by Emilia Finn
I need to be alone while my leg throbs, to break down and wait it out. I need privacy to cry it out, because it hurts that much, and I can’t break apart in front of her. She’s just Andi, just the person that controls my heart, the person who commands my world. A man in my position can’t afford to cry in front of a woman like her.
“You have a notebook?”
“Yes! An actual book I sat with last night. I’ve been looking things up on the internet. I’ve been hanging out in chat forums for amputees. I’ve been in chat forums with doctors. I’ve been in chat forums with doctors who are amputees. There’s a forum for everything these days! I’ve asked a million questions, I’ve written a million notes down. I don’t know your pain, Riley. I don’t know anything that’s going on inside your head, and I don’t pretend to know. I won’t act like what’s happened isn’t a big deal, but the things I can control, things like tossing your rug and researching prosthetists, I’ll do so you don’t have to.”
“You tossed my rug?”
She waves me off with a snigger. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll discuss it another time.” Drawing in a long breath as though to prepare herself, she drops her hands to her hips, prays to her shoes, then walks around my side of the bed until my heart stops in my throat and my hands itch to touch her.
She’s right there. A foot away.
But then she makes it worse. She lowers to the edge of the bed so her back is to my legs, but she watches me over her shoulder. Her weight jostles the mattress and zings pain through my stomach, but she can’t know that, and I sure as shit won’t cry about it and tell her. “I want to help you, Riley.” Long lashes kiss her cheeks when she blinks. She’s purposely trying to seduce me with her words and innocence. “It really, truly matters to me that you’re okay. So I’m here to stay, and not even threat of a police escort will scare me away. I know the cops around here, and they’re all a bunch of wimps.”
“Andi…”
“Dee.” She frowns. “You call me Dee, or Deedee, or fuck-yeah-baby-take-me-deeper.”
My eyes narrow; I’m so angry at her mocking, and furious that there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.
“Don’t go using full names now just to put me in my place. It pisses me off.” Turning on the bed, her right knee comes up to rest against my hip. “I get we fought a few weeks ago, but it wasn’t even a big fight. Not really. This shit is being blown way out of proportion, since the timing was super shitty. Now you’re using my one bad moment as an excuse to be mean, but I won’t put up with it. I said I was sorry for being a jerk, and I damn well expect that to be enough. Jesus, Riley!” She throws her hands up. “If you’re done with me, for real done, then you need to communicate that properly, without an angry tantrum, and maybe not on the day you come home from the hospital. Otherwise, I’m likely to think you’re just having a crappy day and taking it out on me. If that’s the case, then I’m planting my Juicy Couture ass on your couch and crushing chips into the cushions.”
In pain, emotional, and on the cusp of a brand-new existence, my eyes still linger to the way her chest bounces when she drops her hands back into her lap.
And yet, I feel nothing stir.
Swallowing, I imagine all the nice times we could have watching movies on my couch. The snacks. The laughter. The love making that changes the very foundations of a man’s soul. But like the smoke that plumed from the end of the gun that put me here, it all floats away, like it was never there to begin with. The bullets remain, the damage is done, but the smoke is gone.
“I’m done, Dee.” Say her name. Show her the respect she deserves, then let her go. Like a free bird, she deserves to fly away. “I’m saying it calmly, without a tantrum, and without an excess of drugs in my system.” I slide my hand over Ninja’s back and scratch her ears. If I don’t keep my hands busy, I might grab Dee and beg her to stay. “I don’t want you here, I don’t want you in my home. Frankly,” I clear my throat. “I don’t want you in my town. I want you to go back to your world and live a long, happy life exactly the way you were living before we ever met.”
“A long, happy life the way I was living?” Her bright eyes blaze with anger. She holds it in, barely shows her shaking hands, but she can’t control her eyes. “My happy life, working for a tyrant, living alone, missing my babies? Yeah, I sure was happy all the way over there, though I’d spend my savings and paycheck as often as I could to fly back here to see them. To see you.” She stands from the bed and jostles my leg again. “Eat your soup, Riley. I’m not leaving.”
