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I eased myself out of the chair and onto the floor and began doing modified push-ups. While I'd been in the hospital, one of my physical therapists had shown me how I could use my knees in place of my feet to do a simplified version of the original. It had been a humiliating reminder of how things had changed and I'd refused to go to physical therapy after that.
But desperate times led to desperate measures, and I'd started doing the half-assed push-ups when I’d needed to get some energy out. I'd been so weak early on that I'd only managed to do a few here and there, but now I was able to do hundreds of repetitions and often changed it up by doing one-handed versions. Secretly, I'd been pleased that I'd at least gotten some upper body strength back, but it wasn't something I'd told anyone about.
I lost track of how many of the push-ups I did, but by the time I was finished, my muscles felt like they were on fire and my lungs burned. I lay there on the cool hardwood floor and stared at the shaft of light coming from beneath the door. I was in no rush to return to my wheelchair, so I just lay there for a while. After a good fifteen minutes, I was about to get up when I saw a shadow outside the door. Certain that it was Maddox or one of the other men coming to check on me, I scrambled to pull myself upright and back in my chair but stopped when I saw something get shoved beneath the door. Then the shadow was gone.
I waited a moment and then reached for my wheelchair. I’d become an expert at getting in and out of the thing without assistance, so it took next to nothing to pull myself back into it. I went to the door and reached down for what turned out to be a piece of paper. I rolled over to my bed so I could see it under the light. I was greeted with what was clearly a child’s writing on a large piece of paper, the kind kids used in school when they were first learning to write their letters.
I'm sorry ur mad, Jet. Mad was mad a lot to but now hees not. Please help Pollo and dont be sad anymore. Newt.
Newt's handwriting took up both sides of the page and it was clear that he’d put a lot of time into getting the letters perfectly straight. I could only assume he’d overheard either my fight with Sawyer or the guys talking about my refusal to help Apollo after I’d gone to my room. Guilt washed over me when I considered how afraid of me Newt must have been to have resorted to pushing the note under my door before hurrying off. I hadn't seen a lot of the child since I'd arrived, but that was mostly because the little boy made himself scarce when I was around. I didn't blame him. The note in my hand was proof enough that despite avoiding me, he was still privy to my bouts of rage.
I sighed and gently placed the letter on my nightstand. I let my thoughts drift to my grandmother. She’d been my entire world after my parents had died and losing her had stolen what little reason I'd had left for living. I hadn't allowed myself to grieve because I'd just been too damn angry with the world. But Newt's letter had opened some floodgate of emotions that left me reeling.
My grandmother had been my hero. She'd given up everything to raise me after my parents had been taken from me. She'd been there during the grueling application process for West Point, she'd celebrated with me when I'd gotten in, and she’d cried proud tears when I’d graduated. She’d sent me care packages when I'd been deployed and when I’d come back a lesser man than the one that had left, she’d held me and promised everything would be okay.
I hadn’t held her back. I hadn’t done a lot of things that I should have.
"I'm sorry, Gran," I whispered.
Tears stung the backs of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Instead, I reached for Newt's letter, searched out a blank section of it and began writing my own note.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SAWYER
"How is he today?"
Dallas's approach pretty much answered his own question as Apollo began snarling and lunging at the chain-link fence that separated us from him.
"Damn," Dallas muttered as he sat down next to me on the ground just outside the fence. "How long have you been sitting here?"
"A while," I admitted. What I didn't tell him was that it had been well before the sun had come up because thoughts of Jett had driven me from my bed and out into the chilly morning air. As with Dallas, Apollo had reacted just as strongly to my presence when I'd approached his kennel this morning. I'd dug deep into my bag of tricks to try to calm the animal, but nothing had worked. The dog had finally stopped barking at me when I'd sat down on the ground, but every time I'd moved in even the smallest of ways, it had set Apollo off again and he’d remained laser focused on me the entire time. I couldn't help but wonder if the fact that he couldn't hear me made him feel like he had to constantly keep his eyes on his surroundings. It was just proof that whatever trust he'd once had in humans was gone, and it was an exhausting way for the animal to live.
