by Emilia Finn
“Nobody.” I don’t meet his eyes. “I live alone.”
“We’ll be there.” Alex steps forward. “Oz and I will be in his home around the clock.”
I scoff. No, they won’t. They’ll drive me home, then I’ll push them the fuck out just like I did Andi.
“Alright.” Satisfied, the doctor writes that in his notes. “There’s nothing more for us today, so you’re free to go.”
My eyes shoot up to the clock on the wall. “Now?”
“Mmm.” Unimpressed, he scribbles in my file. “Now. Be safe, Mr. Cruz. I very much look forward to seeing you walk again.”
It’s my turn to answer with an unimpressed ‘mmm’, but then Oz lifts the bags he brought in for me – shirts, deodorant, hair brush, and phone charger – and moves toward the door. Alex steps up behind my chair like he thinks he’s going to push it, but as soon as my eyes come around, he lifts his hands and takes a step back.
“I don’t need your help. Don’t touch it.”
He shakes his head and follows me out when I roll forward and learn how to coordinate a chair on the fly. “Just trying to make this easier on you, Rook. I want to help you.”
“I don’t fuckin’ want it.” I wheel past the nurse’s station, then stop at the elevators. It takes me a moment to get the chair positioned to press the call button, but no one steps forward to do it, not even Lindsi as she shyly follows her husband. In all the time I’ve known her, she’s never watched the floor so much, she’s never chewed her nails, or jumped when I bark orders. But then again, in the whole time I’ve known her, I’ve never been so fucking rude and short tempered.
I’m sorry for upsetting her, but Oz should know better. He should stop dragging her here when he knows I don’t want to look at her. This is on him, because I told them all to stay gone.
Wheeling into the elevator when the doors open, I realize too late that I’ll remain facing the back the whole way. There’s not enough room to turn, not enough brain cells to figure it out while everyone watches on. Awkward silences and nervous coughs fill the air as Oz, Alex, and Lindsi file in and fill the gaps my chair left.
As soon as the doors close, I exhale and let my head drop.
I didn’t want this.
8
Andi
Judgment Day
It’s going to be okay. It’ll be okay. Just relax, Dee. It’ll be okay.
I sit on the guest bed in Riley’s home and breathe through the nausea that settles in my belly when Lindsi’s text comes through. They’re leaving the hospital, he’s on his way home, and the clincher is, she doesn’t even know I’m here. I parked my rental car in his garage, and now I’m hiding out in the guest bedroom and listening to the way my breath shudders through nervous lungs.
An engine slows out front. Switches off.
My hands shake, because I know what’s coming. A telling silence settles over the universe as Riley gets a first glimpse of the front of his house and takes stock of what I’ve done. I wish he didn’t have to see the ramps. I wish we could somehow magically teleport him straight inside where he doesn’t have to know his home was changed in such dramatic ways.
But it’s not possible; Riley has to face his reality eventually.
“What the fuck did you do?” Riley’s anger echoes straight through two solid wood doors and a whole house to reach me as clearly as if he’s standing right here. “You put ramps on my fucking house?”
“They’re just temporary,” Oz volunteers. He had no clue what I’d done – I really should have warned him – but he still picks up the ball and runs with it. “We can pull them out again just as soon as you’re up.”
Solid rubber wheels hit the timber structure and make me sick to my stomach. I’m putting a lot of trust into the structural integrity of something the guys whacked together in an afternoon. If it all collapses, if he falls, everything will be so much worse. “You can leave.” Keys jingle at the front door, then cat paws pound along the hardwood floor. Ninja’s going to say hello; the first time she’s come out voluntarily since I’ve been here. “I don’t need you anymore.”
Nacho quivers under my pillow, like she knows the wrath is coming, but that’s okay, because my heart quivers, too. Footsteps follow the sound of rubber squeaking on a timber floor, but I know he won’t allow it. Riley will not allow them in his space while he’s vulnerable, so I count out five minutes of awkward silences and throat clearing before hearing a gruff, “We’ll be back in an hour. Get settled in, but call us if you need anything. Otherwise we’ll be back with dinner and overnight bags.”
