by Emilia Finn
He doesn’t glance back. He doesn’t even call Ninja. He just hobbles away faster than when he came out here, and leaves me sitting by the fire; hot on my skin, but powerless against the ice that runs through my veins at his fast dismissal.
Ninja darts out of the living room as a final fuck you from the duo, then the bedroom door slams and makes me jump when Nacho squeals beneath my shirt.
Tears burn the backs of my eyes as five minutes pass. Then ten. Twenty minutes pass, and he doesn’t come back out again.
I’m stupid for thinking he might, but the woman inside me, the one in love, can’t accept that the man I spent so much time with left without touching me, without bringing me to the room with him, without acknowledging my existence.
I’m not looking to get laid, but I could’ve lain with him. I could stroke his hair, and let him lay his head on my chest.
But he’s gone; physically, and I think, emotionally. He’s so far out of reach, it almost feels like my heart might collapse in on itself.
That was my fault. I’m such an idiot.
11
Riley
Wow… What A Coincidence
“Nacho! Nacho, no!” Opening my bedroom door, I stop against the door frame and frown at the sounds of running piggy feet, falling plastic bottles, then something made of glass crashing against the floor. It doesn’t shatter, whatever it is, it doesn’t break, so I don’t rush the hall like a crippled hero and try to save the day. Whatever it is rolls against the floor in the kitchen, then stops – perhaps against the island counter. “Nacho!” In the privacy of the hall, where no one can see me, where no one will judge me, I smile at her growl. “You are so naughty! What am I supposed to tell him? Huh?”
Andi grunts, grunts again, then lets out an explosive breath when the pig’s snorting starts up in an almost mocking tone. “Nacho! You can’t chew his shit. Jesus!” The mystery glass rolls again, then Andi stomps her foot to scare the pig. Which makes me jump and sway against the doorway.
Nacho squeals, spins her feet against the floors until she gains traction, then she bolts into the hall to freedom, only to take a fast left into the guest bedroom when she catches sight of me at the end of the hall.
Narrowing my eyes, I fix the crutches under my arms and shake my head. She didn’t… she absolutely wasn’t… Blowing out a breath in preparation for another lap of my house on blisters under my armpits – today might be a wheelchair day, and that burns my gut a million times more than any fucking bullet – I slowly move down the hall and ignore the way Andi’s movements freeze up. She can’t see me. I can’t see her. But the electricity in the air speaks chapters, and the thump of my crutches on the floor telegraphs my every move.
She hears me coming, and I’ve made her nervous.
Stopping at the guest bedroom door, I narrow my eyes at the pig on what was my mom’s bed, and the piggy ass poking out from beneath the pillow. “Are you wearing a fucking tutu?”
Andi squeaks in the kitchen, tosses plastic bottles into the recycling bin, and goes about loading the dishwasher.
I step into the room, forgetting the change from timber to carpet, and sway on my crutches. Moving closer, I study what is definitely a pink tutu on a pig’s ass. “It has sequins. You have a pink tutu with sequins.”
Nacho quivers beneath the pillow and lets out terrified squeals that genuinely make me feel guilty. Slowly backing up before she loses her bladder and messes up my mom’s quilt, I turn at the door and step off the soft carpet. The hallway floor is unforgiving, it pushes the crutches against my tender armpits and draws a hiss from between my lips.
Closing my eyes and dropping my head, I breathe through the pain and ignore the psycho pig that still thinks she’s going to die. Her squeals reach a whole new decibel, a high pitched ringing that knocks around inside my brain and hurts my teeth.
There’s nothing I can do to stop it.
Nothing I can do but focus on my own fucking problems and concentrate on not spewing my meds up. My stomach is empty but for pills, long ago used up the delicious soup and bread Dee made for me.
I woke this morning with the empty tray still sitting on the end of my bed – I worried she’d come in during the night, sneak around, and take it away. It’s something she would do; sneak in, creep while I sleep so she doesn’t have to face my anger, but she didn’t do that. The tray remained where I left it, and I was both relieved and sad that she didn’t come in.
Shaking my head, preparing to keep moving so I have time to get ready before the nurse arrives, I square my shoulders and ignore the fiery sting in my arms and belly.
Emerging into the mostly silent living room, I glance left to the empty couch, then to the right to the kitchen island and swallow my tongue at the wild beauty in front of my eyes.
Her hair stands on end, her shirt – my shirt – hangs off one shoulder, showing off a delicate collarbone, and my pants bunch at the waist, held up by a tightly knotted drawstring and gather at the bottom, since they’re several inches too long for her legs.