“You just said you would if I told you–”
“I said not on the day you come home from the hospital.” She shrugs and walks to the bedroom door. “Looks like I win this round, and just a tip for the future; I win every round. I’m not too proud to cheat, lie, or steal. And since you’re not a cop anymore, I can admit that and not get into trouble. You have your cell and charger. You have food.” She opens the door, reaches into the hall, then comes back with my crutches. “And now you have these.” She walks across the room and sets them against my bedside table. “I promised I’d stay out of your space in the evenings, so I’ll leave you to yourself. If you need anything, you just have to call out. Don’t be proud, Riley. Call me in and I’ll come running. Otherwise, it’s getting kinda late, so…”
“It’s six o’clock.”
“Yeah, late.” Faking a yawn, she nods toward the window. “It’s the first snow of the year. Exciting, right? It’s like mother nature waited for you to be home again.” She turns and walks back to the door. Resting her hand on the knob and watching me over her shoulder, her eyes cloud with a deep sadness; it’s something I know too well, but not something I ever expected to see in her beautiful eyes. “I’m really glad you’re okay, Riley. I was scared out of my fucking brains for you, but you’re here now. Right in front of me and safe. I intend to keep it that way.” She opens the door and steps out. Stopping, she drops her eyes. “If you don’t call out tonight, just know that I’ll be here anyway. Anything you need, any time, I’ll be here. If you don’t call out, I hope you have sweet dreams and a good rest. Goodnight.”
She closes the door with a soft snick and silently walks the hall. Her feet make no noise on the timber floor, but the fast staccato of nails remind me she has a pig.
A fucking pig.
“Ninja…” I pull in a long breath, then let it out on a sigh. At least we didn’t argue. I wasn’t particularly mean. I didn’t throw anything. Dropping my head back and closing my eyes when the thump reverberates through my leg, I scratch my cat’s ears and prepare for a long night all alone.
10
Andi
Deafening Silence
Trashy TV plays in the living room, and soft candles flicker on Riley’s coffee table. I don’t want a house full of glaring lights. I don’t want loud, or serious, or heavy. I want flickering candles and entertainment I don’t have to expend brainpower on. I want things to be easier, for my heart to not hurt so much, and for Riley to not hurt so much, so I push the freezer door closed with my shoulder and stop at the silverware drawer.
I’ve showered since leaving Riley’s room, because the shower is where I can truly feel for a moment, and nobody will ever know. I washed my hair with the shampoo I bought at Jonah’s store yesterday, painted my toenails with hot pink polish the babe at the cash register was checking out, I popped a zit on my chin, and donned a pair of navy blue cotton pyjama bottoms that might belong to the man in the end room.
The man that doesn’t want me anymore.
Taking a dessert spoon from the drawer and dropping it into my bowl, I leave the shadowed kitchen with a bowl of vanilla ice-cream smothered in chocolate mint sauce that turns hard as it cools, and flop onto the leather couch beside a sleeping Nacho.
I’m exhausted beyond my years, an exhaustion I’m not sure I’ve ever felt in my life.
I’ve had a mission the last few days; get the house ready, make things easy and safe for Riley. I didn’t have
a single moment of boredom in all the chaos, but now he’s home, there are no more chairs to assemble, no more floors to mop, no more pots of soup to make. There’s not even cat shit in the tray to scoop out, since Ninja has been holed up with her human all day.
There’s nothing but a heavy cloud of pain and grief that floats in the air and sucks the souls from our bodies.
Tucking my feet beneath my butt and resting an elbow on the armrest, the fireplace flickers to my right, warming the side of my face, as reality television burns my retinas and ice-cream melts in my bowl.
I’m not hungry.
I don’t even want to eat my feelings anymore.
But I pick up my spoon and scoop up a little. I should be all over the chocolatey treat, I should be starving and ready to sit down after a massive two days of hard work and little sleep. But I feel no relief or a sense of job well done. All I feel is the desperation in Riley’s eyes, as the moment in the hospital room replays in my mind over and over.
He was so sad when the blankets were moved and his leg was revealed.
Yes, he was angry, but beneath that, he was so immeasurably sad.
