Dayne withdrew. That would explain his attitude this morning.

He was out of breath, his sides and chest working hard. He dug his elbows into his thighs and stared at the rubber mat.

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“Are you mad?”

The towel was draped over his neck, creating a sort of curtain around his face.

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know.” She twisted the engagement ring on her left hand. For weeks she’d been careful with her words, guarded in her responses. None of this was her fault, so why was he treating her like the enemy? And how come he wouldn’t talk to her? She’d be better off at home, working with her CKT kids and praying for yet another miracle where she and Dayne Matthews were concerned. She was willing to be still and wait, but she wasn’t sure how much more she could take.

He put his hands on his knees and straightened a little. “Okay.” He sounded fed up. “Just tell me what she said.”

Katy lifted her hands. “Same thing she always says, Dayne.” Her heart was a dam ready to burst. “She’s trying to find people to work on the house, but it isn’t really coming together. Everyone’s hoping and praying you’ll be well enough to move to Bloomington in time for Thanksgiving. And Luke is sorry for the things he said.”

Dayne stretched his neck one way and then the other. The pain in his eyes was so raw that it hurt to look at him. Katy knew he had talked to his father a few times since reading the article. But always the conversations were short. Yes, he forgave Luke. No, he wasn’t upset.

Finally Dayne raised his brow in her direction. “And you said … ?”

“I said what you’ve asked me to say.” She heard a catch in her voice. The edges of the dam were crumbling. “You aren’t sure about anything, right? That’s still how you feel?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He threw his towel on the floor, started the music, and moved to the butterfly machine. He added weight near the back, ten pounds more than he’d used during rehabilitation. Moving with less of a limp, he thrust himself onto the seat, raised his arms, and hooked his elbows behind the 288

padded bar. After drawing a deep breath, he tightened his features and pushed the bars slowly, slowly, until his elbows met in front of him. Then in a concentrated move, he resisted the bars as he eased them back to the starting position. “One.” His voice was gruff and angry.

In a rush, the dam inside Katy broke wide open, crumbled to a million pieces. He wouldn’t treat her this way, wouldn’t talk to her like this. And she couldn’t stand by and watch while he gave up on everything they’d planned for their future. She stood, flipped off the music, and stormed over to him. “Stop!”