“Yeah.” The front door slams so hard, the walls rattle. “Not fuckin’ likely.” Riley noisily flicks the locks, then turns on squeaky wheels. The house turns silent, the only thing I can hear is my own heart pounding in my chest, then Ninja’s purring.
Her human is home. She’s missed him so much.
“What happened to you, Ninj? What did you do?”
I’d stay in this room for days if I could. I’d hide away and not step up to the rage I know I’ll see in his eyes when I let him know I’m here, but that would be cowardly. I’m not a coward. I’m not scared of anything, so I stand on jelly legs and bolster my bravery. Someone must explain the broken tail, and before he comes down the hall, I need to explain the new accessories in his bathroom. They’ll hurt him. He’ll consider them a weakness and an insult, so squaring my shoulders and patting Nacho’s pillow to let her know we’re okay, I turn to the door and draw in a long breath.
Suck it up, Andi. You know this man. You know he won’t mean any of the horrible things he’s going to say.
Knowing that, and maintaining distance from the hurt are two different things. He’s going to be loud, he’s going to be mean, and when the mean doesn’t work, he’s going to ignore my existence – which might be worse than being yelled at. But I’m here, I’m prepared, and I’m not leaving until I know he’s going to be okay.
Braver, I flip my hair back and open the bedroom door. Riley was murmuring his love for the cat with a shaking voice, but at the sound of my bare feet on the hallway floor, his police instincts kick in and override the pain medication he’s on.
He silences and waits for me to appear. The hall feels like a final walk, a plank, so to speak. In jeans and his too baggy shirt – because I wasn’t done being hugged – I walk the hall until I reach the end, stop at the opening, and look into his eyes.
From wary to angry in a heartbeat, his gaze slides along my body and exposes me, but my eyes are trained on the sweatpants that stretch around a heavy black brace. He wears a casual shirt with POLICE written in white over the breast pocket. His hair is uncombed, his face is unshaven, and his eyes are uncaring.
“Leave.” His pulse jumps in his throat. I see it. I see his nerves. He doesn’t turn his wheelchair or escort me out. He can’t pretend it doesn’t exist if he rolls around, he can’t pretend it’s not real if the rubber wheels squeak against the floor, so he holds Ninja in his lap like an evil overlord and lifts his chin. “Get the fuck out of my house, Andrea. I asked you to leave already. Don’t make me call Alex back.”
I turn into his kitchen and pretend like my whole fucking life is fine and dandy. I pretend like the way he looks at me with pure anger doesn’t hurt me. I pretend like he doesn’t scare me. “I made sweet tea. Would you like some.”
“No.”
I shrug at the fridge. Fake it, fake it, fake it. “You sure? It’s nice and refreshing after a shitty day.” Like losing your leg is simply a shitty day.
“Get out, Andi.”
“No.” My voice shakes as I take a tall glass from the cabinet above the fridge, then on impulse, I take another and start filling them both. “I’ll fill yours in case you change your mind.”
“I said get out!”
I jump and spill liquid over the lip of my glass. With shaking hands, I finish what I’m doing, then I place the pitcher back in his doesn’t-smell-like-rotten-eggs fridge. “I’m not leaving. In fact, I think I have more rig
ht to be here than you do.”
His eyes narrow.
“I believe the law allows for deserted homes. You left, and no one knew if you were coming back. Then I started squatting, and voila, you probably need to start paying me rent now.”
His nostrils flare. An explosion is coming, so I sip my tea, then pick his up. Ninja doesn’t move from his lap as I approach. Fast as a whip, I blow by and push the second glass into his hand until he’s forced to take it or drop it. I move out of the kitchen and find a duffel bag that I presume are his clothes. Tall crutches sit beside it, and a plastic bag full of meds beside that.
I pick up the duffel like I’m his nineteen-fifties housewife and head back through the kitchen. “I’m going to empty this out and run a load through the wash. Want me to wash what you’ve got on now?” I turn back and flash my filthiest – fakest – smile. “I could help you strip down. Could be fun.”
