Page 56 of Road to Absolution

“Not a problem. I’ll grab some. Pay me back some other time.” He pointed to a little pad and a pen. “Want to write her a note?”

Hell yeah! “Brilliant man. Yes.” I grabbed the items and quickly began to jot a note but stopped when I realized I wasn’t able to.

My heart pounded. What the fuck is wrong with my hand?

Nervous, I opened it and closed it. When that was easy, I tried to write again…

Jesus Christ. I would tell my hand what I wanted written, but it refused. I mean, my fingers moved and all, and I expected to see words, but only scribbles were being created.

Barely able to breathe, I nervously waved off Knuckles. “Ya know what? I’m good. I’ll text her.”

That smile evaporated. “Ya sure?”

Not being able to box anymore was terrible enough. Not being able to write made me feel like an imbecile. “Yep. Thanks anyway.”

After a wave from the next Ryder on duty, Scorch, the door shut.

I threw my head back against the pillows and wiped sweat from my upper lip. “Tell me this isn’t happening.”

If I mentioned it to my doctors, I was afraid they would make me stay longer. If they were that worried about my bowels, I could only imagine their concern if my brain wasn’t functioning properly. I needed out of here so I could get to my wife.

If I told the Ryders that I was experiencing some major issues with simple tasks, would the deal be off? Would they vote me out before I ever stepped foot in the clubhouse?

When the door opened, I snapped, “I just need a minute—Oh, sorry.”

It was a nurse. “You okay?”

“Uh, yeah. Why?”

She giggled. “For one, you’re in a hospital. Two? Your heart is racing.”

After my stunt of ripping out my IV and refusing to let them put back in, my nurse put me in bed, insisting on a heart monitor while I slept. Wires now stuck out of the top of my shirt.

Even though I wasn’t sure things could get worse, I muttered, “I’m fine.”

She checked on my machine then looked me over. Putting a thermometer to my ear, she asked, “Chills?”

Please leave me alone. “No.”

“You’re sweating.”

“Uh… I just went to the bathroom.”

“Any hard stool?”

For fuck’s sake. I griped, “Just water guts.”

She examined the thermometer. “No fever.” Sticking it in her pocket, she said, “Be patient with your body. It will remember what to do soon.”

Opening and closing my hand that used to have decent penmanship, I thought, I fucking hope so.

Almost patronizingly, she asked, “How about some pudding?”

I’m not five, damnit. “Do you have chocolate?”

She teased, “Well, that’s a tough demand, but I bet I can find some.” She grabbed my water jug. “I’ll refill this while I’m at it.”

Barely any manners left, I mumbled, “Thank you.”