Beyond The Music (The Rock Gods Book 7) (6 page)

“Why the fuck is this happening?” Lincoln said on an exhale.

“Besides the diagnosis, what else did the doctor have to say?” Spumoni asked.

“He talked about the steroid treatment again and I declined—again,” Lincoln muttered. “He also gave me a bunch of brochures explaining the injection drug options I have.” Lincoln pulled out the bundle of leaflets on the disease modifying drugs and tossed them on the coffee table beside Spumoni. “That right there is what my life has been reduced to: drugs . . . and not the fun kind. Christ, I hate needles!” Lincoln watched Spumoni flip through the medication options, then carefully set them back onto the smooth surface of the table. Lincoln’s head flopped against the couch. “My life is fucked.”

“So that’s it?” Spumoni said. “You’re just gonna roll over and let this disease win? I didn’t think you were the kind of guy to give up so easily. I thought you were a fighter. I guess I was wrong.”

“What do you want from me?” Lincoln asked with sarcasm.

“I want you to take back control of your life,” Spumoni said. “I want you to fight your way through this and fucking own it.”

“I won’t be able to work.” Lincoln’s voice was strained. “I can barely hold my bass, never mind play the fucking thing.”

“What about physical therapy or something to make you stronger?” Spumoni asked. “You have options, Linc. Get off the pity train and face this for what it is; it’s nothing more than a speed bump in your life that you will learn to work around. This is manageable, not terminal. You understand that, right?”

The silence stretched between them until Lincoln finally spoke again. “Doctor Hardy suggested I look in to getting a home nurse or someone else to work with me one-on-one,” he said. “Sounds like a glorified babysitter to me, not much different than what you’ve been doing for me over the last week or so.”

“I know someone,” Spumoni interjected and Lincoln rolled his eyes. “I’m serious. Remember I told you the other day that I knew someone that might be able to help. I made some calls over the weekend and he is available.”

“What are you talking about?” Lincoln sounded skeptical.

“Alex Metcalf used this guy for a while when Danni was too busy with the baby to work with him when he was recovering from his accident,” Spumoni explained. “My guy works for himself and he can do a multitude of things for you to help get you stronger. He can move in here and work with you every day as long as you need him.”

“Whoa,” Lincoln balked. “Did you just say he’d live in the house with me? No fucking way. I don’t even know this . . . dude. How do I know he’s safe?”

“His name is Aaron and you can trust him because Alex has already vetted him, not to mention a bunch of other people you know,” Spumoni said. “Eddie Clayborne used Aaron after he had his rotator cuff repaired and Richie Autrey worked with Aaron for a few months, too. The guy knows his stuff, Linc. Let me introduce you two and you can see how you feel after that. How’s that sound?”

Lincoln shook his head. He was too private to allow someone like Aaron to share his space on a daily basis. The whole idea of a nurse taking care of him made him cringe. For fuck’s sake, he wasn’t an invalid! No way; he couldn’t do it. Lincoln looked Spumoni in the eye before he spoke. “I don’t like the idea one bit.”

“You’re making rash decisions, Linc, without looking at the big picture here,” Spumoni commented.

“That’s your opinion.” Lincoln shrugged.

Lincoln rested his head on the back on the couch again and draped his forearm over his face. He could feel Spumoni’s judgmental gaze on him and he really wished the man would leave before he forcibly tossed his ass out into his driveway. He wasn’t too crippled to do so, either. It took far too long, but Spumoni finally stood up from the coffee table to make his exit and Lincoln ignored him completely. Lincoln heard his front door open and expected to hear it slam shut, but the sound didn’t come.

“Hey, dickhead,” Spumoni called out to Lincoln. “Did you contact your security company yet, like you said you would?”

“I’ve been a little busy dealing with life, you prick!”

“Make the call
today
,” Spumoni barked. “I just caught a glimpse of the same guy I saw the other day standing out in front of your gate. I don’t think I need to remind you of what Ashton went through a few months back.” A moment later Lincoln did hear his door shut announcing Spumoni’s exit.