On a roar, he pegs the tumbler at the wall until Ninja bolts from the room and glass and tea shatter against every surface. Shards of glass nick my arm and cheek, drawing blood and an adrenaline surge that years of watching my cousin live in an abusive relationship has finely honed.
Any other situation, any other time, and I’d walk away from this and declare it good riddance. A man that explodes the way he is, a man that throws things… I’ve been trained for fifteen years not to accept that bullshit behavior.
A line of blood trickles over my arm, and I can feel another on my cheek, though I can’t tell if that’s blood or tears. If any of my girlfriends told me they were in this situation, I would get her out and she sure as hell would never be coming back, but this is different.
I feel this is different…
… said every abused woman in the history of the world.
“Andi…” He rolls forward an inch. Finally, his eyes hold something other than the anger. It’s still there. It’s still potent, but I’m bleeding, and that hurts him more than a missing leg. “I’m sor–”
“Watch your back, Riley Cruz. Sleep with one eye open, because you might wake tomorrow to find your dick missing. I promise in comparison, your leg won’t bother you anymore.” I turn on my heels when his eyes flash with rage. I carry the duffel through the hall and into the laundry, swiping my cheek over the shoulder of his shirt to collect my stupid tears. Dumping the bag’s contents in one load, I hope I ruin his jeans by washing them with something they’re not supposed to be with. Plopping a cup full of laundry powder on top and slamming my fist over the control panel, I take my bad mood out on the machine.
Turning and leaning against the machine, I stare at the single line of crimson red that dribbles along my arm.
So fucking dramatic, Andi. You just had to go and bleed to prove a point.
Ninja’s litter box catches my attention, so I scoop up the single log of poop and take care of that, then I head to the guest bathroom and pretend I don’t catch glimpses of Riley sitting in the exact same spot in the kitchen with his head bowed with defeat. I don’t want to feel bad for him right now. I want to light a fire under his ass and get him up.
The longer he sits in a chair, the longer he’ll stay in a chair.
He needs to get up and walk again, and sympathy isn’t going to get him there, so I’ll play the part of punching bag and verbal assault sponge, I’ll absorb his bullshit, then when he’s up and not feeling sorry for himself anymore, I’ll deck him as punishment for making me cry.
Asshole.
In the bathroom, I sit on the edge of the bath and soak a face cloth under the cold tap. Wringing it out and bringing it up to my arm, I shake my head and clean up the mess one single line of blood could make. I have no glass in me, no splinters, just the smudged line and a tiny cut that won’t even need a Band-Aid. I’m more pissed about the tea I’ll have to clean, the fact I’ll have to submit in front of him, lower to my knees while he watches on, and clean a mess he made.
That’s just… I let out a deep breath. It goes against every fiber of my being to bow down like that. Nobody ever said I was meek or submissive. But I will. I’ll clean up his mess, then I’ll sleep in his home for as long as it takes to help. I’ll go to bed each night in the guest room, I’ll pretend like his hatred doesn’t break my heart. I’ll build him up again, one shitty day after the other, one shaky step after the other.
I will not walk away until he’s strong again, because my heart won’t let me go.
When a woman goes ahead and falls in love with a sweet man, a man that challenges her in every way, but stimulates her; mind, body, and soul, when he smiles at her, and that act alone makes her heart race, when he whispers sweet nothings in the middle of the night when he thinks she’s asleep, then she’s a slave to him. Even the most independent and headstrong woman will bow down to him, because the heart will always win over the mind.
Squeaking rubber to my left draws my attention. Wheelchair bound, hands on the wheels, large chest expanding, Riley stares at my arm with what could only be grief in his eyes.
I’m supposed to bow down, but I’m still pissed, so I stand from the tub and walk toward him. His eyes widen the closer I come. For the first – and probably only – time in our lives, he has to bend his neck to maintain eye contact. I tower over him and revel in my power. He opens his mouth to speak, but before he can, I shake my head and slam the door in his face.
