Page 13 of Ripping the Odds

“But they don’t.”

“Depends on your definition of better.”

“How do you deal with it?”

“You just do. Think of it as your new normal.”

As I pondered his words, I came to a profound conclusion. There was a choice to make. Either passively accept my fate or actively defy it. To me, one way meant giving up, the other involved carving my own path.

Ripping the odds it was. Fate could kiss my ass.

Each day I returned to the therapy suite, sometimes Daria tagged along, mostly though it was Zak who insisted on being by my side. Having him near while I struggled with the most basic of exercises was both a blessing and a curse. His quiet strength fed my soul, yet I couldn’t help but feel I was a burden. He had more important things to do than spend every waking hour in a hospital with his personal assistant. I mentioned it one evening after Kasimir dropped off dinner. His response was absolute.

“You are not just my personal assistant, Prudence Turner. I’ll leave when you do.”

We hadn’t discussed the status of our relationship again since the night before surgery. I was too afraid he’d changed his mind to bring it up. It would destroy whatever was left of my wounded heart. In truth, I’d been half in love with him since the moment we met. How could I not be? He wasn’t the cold, distant man he presented to the rest of the world. It was a shield. With those he cared about, he was fiercely protective. I’d seen it firsthand when he stormed into that warehouse to save me and again when he demanded I receive the best care. What I didn’t understand was how a man as handsome and successful as Zakhar Vlaschenko would want to be involved with someone like me? I had nothing to offer him except myself.

“Another set of ten, Pru.”

Anthony’s voice snapped me back to the present. We were in the therapy suite for my morning session. My face flamed when I noticed both he and Zak staring at me. I was in the middle of wheelchair pushups––my least favorite––when I slipped away into a daydream.

“You’re pushing her too hard,” Zak growled.

Ignoring the angry Russian, my therapist winked at me while repeating, “Again.”

He was playing with fire.

Gripping the arms of my wheelchair, I lifted myself up until my ass cleared the seat. Never before had I grasped the importance of upper body strength until it became my lifeline. These exercises, while seemingly mundane, were the tools to my independence.

Once my body was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, Anthony announced the session was over. We said our goodbyes, and Zak wheeled me back to my hospital room where he spent the next several hours managing his empire. Billion-dollar businesses didn’t run themselves. It was the same routine we’d fallen into over the past two weeks, except after tonight everything would change.

Daria was leaving, at least long enough to settle her affairs, before she was moved to the East Coast to be closer to me. For fourteen days, my sister had been my rock, my shield, and my cheerleader. But she wasn’t the only one bidding farewell. In the morning, the doctor was signing my discharge papers.

We were going home. Sort of.

I’d managed to do a lot of thinking during my hospitalization, mostly about the idea of there being something more between Zak and me. I wanted him with every part of my being, but only if his interest was true and didn’t stem from guilt. And, I couldn’t tell the difference. We needed physical distance, no matter how hard the separation would be. I needed to be able to think clearly and to breathe freely, neither of which I could do when he was near. In the end, I chose to go to rehab rather than return to my apartment. Zak thought I was pushing him away, but I had an idea that would hopefully bring us closer together.

Zakhar

The flight plan was filed twenty minutes after the doctors told us she was stable enough to leave the hospital. I’d kept the jet fueled and ready, anticipating a quick departure. Daria refused my offer to use the plane to take her home, insisting she was perfectly fine flying commercial. We dropped her off at the terminal before making our way to a nearby private airstrip. There were no lines to wait in, no security checkpoints where they would’ve confiscated the gun in my waistband and the one in Kas’s shoulder holster.

I carried Pru up the steep flight of stairs to the main cabin, settled her into one of the reclining chairs I’d had installed a week prior, before carefully extending the leg rest. Her comfort was my top priority. She slapped my hand away when I tried to buckle her seatbelt, muttering something about not being an invalid. Sighing, I dropped into the seat next to hers, ignoring her grunt of displeasure. Kas took his place across from us, watching the entire scene with a smirk on his face. A few minutes after boarding, the pilot announced we were cleared for takeoff. If I hadn’t been paying close attention, I may not have seen the way Pru stiffened beside me as the plane began to move.

“You don’t like flying?” I asked casually.

“Not even a little bit.”

Without thinking, I reached over, threading our fingers together on her lap. She studied our combined hands for a beat. Slowly her chocolate brown eyes met my blue ones. The air between us was thick with tension, yet no words were spoken. Instead I held her gaze as I lifted our hands, kissed the back of hers, and returned them to her thigh. It didn’t escape my notice that that day was the first time she’d let me touch her leg. Maybe it was due to circumstances, but whatever the reason, I’d take it. Soon she’d learn she didn’t have to hide from me.

Pru slept most of the three-hour flight. When we landed, the car took us straight to Atlantic Care and Rehab, the facility where she’d chosen to spend the next thirty days, despite my objections. Or perhaps it was in spite of them. The more I’d argued against the idea, the harder she seemed to fight for it.

My heart rate doubled when the SUV came to a stop in the center of a circular drive. Buttonbush shrubs—with their white pincushion flowers in full late-summer bloom—lined the front entrance of the main building.

“Are you sure about this, Pru?” I asked for the third time since we’d left West Virginia.

“No, but you can’t carry me everywhere, Zak.”

“Watch me.”