The door opens at the end of the hall, startling me, despite how quiet it is, and throws my heart into a tailspin. It races in my chest, slams against my diaphragm, and winds me. I don’t move from my spot on the couch. I don’t even look toward the hall, because if he wanted my help, he would have asked. Instead, with shaking hands, I scoop a little ice-cream into my mouth and pretend the TV holds all of my attention.
My ears are hypersensitive, open and listening to each tiny sound he makes. Ninja runs along the hall, the deep thump of her paws on the timber floor stop when she hits laundry room tiles, then the kitty litter box.
Nacho – sound asleep a moment ago – now lifts her head and meets my eyes like Riley’s coming to hurt us. “It’s okay.” I pat her ears and sit forward half an inch when she burrows closer to my back.
I’ve never in my life been nervous around a man, especially not Riley, but just like I stood outside his room for five minutes earlier today with a racing heart and clammy palms, I face the same wait now as I wait for him to make his move.
Will he come down here? Will he lock himself away again as soon as Ninja has gone to the bathroom? Will he pick my ice-cream up and throw it in my face just to spite me?
I hear no squeaking wheels on the floors, no rolling along the hardwood, but then I hear the straining of his crutches. The plastic handle, the heavy thump against the floor as he takes a step forward.
He’s slow, and almost the cause of my death when I’m forced to eat tasteless ice-cream and watch nonsensical television for five whole minutes as he makes his way along the hall. I don’t know if he’s slow because he’s unsteady on his feet, or if he’s taking his time because he knows I’m here and doesn’t want to see me. I’ve had people walk through Mia’s clinic on crutches a billion times in the past, all of them faster than Riley, even the old folks, but I fight every instinct in my body to jump up and go to him.
“Andi… Um… I have a question.” He stops at the end of the hall, within view if only I could take my eyes off the television. The deep baritone of his voice makes my belly turn with warmth, and makes me question why I ever teased his innocence. He doesn’t sound like a child. His chest and legs certainly aren’t those of a boy’s. He’s aged in the last few weeks, even if his face looks exactly the same.
“Andi?”
I don’t look at him. I’m not ready.
He sighs and takes another step closer. “Deedee?”
My eyes burn with tears I refuse to let fall. Turning just my head, I study his broad body, his strong chest, thick arms as they steady him on his crutches. Ninja walks around his legs, rubbing her face on his remaining ankle and leans so hard he has to adjust his footing or risk falling.
Swallowing, I look up and meet his eyes. “Yeah?”
“Are you busy?”
My brows pull tight. Dropping the spoon back in my bowl, I set it on the armrest and give up on eating it. “Is that your question? Do you need something?”
“No, that’s not my question.” Reaching up, he runs a frustrated hand over the stubble he never used to have. “I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t interrupting anything.”
I shrug. “Just watching TV, but nothing much is on.”
Nodding, he takes another step forward and re-balances on his shaky leg. He’s far from proficient on those crutches, sent home much too soon. “Mind if I join you for a minute? I don’t wanna stand anymore. I’m…” He sighs. “I’m tired.”
Finally, he admits he’s not a superhero. “It’s okay.” I drop my feet to the floor when he makes his way forward, then stand and push the coffee table toward the TV to make room. That act annoys him – that I’d make room for him, that I’d push a heavy table away without his help – but I do it anyway, and when I turn back and find him struggling to get the crutches to stand against the couch, I slide an arm under his and ignore the way he tenses up. I weigh half of what he does, and am several inches shorter, so if he falls, we’re probably both going down, but I can provide some stability. I can provide something more than shitty crutches as I set them against the end of the couch and help him turn.
I stand on his right side. I don’t touch his bad leg, I don’t mention it or brush it with my thigh. I just stand under his arm until he’s got his balance, and when he holds onto the scratched end of the couch with his left hand, I hold onto the right and use all my strength to help lever him down without being pulled straight off my feet and into his lap.
The woman in me might crave climbing into his lap and snuggling in until he doesn’t hate me anymore. But the realist in me knows he’d hate that.