He promised once upon a time that, if someone is calling me names, he’d let me deal with my own shit. But if someone made me cry for real, he’d take care of it.
Fuck him for making me cry for real.
I’ll come back out when I’m good and ready, then I’ll try the bowing down shit again.
9
Riley
Anger, Despair, Repair
I’m a monster.
A dozen doctors in an operating room took my leg with no care for my opinion, but since waking in the hell called a hospital, I’ve allowed them to take my very soul, too.
I don’t hurt women. I especially don’t hurt Andi, but that’s two for two now.
Twice, she’s hurt because of me.
Unacceptable!
I’m angry at the world. So fucking angry it makes me sick. The pain meds have worn off, and now my left foot throbs with pain.
Yes, my left foot. The foot that isn’t even fucking there anymore.
It throbs so much, it takes my breath away, but what the fuck is a man supposed to do about a limb that isn’t even there? I can’t massage it. I can’t scratch it. I can’t do shit except live through the excruciating pain and not let on to the strongest woman in the world that I’m struggling.
How can I measure up to her? How do I explain why I’m struggling, when my troubles are so dumb? Hi Andi, I’m a bitter fuck because I’m only half a man now, you deserve better, oh, and my nonexistent leg itches. Can you get that for me?
With the bathroom door closed in my face and the memory of tears on her cheeks fresh in my mind, I turn the stupid chair and head back toward the kitchen to clean up the mess I made. Andi might think she’s sly, sneaking into my home, cleaning up, putting everything back where it belongs. But I smell the pine cleaner in the air, I see the magnets on my fridge have been moved, the pile of mail on the end of the counter, the packages sitting piled in the corner, and my couch – messed from Jay’s visit – is now clean and tidy.
Then I see the puddle of sweet tea marking my floors, and the shards of glass threatening Andi with cut feet.
Turning the chair toward the laundry to collect the broom, I stop on a sigh when my wheels continue to squeak. I hate the sound. I hate my weakness being announced to the world. Turning again, I head back to the living room and stare at the set of crutches like I’m just not sure if I can manage it.
I’m so tired, and my arms hurt almost as much as my leg.
I wish more than anything I could go back a month, not fight with Andi, be faster the night I was hurt, and make it so none of this is happening.
One different move, one small change, a
nd I could be chasing Andi around my house, swallowing up her laughter, then her beautiful scent when I catch up to her and claim her as mine.
Again. And again. And again.
For the rest of my life, I’d cuff her wrist to mine and show her that loving me could be nice. I could give her a good life, support her crazy ideas, love her wild streak, and provide her with anything she might need.
I could have made a good life for us.
But now… now I kick the feet rests up on my wheelchair. I place my single foot on the floor and prepare myself for another lift, because I need to clean the kitchen. To do that, I need to get out of this fucking chair.
Remembering belatedly, I hit the brakes before it rolls out beneath me and drops me on my ass. Grabbing the back of the couch and resting my other hand on the arm of the chair, I scoot to the very edge of the seat and breathe through the hornets that sting my stomach.
Couldn’t just take my leg. Had to shoot me in the gut, too.
Preparing myself, I take a deep breath and hold it in, then I pull myself an inch off the chair, only to drop down again when Andi rushes into the room. “Woah! Riley?” She rushes forward with none of the hatred she held in her eyes ten minutes ago. “What are you doing?”
The pain in my stomach hurts, but the concern in her voice fucking enrages me. Thankfully, together, they distract me from the pain in my missing leg. “Nothing.”
“You’re going to stand?” She stops in front of my chair and plops her hands on her jeaned hips. She’s so fucking beautiful, standing here with wild hair and bucket loads of attitude. Her blue eyes stare into mine, piercing my stomach more than any bullet ever did, and swirling in my chest until I can barely breathe. “You know what? I think that’s a great idea.” Like the sweet tea incident never happened, she extends her hands and offers help. “Come on up. I think it’s awesome you’re trying to get up so fast.”