“Wonderful,” Lincoln mumbled to himself. “One more thing to add to the list of shit I don’t feel like doing.”

Chapter Five

Over the next two days, Lincoln did his homework on the internet and researched all he could on multiple sclerosis and the disease modifying drugs Doctor Hardy had talked about during their appointment on Monday. He still couldn’t believe he was dealing with the reality of this in his life and if it weren’t for the large blind spot still visible in his eye and the continuing numbness in his hands and feet, Lincoln might be inclined to disbelieve the doctor’s diagnosis. It was difficult to ignore the presence of the disease with all the physical evidence sparking throughout Lincoln’s body and he hated that the most. It would be so much easier to simply pretend he wasn’t sick but that was no longer an option.

Anger, resentment, bitterness, and fear: it all rolled through him in waves and it was overwhelming. Shit like this aged a person and Lincoln felt like he was suddenly a hundred years old. And he’d never felt more alone.

Lincoln rolled a joint and took it outside to smoke by the bluff at the edge of his property that overlooked the city of Los Angeles. He lit the joint and was inhaling when he heard the down-shifting of two cars in his driveway and then the slam of two car doors. A moment later, Spumoni’s voice called out to him.

“My favorite scent in the whole wide world after fresh coffee,” Spumoni joked.

Lincoln took another deep drag off the joint then blew the smoke out above his head. “I hope you’re not expecting me to share,” he said with a grin as he glanced over his shoulder at Spumoni.

“I got my own,” Spumoni countered.

Spumoni shifted to his left and that’s when Lincoln noticed the man walking behind him. Lincoln’s blood began to boil. How dare Spumoni bring someone he didn’t know onto his property? It was bad enough Spumoni seemed to come and go as he pleased and now he was bringing strangers with him. Not cool. Lincoln snuffed out the half-smoked joint on the metal fence railing and slid the rest into a baggie in his shirt pocket. He could feel the rage heating his face.

“Who the fuck is this?” Lincoln seethed.

Spumoni grinned sheepishly. “This is Aaron Baylor, the guy I was telling you about yesterday,” Spumoni explained.

Lincoln gave Aaron the once-over. His height equaled Lincoln’s. A strong jawline covered in a nicely manicured stubble, full lips, and an almost straight nose caught Lincoln’s attention, along with a thin, half-moon shaped scar that ran from the side of his cheekbone up to the end of his eyebrow. But what really captivated Lincoln was how Aaron’s honey-brown hair almost matched his golden brown eyes. The combination was breathtaking and if Lincoln hadn’t been so pissed off by the intrusion of the man, he might have been affected by Aaron’s presence. Not this time. Lincoln ignored Aaron’s outstretched hand to shake and turned his angry gaze back on Spumoni.

“You and I need to talk,” Lincoln growled at Spumoni and started limping his way toward his house.

“I can help you,” Aaron said to Lincoln’s retreating back.

Lincoln spun around to face the man with the smooth, warm voice and model-good looks. In fact, if it weren’t for the scar on his face Aaron probably could have been a model. “Not the fucking point . . .
Aaron.
” Lincoln spit out the name like it was poison on his tongue. “Spumoni over-stepped his bounds with this. I never asked for your help and he fucking knows it.”

“I’m trained in various types of therapy that can give you easier mobility,” Aaron offered.

Lincoln hobbled back to them, his glare firmly fixed on Aaron. “Do you really think I give a fuck what you’re trained to do?”

“Linc, your doctor recommended an in-home nurse to work with you,” Spumoni added. “That’s what Aaron does.”

Lincoln’s eyes snapped to Spumoni. “How dare you come to my home and try and shove Nurse Ratched up my ass!”

“Give me one day, Lincoln,” Aaron challenged. “One day. And if you don’t feel any better then I’ll get back into my jeep and leave you alone.”

“You’ll be leaving me alone regardless,” Lincoln said and spun around again to resume his walk to his house. His balance wavered, as it always did when he moved too quickly, and Aaron was right there to catch him. Lincoln did his best to pull out of Aaron’s firm grip, but wasn’t successful.

