Only The Negatives

Chapter One - Gemma

The open sores on my hands left a trail of bright red blood as I dabbed them gingerly on my jeans and cursed myself for not grabbing my gloves. A rookie mistake I hadn’t made in years. But I also hadn’t expected to have to push myself thirty kilometres along broken roads to the hospital where my father might be dying. 

I ignored the stinging pain in my palms and pushed my wheels again. Sweat rolled into my eyes, and my shoulders ached, but I had to get to him. Had to tell him I was sorry, and that I loved him, because if I didn’t get the chance again, I’d never forgive myself.

Dirt billowed around me like a cloud and the first car I’d seen in an hour ignored my stuck-up thumb. I normally loved country living but right now I despised it. I hated that I’d had no phone reception when my mother had been leaving frantic voicemail messages on my phone, trying to tell me that my father had collapsed in the middle of one of our riding rings. I hated that I hadn’t seen or heard the ambulance from the back end of the property in time to get to them before they’d gone tearing down the main road with my father on a stretcher and my mother by his side. I hated that there was no bus, or Uber, and that my wheelchair was not made for navigating these potholed roads.

My mouth was bone dry, and I was desperate for water when the rumble of a car engine sounded in the distance. Oh lord, please. A car. Any car. I lifted my head and brought one hand up to shield my eyes from the slowly sinking sun.

My stomach dropped.

Any car but that one.

I put my head down, stubbornly refusing to stick my thumb out and reasoning that it was probably only another ten kilometres, though the thought made me want to weep. Mr Ryker’s rusted ute slowed anyway, and I gritted my teeth to keep my focus on the road. I didn’t want to deal with him. There was nothing but bad blood between our family and the Rykers, and the old man was probably drunk. He always was by this time of the day. I needed to get to the hospital, not die in a car crash along the way.

The window rattled as it wound down. “Gemma.”

I froze.

I hadn’t heard that voice in four years, but there was no mistaking it. I whipped my head up, and sure enough, my gaze collided with Adam Ryker’s chocolate-brown eyes. He sat behind the wheel of his father’s car, with a baseball cap shoved low on his brow. He was a little older, a little more filled out than the teenager who’d once made my life a living hell, but still him all the same.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke, while my heart thumped unevenly. Then I turned away and shoved my wheels so hard they sent dirt flying. What was he doing back? He’d been gone for years. To where, I didn’t know and I didn’t care. I’d just liked knowing he wasn’t going to ambush me on the side of the road. He was entitled to visit his father, but that didn’t mean I had to have anything to do with him. He could visit, then go back to wherever it was he’d come from. Go back to blissfully being out of my life.

Boots thumped when they hit the dusty road, and a car door slammed. I pushed my chair harder, the sting of my open blisters only spurring me on faster. I choked back the sob rising in my throat. Damn him. This day was already a nightmare—him being here was just adding salt to the wound. His footsteps increased to a jog, and then he was in front of me, and I had no choice but to stop or run him over. Though the idea of mowing him down did give me a sick sense of pleasure.

“Gemma,” he said again.

I suddenly hated my name.

“Stop.”

“Leave me alone, Ryker. I’ve got somewhere I need to be.”

“I can see that. Let me drive you.”

I shook my head and tried to go around him, but he stepped in front of me.

I glared up at him. “Get out of my way.”

“You’re going to the hospital, right? I heard in town that your dad had been taken in an ambulance.”

Of course he had. The gossip grapevine around small towns moved surprisingly fast considering how far apart people lived.

“Your hand is bleeding.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” I mumbled rudely.

He ignored me. “Please, Gemma, just get in. You must have been out here for hours to get this far. And I owe you one.”

I snorted. He owed me a hell of a lot more than one. With every ounce of my being, I hated that he thought I needed his help. I didn’t. I’d already made it more than halfway on my own. Admittedly, I was the worse for wear, but I knew I could make it the rest of the way.

But Ryker didn’t appear to be moving, and I was desperate to see my father. Time alone on the side of the road gave me entirely too much time to think, and all I could think about was what a shit daughter I was.

“Fine,” I gritted out, turning around and moving to the passenger side of the ute.

“Here, let me—”

He froze at the look I shot him then slowly he withdrew his hand. I opened the passenger door, grateful the ute was low to the ground, which always made transferring that bit easier. Then I hoisted myself into the seat, leant out to take the wheels off my chair, and collapsed the seat. Pulling the pieces into the dual cab, I placed them on the floor behind me.

Ryker hovered around my door looking unsure, until I slammed it in his face. That, I guess, gave him the hint that I didn’t need his help. The tiniest of smiles lifted the corner of his mouth as he slid into the driver’s seat. I pointedly ignored it while he put the gearstick in first and completed a U-turn on the wide road. To his credit, he didn’t try to make any further conversation with me, and I stared out the passenger-side window with unseeing eyes, all too aware of how close he was. I just wanted to get to the hospital. Both to see my dad and to get the hell away from him.

Even facing away from him, he was everywhere. His scent drifted around the cab, fresh and clean compared to my dirt and sweat. And I’d swear I could feel him looking at me. The heat of his gaze on my back warmed my already too hot skin, and I wished he’d stop. I didn’t need the little trip down memory lane his presence brought on. I didn’t have it in me to do that right now.

The roads became paved as we travelled closer to town, and after we’d passed the two pubs and a handful of local shops on Main Street, Ryker pulled into our tiny country hospital. He stopped right at the door, though this time, he didn’t try to help me. I reassembled my chair and shifted into it, banging my elbow in my haste to get out.

“Thank you,” I said stiffly before I slammed the door and rolled to the entrance. I’d managed to make it through the whole car trip without looking directly at him. I was oddly proud of myself.

“You’re welcome,” he said quietly through the open window as the automatic doors whooshed open and admitted me into the cool interior of the hospital. They closed behind me, and a sigh of relief escaped me. With a bit of luck, it would be another four years before I had to see Adam Ryker again. Even better if I never did.