The Hill - BLACKBIRD book 5

15. one step at a time

The doctor's eyebrows wriggled as he leaned in for a closer inspection. The slight touch made Brock stiff.

"Did you feel that?"

Brock scowled down at the man, who was almost kneeling before his feet resting on a stool. "Yes."

The next touch was like the tip of a feather sliding up Brock's right sole. His instinctive reaction was moving away his foot.

"So you felt that too."

"Yes," Brock grunted.

The doctor straightened up with a mild smile. "I think you're good to go, Agent Brockner," he said, heading back to his desk. He sat behind it and started filling in a form as he spoke. "Go to the mall and get yourself one of those tennis shoes kids use nowadays, all high and thick outside and fluffy inside. The fluffier the better. You can put away the wheelchair, but your feet won't bear regular shoes yet. Until you go back to work on regular basis, use tennis, and only to go out. Remember to sleep without socks. The new tissue still needs all the fresh air it can get. And don't walk too much, either. We don't want to damage this new tissue."

Brock was almost afraid to ask, but did it anyway. "How long...?"

"Let's give it a week." The doctor gave him the form and a prescription, not noticing Brock's relief at his answer. "Come see me next Tuesday. And if your feet ache or tingle, use this cream."

"Thanks, Doctor."

He would've left the wheelchair right there, but he couldn't go around wearing only his socks and no shoes at all. So he was forced to sit in it one last time.

The doctor went with him to the door. "Remember: don't push yourself too hard. Take it slowly and you'll be as good as new in a week, two tops."

"I will."

Ben drove Brock to the nearest mall and took him into the first sports store they found. And Brock was speechless when he faced a whole wall turned into a display for tennis shoes. He knew they were supposed to be all different models, but he could only tell two kinds of tennis: the girly ones and the models for gang members.

A young employee approached them to see what they needed. Ben asked for very specific models for Brock's size, and they spent the next hour picking one. They made Brock try every single model and take a few steps around. He would've hated it at any other time, but it was the first time in six weeks he was able to stand on his own feet, and that alone was enough to make him even enjoy the selection process.

Finally he chose two pairs, wore one and left the store walking all by himself. Those tennis felt like walking on cushions, oddly away from the ground compared to his leather loafers. It took him a dozen steps to start getting used to the feeling. And ten more to like it. By the time they reached the parking lot, he walked almost at his normal pace.

Ben brought the wheelchair with the bags on it as a cart. He put the bags in the backseat of Brock's car, folded and kept the wheelchair in the trunk and handed the car keys to Brock with a smile.

"Would you give me the ride home?"

Only at that moment did Brock really appreciate the man's work over the last weeks, putting up with his broody mood at his condition, discreet and efficient to anticipate his needs, always careful not to hurt his pride.

So he took the keys with a honest smile and nodded.

* * *

Brock came out of his room, planning to make some tea, when Andrea walked in, back from school. His automatic smile hesitated when the girl froze, wide eyes fixed on him in shock.

"Andrea...?" he tried, starting to worry when she didn't answer, but frowned instead. "You okay?"

"You..." mumbled the girl. "You're..." She moved her hand as to point at his feet. "You're walking!"

Her words took him completely aback. But the tears in Andrea's eyes activated all his parental alarms. As he hurried across the room to throw his arms around her, he noticed how tears rolled down when she saw him really walking. Andrea pressed her face against his chest and let out a shaky sob.

"Hush, dear," he whispered, kissing her hair, not quite sure he understood what was going on. "It's okay. Why are you crying?"

Andrea needed a minute to utter a single word, her arms tight around his waist, her hands clinging to his shirt. Brock didn't insist. He just held her in silence, his fingers entwined in her long dark hair, his cheek pressed to her temple.

"Oh, gosh...!" she finally said in a trembling voice. "Oh, gosh, Dad! This is...! This is just so...!" She held him tighter for a moment and then looked up at him, smiling through her tears. "Forgive me! I'm such a fool!" She let go of him to rub her face with a shaky giggle. "Oh, Dad! I'm just so happy!"

Brock smiled again at her and caressed her face.

"I thought they were all lying to me," the girl said. "The nurses, the doctor back at the hospital. And I drove Reg crazy, you know? I kept asking her, a thousand times a day, and she would always say the same!" She let out another giggle, shaking her head. "Oh, my! I made her promise she was telling the truth... I made her swear on Connor's name! She kept telling me you'd be fine, and you'd walk again for the Holidays tops. But I... I was just so afraid!"

A new fit of tears erased her smile and broke her voice. Brock locked his arms around her again, his lips on her hair, keeping her to his chest. "It's alright, dear," he whispered, emotion squeezing his throat. "I'm okay, you see? I'm standing right here and I'm okay."

It took them a while to calm down, then Brock invited her to have dinner wherever she wanted. And it was the best evening they'd had in a very long time.

When they were back home, Brock waited for Andrea to go to sleep. Then he turned off the lights, leaving only the foot lamp at the corner of the living room, and went in no hurry to the tray on the modular. The Blue Label was there, still sealed, surrounded by empty glasses. He grabbed the classy bottle and opened it with a gentle move of his hand, a mild smile toying with his lips.

He poured but a finger in a glass and sat in the couch. His other hand fished in his pocket to produce his phone. He smiled down at it. It'd be nice to call Gillian to tell her he was back on his feet. And thank her, of course. Again. For saving his life not once but twice. For watching not only over him, but also over his daughter. For breaking into his life like she did a year and a half ago and kicking him back to life in so many ways.

It would've been perfect, savoring the Blue Label while hearing her voice.

But some things couldn't be said over the phone. Not to mention it was already ten p.m., and he knew she was having some busy days.

He didn't want to bother her.

He'd wait until the next time they met.

Yes. Next time.

Maybe then...

.

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Keep reading on the next episode: BLACKBIRD 26 - the strain