Again, I nodded.

“But this isn’t a cure. I wish it was, Brian. I wish this place had the power to change everyone’s prognosis, but for kids like Owen who sustain that type of injury, we’re riding on a lot of hope here.”

My lips pulled tight.

I knew this. She didn’t need to tell me. I knew after speaking to people in the medical field what the outcome was likely to be for this kid, but I’d also read up on this type of therapy.

People recovered. Miracles fucking happened. Every day they happened. After months of being on a horse, some were able to do things now that they never thought they’d be able to do, like stand unassisted or take a step, which was why I knew this was going to work.

It had to.

He deserved the life he was supposed to have, and this place was going to give it to him.

“If you want, you could stick around tonight and watch him in action, maybe talk to Mr. and Mrs. Burns and—”

I turned and headed for the door, cutting her off. Her suggestion was asinine.

What the fuck would they do if they saw me?

“I’ll see ya, Mona,” I said, my hand poised for the knob.

“Brian.”

I stopped and lowered my arm. I didn’t look behind me.

I heard the heavy roll of wheels on carpet. I knew Mona had pushed out her chair and stood up, but again, I didn’t look back to confirm it.

Head lowered, I kept my eyes on the door and pulled in a breath, releasing it slowly.

“They want to know where the money is coming from,” she informed me, her voice gentle but growing louder in a way I knew she was moving closer. “They appreciate it so much, you know that, but they keep asking me, Brian. A one-time anonymous donation is one thing, that’s believable, but to have their bill paid in full every time with sometimes extra funds added to their account, it raises suspicions.”

I finally turned my head.

Her eyes moved to the side, avoiding mine, then came back when she added, “I know you said you didn’t want them to know, but I think they just want to show their appreciation somehow. I’m sure they wouldn’t be angry.”

“They can never find out, Mona,” I said, my voice hard and final, my eyes burning into hers as I turned more to fully face her. “Never. They ask, you tell them you keep getting donations from local charities, church groups, or whatever the fuck you wanna come up with, I don’t care, but you are to never tell them I’m the one paying for this. That was the deal.”

“But—”

“They can’t know,” I growled.

Her hand came up between us, palm out facing me. “Okay. Okay. I understand, Brian. I won’t say anything.”

I inhaled through my nose, exhaling with my eyes pinched shut.

“They won’t know unless you want them to know,” she added quietly, and I felt her touch on my bicep.

It reminded me of something my mother would do. Or my sister, Jenna.

Both of them were good women, too. Compassionate. Caring. Always wanting to take care of people.

Mona was just being Mona. She was looking to take care of me. She thought I deserved the recognition.

I opened my eyes.

“Appreciate you doing this for me,” I said, watching as she pulled her hand back and adjusted her glasses again. “Sorry for using that language in front of you. That was disrespectful.”

She stared at me. Her hands moved in front of her to clasp together.

“No sorry necessary,” she replied, tipping her chin to the door, a light smile playing on her lips. “You better get going if you don’t want to be seen.”

“Right.” I nodded once. “I’ll see ya in a few weeks.”

“Okay, Brian. Take care.”

I stepped outside, jerked the door shut behind me, then moved swiftly down the ramp, stalking across the dirt parking lot until I reached my Jeep, pulled the door open, and climbed in, starting it up.

I would’ve taken off right then if it wasn’t for the handicapped van pulling off the road and turning into the lot, moving slowly down the small decline and parking in the space directly across from me.

Shit.

Fucking shit.

I recognized that van. I had seen it in the driveway of the house I paid a visit to once a week, but this was the first time I was seeing it here.

My hands curled around the wheel. That weight I’d been feeling for the past three months pressed its full capacity against my sternum and pinned me to the seat.

I stared. I couldn’t move.

I prayed to God, if he was up there, that I wouldn’t be seen.

The driver’s side door opened, followed by the passenger door. Mr. and Mrs. Burns stepped out, both of them congregating over on one side of the van, smiling at each other and looking eager while sliding the back door open, Mr. Burns leaning in and pressing some mechanism on the inside to activate the lift for the wheelchair.

He secured the chair while Mrs. Burns held her son’s hand, grinning big as he was lowered to the ground, tapping the top of his hand with excitement.

She looked happy. They all did.

This place was going to work.

Fucking miracles every day.

It would work.

Owen maneuvered the chair himself. It was one of those powered ones, and I knew he still had some use of his hands, which enabled him to move the joystick around for direction, easing himself off the lift and onto the dirt, where he waited by the back tire.

Some use of his hands. He didn’t have full use anymore, and from the watching I sometimes did, I knew he’d grow tired on occasion and his parents would take over.

He didn’t seem tired right now. He was grinning and moving with ease.

I wanted to like seeing that. Smile at it, but I couldn’t.

I didn’t deserve to feel good about any of this.

I watched them cross the lot and move into the barn, disappearing into the shadows.

They never saw me.

It was time for his lesson to begin.

And it was time for me to get the fuck out of there.

* * *

I parked at the curb and grabbed a pen out of my glove box, doing what I did every time I came by here and scrawling the name on the envelope containing the remainder of what I’d earned over the past week.

It was close to a grand. I knew that would cover a handful of bills, but it wasn’t enough.

It was never enough.

In-home therapy, medications, repeated doctor’s visits and specialists, hospital bills, and the monthly van payments, everything added up and hardly any of it was covered by insurance.

I knew this because one of the girls I shot with on occasion had a sister working for the insurance carrier. She got me the answers I needed.

It was appreciated and she knew it. Didn’t even want anything in return.

More pity.

I hated that.

I gave what I needed to give to the riding center and the rest came here, direct payment for anything outstanding, and there was a lot outstanding.

I knew this because of the bills in the mailbox stamped in red.

The bills I’d opened and resealed.

Overdue.

Bastards at the HMO covered jack shit, wouldn’t even help with the cost of a ramp so the kid could get inside his own fucking house, and still wouldn’t eat a few thousand to help a family out.

It was fucked up.

I spent an entire Sunday morning when I knew the Burnses were at church building the one they have now. It wasn’t much, but it was better than watching someone struggle to enter their own home.