happily-ever-after with Holden that didn’t mean I couldn’t be friends with him. The sort of friends that may or may not have benefits. It wasn’t the worst idea in the world to try and get him out of my system.
The truth was, no mortal man could possibly live up to the near superhuman status I’d built Holden up to in my mind and heart. He was just a normal human being. A mortal. Not some superior sexual being. Chances were that getting to know him again, and, dare I even think it, sleeping with him would take some of the shine off of his untarnished reputation in my mind.
I doubted he’d be open to becoming BFFs again, but I knew that I could use his proximity and the knowledge that I did have about him to my advantage. A plan quickly formulated in my head for how I might be able to make that happen. I just needed a little help…
Chapter 9
Holden
“Ya’ll know that continuous improvement is better than delayed perfection.”
~ Maggie Calhoun
The sun was shining, my windows were down, and I was blasting Tim McGraw’s newest single as I drove past Old Man Spratt’s field on the way home after my PT appointment. I hadn’t been looking forward to meeting another doctor, but I’d been pleasantly surprised with Dr. Jake Weston, my new physical therapist. He was a young guy, probably around my age, and he specialized in sports rehab. He’d worked with Olympic athletes, and professional football, baseball, basketball, and hockey stars.
His focus was on a more holistic approach, one that included diet, lifestyle, and gave just as much weight to mental well-being as it did to the physical. During my appointment, he’d talked to me about something called radical acceptance. It was basically the practice of accepting things the way they were without judgment. He said it had helped countless athletes whose careers had been cut short by injury.
Basically, it was all about perspective. My accident happened. I needed to accept that without attaching any emotion or value to it. Negative or positive. His belief was that finding peace of mind was imperative to my recovery. Without it, it would be nearly impossible to heal my body.
What he’d said had definitely made me think. I wasn’t sure if I could actually get to that place. But if someone were able to practice radical acceptance, I could definitely see the benefits.
The song cut out when a call came in. I glanced down at the display screen on the dash and saw that Kurt was calling. My first instinct was to ignore it, especially since he’d instructed me to answer the phone when he called. My family used to joke that if they wanted me to do something the easiest way to get me to do it was tell me to do the opposite. But I wasn’t a rebellious teenager, I was a grown man.
“Hey,” I answered on the third ring.
“How did it go?”
“It was fine.” Jake had mentioned that he’d spoken to my doctors in California, so he was basically just continuing my treatment. The facility wasn’t quite as state of the art, but I didn’t need all the bells and whistles.
“Do you think it’s going to work with Dr. Weston? I can look for someone else, but you might have to go into Dallas.”
As much as I appreciated Kurt’s hard work and loyalty, I knew that we needed to have a conversation. Kurt had represented me since I was fourteen years old, he was like family. But there weren’t going to be any more competitions or endorsements. Our professional relationship was over.
“You really don’t need to do that.”
“Yes, I do. It’s my job.”
“We both know that I’m never gonna ride again.”
I waited for him to argue with me like he had right after I got hurt. He’d tell me miracle stories of people that died and came back to life or overcame worse injuries than I’d sustained. I wasn’t sure if he’d been trying to make me, or him, feel better.
But at this point, I wasn’t the only one who needed to have a little radical acceptance in their life.
“Kurt?” I prompted when he didn’t respond.
“What?”
“Did you hear me?”
“Yeah. What’s your point?”
“My point is you don’t represent me anymore because there’s nothing to represent,” I barked, frustrated that I’d had to say it out loud. It wasn’t his fault, and when he was silent for a beat, I felt like a dick that I’d snapped at him.