Her blue eyes watch me warily; it’s a new day, will Riley say good morning, or is he still an asshole? She leans against the counter with her wild looks and baggy clothes, holding a steaming mug of coffee between both hands, and acts like everything is totally normal.
“Your pig is wearing a pink tutu…”
Her cheeks flush pink until her eyes go back to the mug. She can’t keep eye contact, and unlike yesterday, that amuses me. “Yeah? So what?”
“So… nothing. I’m just making an observation.”
“Good job, observation made. You want some breakfast?”
“No, it’s just… I’ve never seen a pig wearing a tutu before.”
She huffs and brings her shoulders up in defense. “I don’t see what the big friggin deal is. It’s just a scrap of tulle. Took me thirty seconds to pin together.”
A flustered Andi is entertaining as shit. The whole time I’ve known her, she’s tried to push me off balance, always trying to fluster me and make me blush, but here we are; a guy talks about her pig wearing a tutu and she can’t stand the heat. “Right… but it’s on a pig.”
Turning with a growl, she finally meets my eyes. “You know what? You gotta drop it. I didn’t ask your opinion. The same way you didn’t ask my opinion on your messy hair or the toothpaste streak you have on your shirt. Looks like someone jizzed on your chest, did ya know that?”
I drop my gaze to my shirt and scowl at the smear of white. “It’s toothpaste.”
She gives a dainty little shrug. “Like I said, you didn’t ask, and therefore, I’m not giving an opinion on the fact I suspect a dude snuck into your room overnight and jacked off on your chest.”
And she’s back to tossing me under the bus. “Whatever. You made a tutu for your pig, and I think that’s… cute.”
“Shut the hell up. Do you want breakfast or not?”
“Yeah.” Sighing, I drop my head and make a move toward the counter. “I got it.”
“No, I got it.” She steps away from the notebook and coffee on the counter and swings the pantry door open. I never used to own sugary cereal, I was more of an omelet and protein shake kinda guy, but somehow in my absence, magically, I have about seven different brightly colored boxes in my pantry, all of which sport a cartoon character on the front, and a hidden nutritional chart on the side.
“You want the captain? Or you want the flakes? Or do you want an Andi special?”
“What’s an Andi special?”
“Andi special it is!” She bear hugs three boxes and backs out of the pantry. Dumping them on the island counter on top of her scribbles in a spiral bound notebook, she swings around to grab a bowl from the cabinets, then shimmies to the silverware drawer to grab a spoon as I stop at the counter and study the stool I’m supposed to climb onto.
Glancing around, I look at the dining table; much lower chairs, much easier to sit in. The table is for formal events, romantic dinners, seducing Andi with candlelight b
efore taking her to bed and passing out with her scent in my nose. The counter is where we eat breakfast and talk about our plans for the day.
But I’m not sure I can climb up, and even if I can, I’m not sure having my leg dangling like that would be comfortable.
Eyeing me, Andi pauses with the first box pulled open, then dropping it, she bolts out of the room and sets my teeth on edge when the squeak of my wheelchair transfers from carpet to floorboard.
She races it along my hall, and curses when she takes the corner too soon and chips the corner wall.
“Crap, sorry. I’ll fix that. Now sit.” She stops with it a foot behind me and sets the brakes. Walking away without another word, she goes back to the counter and pours cereal into the bowl. One cereal. Then another type on top. Then the third on top of that. Glancing up, she scowls and forces a deep V to dent her forehead. “Don’t look at me like I’m trying to poison you.” She goes back to the pantry and pulls out a bag I recognize. “You get the sugar from those guys. Add a little muesli and whole milk, and you have a rounded meal that’ll keep you revving for hours.” She pours the milk and pushes the bowl forward an inch. Glancing up, she grins. “The Andi Special.”
“The Andi Special is just sugar.”
“Plus muesli for the staying power, and milk for your bones. They took about twenty with your leg and foot, but you still have a hundred and eighty or so to drink calcium for, so stop bitching and sit the hell down. Sit at the table, and I’ll come eat with you.”
“You’re gonna eat, too?” I back up and prepare myself to lower into the chair. If I use the crutches, my arms hurt. But when I use the chair, my ass hurts from sitting so much. Awesome. Lowering, I grunt when my bad leg bumps against the steel frame and sends flames through my thigh and into my stomach, only to be made worse when I brace my abs, which sets off a new round of pain radiating from the bruise that spans from my stomach right around to my back.
