Page 18 of Unforgettable
She looked at him. Really looked and read the concern in his eyes.
“There isn’t,” she said softly, “besides,” she guffawed, “the News has managed that on their own, getting the word out.”
And for the first time - it didn’t sound strong. It sounded… lonely.
Brew exhaled slowly.
Another line shifted between them.
“Then we focus on you, only you,” he said.
Not,your recovery.Not,your case.You.
Her eyes softened slightly.
And something unspoken passed between them.
This wasn’t just treatment or about following up anymore.
And both of them knew it.
CHAPTER 5
SEVEN DAYS LATER
Pain had a rhythm of its own.
It woke her. Sat with her. Followed her into every attempt… every failure.
Her prescribed medication dulled the edges, but it never touched the center of it. The pain had rooted itself too deeply – like something alive and relentless. It fed on her focus, her strength, her will.
Her resilience was wearing thin. And that frightened her more than the pain itself.
There were options. Stronger ones. Easier ones. Names she’d heard whispered in careful tones—Vicodin. Morphine. Fentanyl.
Sweet relief… at a cost. Their promise of escape sat too close to the edge of something she didn’t trust.
No.
If she was going to survive this, she couldn’t surrender to it … to them. Not her body. Not her mind. That’s where the fight had to begin.
Randi knew, combating her pain was something she had to take control of herself. She felt like she was spiraling away from recovery fast, losing the fight.
Can I?She wondered.I have too or I’ll never be me again.
The moans, groans, and cries of other patients in the room pushing through their own pain hit her like a Mack truck. She looked in their direction, finding their faces contorted as they fought through the pain of their own exercises, with their hospital gowns drenched in sweat. There was an elderly man, who had to be in his eighties, awoman older than her, a teenage boy, and little girl around eight who had lost her leg. She wasn’t the only one fighting, and that realization pushed her even more.
Randi stared at her hand, resting where the therapist had positioned it moments ago.
“You know the routine, Randi. Let’s begin nice and slow.”
She obeyed the order.
She liked the woman – now. At first, Randi was intimidated by the fact she was a retired Special Ops Army Ranger Medic, who transitioned into physical therapy. She had introduced herself as Trinity, a name not befitting an Army Warrior she thought. That is, until Trinity explained its meaning when they first met.
“I got asked that all the time while in the Army,” she had said with a chuckle. “It meant ‘the state of being three’ and religiously wasthe representation of one God in three persons: the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. My mom thought it was a fitting choice, because I was the last … the last twin of three girls born in my family.”
Randi smiled. Trinity had skills, and not just jumping out of helicopters, but the kind she so needed: patience, compassion, and the ability to build her morale.