“Thanks.” He clears his throat and fusses with his pants until they sit straight. Dropping his head back until he stares at the ceiling, he flops his legs open and breathes as though he just ran a marathon.
It’s wrong. It’s all so wrong that this strong man, the gym rat who worked so hard on his physique, is now winded from walking thirty feet on a set of crutches.
Nacho quivers on my end of the couch, a shaking, shivering mess as she huddles under a throw pillow and makes honking noises that anyone can hear – even a man in Riley’s emotional and mental state.
“You have a pig.” He shakes his head. “I can’t believe you have a pig.”
I pick her up and tuck her under my shirt, since she likes the satchel so much and calms in the dark. Sitting on the very opposite end of the couch, I pull my feet up beneath my butt again and scratch her belly to quieten the sounds. “I do. I’m sorry if that bothers you, but she’s clean, I promise. She won’t make a mess of anything, she’s toilet trained, and I don’t think she’s an allergen or anything. You have a cat, and she doesn’t mess with your sinuses, so I figure Nacho is safe.”
“Why do you have a pig, Andrea?”
Andrea… I see how it is. “Why do you have a cat, Riley?”
Bravely, I turn just in time to catch his smirk. He’s still looking at the ceiling, but at least he’s not scowling. “She needed a home. I needed a friend.” He shrugs. “That’s about the gist of it.”
“Well… same.” I pick up my ice-cream bowl and begin stirring the melted contents. “I was looking up animal shelters, because I wanted a friend. I was actually looking for a cat, and I probably would have called her Michelangelo, or Donatello or something, but–”
“The turtles?” He turns his head and studies my eyes. “Because of Ninja?”
“Exactly. I was going for the ninja theme, but then I saw Nacho on the webpage. Suddenly, owning a pig didn’t seem so crazy.”
He scoffs. “Of course it didn’t.”
“She would have been killed, Riley! She’s just a baby. It’s not her fault nasty ass breeders made her, sold her to some stupid bimbo socialite that wanted a cute handbag accessory, then decided it was all too hard. The next morning, I drove over to the next county and begged them to let
me adopt her.”
“And now here she is; a socialite pig, living it up in a home that ain’t hers, after flying across the country to get here. You flew, right?”
I nod.
“And she didn’t go in the cargo hold, did she?”
My eyes narrow. “Absolutely not.”
He grins and goes back to stare at the ceiling. “Figured.”
“What was your question, Riley? What did you want that was so important you’d break your vow of silence to come speak to me?”
I don’t know why I’m such an asshole to him. I wanted him to come out here, I practically begged the universe to make it happen, and now that he’s here, his strong jaw grinds with frustration because of my big mouth.
“I wanted to know what happened to Ninja’s tail.”
“Oh…” I turn and watch her slink from beneath the coffee table, across the ten or so feet of space, only to wind herself around his leg. “I think maybe she fell from the blinds and broke her tail. I took her to the vet just in case, but he said we can only wrap it and wait.”
His eyes blaze with… something. Regret? Is he sorry he got hurt, because he wasn’t around to care for her? “Is she in pain?”
“No.” And even if she was, I wouldn’t tell him. “McHotty said she’s already healing. We just have to wait.”
“McHotty?” Angry again, his eyes snap around and make me reconsider my life choices. “Who the fuck is McHotty?”
“Umm…” Shit. I set my ice-cream down to buy myself time. “Sorry, it was a bad joke. I meant, the vet. He’s… well, he’s an attractive man, even a blind woman could see that, so in my head, I called him McHotty. It was just something dumb, a joke I told myself so I could laugh during a time I worried about you–”
“Right. Awesome.” Grunting, Riley shuffles to the edge of the couch before I can even process the fact he’s moved at all. Grabbing the crutches, he hoists himself up so his grunt turns to a pain filled squeak, but he gives me no chance to help, no opportunity to jump up and make it better for him. Pushing the crutches under his arms, he pulls in a long breath and catches his balance. “Goodnight, Andrea. You can go back to Oz’s now. Or, ya know, three-thousand miles away. The nurse will be here tomorrow, so I’m all set without you.”