On the Edge (Mount Hope Book 3) by Annabeth Albert

Author:Annabeth Albert [Albert, Annabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Annabeth Albert
Published: 2024-10-17T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Declan

“Don’t ask me how the doctor went.” I slid into the front seat of my dad’s truck at the Portland medical complex he’d given me a ride to. Between my healing right leg and the TBI, the doctors continued to advise against me driving, which was a pain in the neck. Dad had actually asked off from work for the occasion, which was one of the reasons I was in a foul mood at this complete waste of time. I’d much rather he use a day off for something productive.

“That good?” Dad asked, mouth twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to smile as he teased. While I was in my appointments, he’d gone to one of those big warehouse stores Mount Hope didn’t have, and the backseat was piled high with paper goods, pet food, and assorted snack items.

“The doctor—the neurology specialist worth driving all this fucking way for—refuses to sign off me being able to ride again. As of now, I’m still in the tour’s concussion protocol and unable to ride or race. And because it was a TBI, they are being even more strict than usual about deciding whether I’m healed enough.” I thumped my head against the seat back. “Also, the doctor has had how many years of school? And yet no ability to predict when I might be cleared, nor does he have a clue what might work on these motherfucking headaches.”

“Wow.” Dad shook his head as he stopped for a busy pedestrian crosswalk. Unlike Mount Hope, Portland in February was cold and rainy with no trace of snow. “I thought we weren’t talking about your appointments?”

“I’ll shut up.” I clamped my lips shut.

“That’s not what I meant.” Dad released a sigh like my drama was taxing, which it likely was. “Rant away.”

“Fine.” Talking to my dad wasn’t at all like the easy comfort I enjoyed with Jonas. With him, I could complain and feel better because of Jonas’s calm presence and judgment-free attitude. But my dad was right here, and we had a long-ass drive back to Mount Hope. “It’s February. Everyone is gearing up for the start of the season. The racing team is asking when I’ll be ready, and I don’t have a clue. At least the orthopedist is better than the neurologist. She graduated me to the cane and more intense PT. Treadmill time. Woo-hoo.”

“That’s great.” Dad completely missed my sarcasm. “You need to celebrate each bit of progress.”

“Why?” I threw up my hands as we merged onto I-84, heading east to Mount Hope. And to Jonas, who was at work but, with any luck, would be back in time to help me not think about any of this for a little while. However, I couldn’t think about future make-out sessions and how they made me feel while in the truck with my dad, so I resumed complaining. “I’m not any closer to getting back out there. I’m stuck in Mount Hope⁠—”

“I was under the impression you weren’t hating the town,” Dad said mildly like he wasn’t in the middle of an all-out campaign to get me to stay.

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