“Give me one day, Lincoln,” Aaron pleaded again.

“Do it, Linc!” Spumoni chided. “You’ve got nothing to lose and this could be the only option you have if you want to keep this quiet with the other guys in the band and away from the general public. Do you get my drift?”

Lincoln’s shoulders slouched as Spumoni’s words slowly sunk into his brain. Shit. As much as Lincoln hated to admit it, Spumoni was probably right about what he said. Trying to get stronger at home and out of the public eye was his only shot at keeping his job with Black Ice. But if this
nurse
couldn’t help him, Lincoln really was fucked.

Never in his wildest dreams did Lincoln think he’d be in the position of hiring a private nurse to help him cope with a chronic illness. Hadn’t his masculinity been diminished enough from dealing with the MS itself? Did he really need a nurse holding him upright while in the shower or helping him get dressed each day? When did this all end? He already felt like a weak invalid, no longer a “whole man.” Having a nurse hanging around his house would only magnify that feeling. He was certain of it.

Lincoln rubbed at his forehead. Damn it, he needed more time to think about this, but time was something he had run out of since the MS symptoms were changing and seemed to be worsening every few days. The fall in the shower the day before that no one knew about felt like the last straw for him. If he didn’t do something to help himself now he’d probably be seriously hurt without even trying.

Lincoln’s eyes met Aaron’s. “I suppose Spumoni told you what’s going on with me?” he asked.

Aaron shook his head. “Actually, all he told me was he had a friend that needed my help,” Aaron answered.

“If you’re so clueless to what’s wrong with me, then how do you know you can help?” Lincoln questioned.

Aaron grinned at Lincoln and let go of his arms once he was certain Lincoln was steady on his feet again. “I’ve been doing this job for eighteen years,” Aaron explained. “I’ve developed a keen sense of detecting what is ailing a patient by the symptoms they display when they don’t even realize they’re doing it.”

“Is that so,” Lincoln said with sarcasm. “And what is your
keen sense
telling you about me?”

“You have MS,” Aaron stated matter of factly. “By the way you are holding your head I can tell you have a sight deficit in your left eye most likely caused by optic neuritis. I can also tell by your gait you’re experiencing peripheral neuropathy in your arms and legs and probably a little vertigo, too.”

Lincoln held Aaron’s gaze. He wasn’t exactly sure what the hell peripheral neuropathy was, but he was fairly certain Aaron’s assessment was dead-on to what he was actually dealing with. Maybe this guy could help him, maybe not, but Lincoln wouldn’t be sure of that unless he gave Aaron a try. And there was something in Aaron’s gorgeous golden brown eyes that made Lincoln want to trust him. That detail alone made Lincoln feel dizzy because he didn’t fully trust anyone and just because a man was easy on the eyes didn’t make him trustworthy or good at his job.

“Fine. You’ve got one day to prove yourself,” Lincoln sputtered. Lincoln didn’t miss the triumphant smile Aaron exchanged with Spumoni and that grated on Lincoln’s nerves, but more than anything he hoped Aaron was right.

“If we’re going to be working together, I need to see what kind of food you have in your kitchen and the general layout of your home,” Aaron said and he directed Lincoln toward his house. “A healthy diet and exercise program is the first step to regaining control of your health.”

Lincoln glared at Spumoni as he walked at his side. “You better hope this works,” Lincoln stated.

Spumoni shook his head. “You’ve got that backwards, my friend,” he said. “I delivered the Calvary right to your doorstep. The rest is all on you. Invest yourself in what Aaron can do for you and you’ll be in a much stronger place to manage this disease.”

Lincoln sat on the couch in his living room while Spumoni gave Aaron the tour of his house—room by room and floor by floor, including the gym he had in a finished section of the basement. “I’ll have some food delivered,” Aaron said to Lincoln. “I’ll also set up a time for installation of safety bars in your shower and some extra railings on the stairs.”

Lincoln opened his mouth to argue and Spumoni held up his hand. “Not one word from you,” Spumoni said. “Let him do what he needs to do or we both walk. Got it?”