I’m a fucking mess, and each move I make makes me aware of a new hurt.
Andi doesn’t speak until I’m sitting. She doesn’t move a muscle until my toes uncurl and my chest slows from the exertion. And when she realizes she’s staring, her head snaps up and she spins to get another bowl. “Yup! I’m gonna eat. I’m starving, but I was waiting for you to get up. I was hoping you’d join me for breakfast.”
“Are you eating the bowl of sugar, too?”
“Of course.” She bustles around and uses the bottoms of my sweatpants as slippers. “How could I tell you to eat it if I wouldn’t? That would be rude.”
“Probably the same way you made laced brownies for me and didn’t eat any.”
Snorting, she pours her milk until the overloaded cereal spills over the lip of the bowl. “That was so much fun. I can’t believe you gave pot brownies to the chief.”
“I didn’t give them to him!” Turning the chair while she’s busy tossing the milk into the fridge, I move to the table and grind my teeth when I find a space already opened up. I don’t have to move a chair to make room; she already did it. “You snuck the pot in.” I wheel in until I can almost pretend I’m just a normal guy sitting at a table. In a second, she’ll be sitting too, then we can eat and pretend. This could almost be a ‘morning after’ breakfast, though she’s a lot more awake and cheerful than she was last time.
“I took it to work thinking it was a regular protein brownie, Andi, and my boss stole from me. Every asshole around me is a liar or a thief.”
She stops behind me, reaching over my shoulder to place the bowl down, and breathes on my cheek as she snickers. “It must be tough knowing such awesome people. Not everyone gets to get stoned with the hard-assed chief of police. He’s usually too cranky for those kinds of shenanigans.”
“I didn’t get stoned with him.”
“Right, because he stole your stash. Such a shame.” Tsk’ing, she slides her fingertips along the back of my neck and walks away to get her bowl. “I think we should bake tonight. We can lace them if you want, or keep them normal. Either way, I reckon some chocolate goodness is exactly what we need right now.”
“Yeah?” I look over my shoulder with an angry scowl. “Will it help grow my leg back?”
Without missing a beat, she drops into the chair across from mine and digs her spoon in. “You just never know, babe. Stranger things have happened. Eat up, you need your strength.”
“Sugar isn’t strength, Andrea. Sugar is a waste of my fucking time.”
Mocking, she pinches her lips and bobs her head. “Andrea. Andrea. Andrea. Somebody’s a cranky baby today, huh? Take a man’s leg one time and you never hear the end of it.”
“Andi…” She tests me. She tests every last ounce of willpower I have; to not leave, and to not throw her over my knee and redden her ass. “Quit it.”
“Nah…” She scoops too much cereal into her mouth until the excess falls out and milk dribbles onto her chin. “I’m just getting started.” More cereal flies out as she speaks. “Notice I gave you a cold breakfast? That way if you throw it, it won’t melt the skin from my bones. Now I’m fearless. Come at me, Cruz. Give me your worst, because I’m ready.”
“Your pig is wearing a pink tutu.”
“Shut up!” Scowling, she studies her bowl and scoops sugar in until she resembles a squirrel smuggling nuts. But her indignation makes me happy. She wants to joke about my leg? Fine. It’s better than sympathy. So I lift my spoon and start the process of undoing all the hard work I’ve put in over the years.
Gym days, lifting, cardio, diving.
“I used to count macronutrients.” I spoon the three-cereal concoction into my mouth and chew slowly. I can already feel my teeth rot. “I counted macros, then I counted abs.”
“I counted your abs, too.” She bounces her brows and pulls one leg up onto the chair so her chin rests on her knee. “There were like, twenty of them. More than enough for little ol’ me. Turned me the hell on.”
“And now you’re undoing it all. Men with bodies like mine don’t eat flakes covered in sugar for breakfast.”
“Bodies like yours?” Smirking, she glances up and makes no attempt to wipe the milk from her chin. “Vain much? You sure are into yourself, Cruz. I didn’t realize you were in a relationship with your own gluteus maximus.”
I roll my eyes. “I meant bodies that could bench four hundred pounds. Or squat with another two hundred on his shoulders. Sugar cereal won’t help me dive and break records.”
“Here you go, making unfounded assumptions again. Have you ever gone to the gym after eating cereal?”
“Of course I haven’t.”
She points her spoon… and flicks milk across the table. “Exactly. Talk to me after you’ve tried it, but until then, you don’t get an opinion.”
I don’t bother arguing that she probably hasn’t gone to the gym on sugar either, or that she has no clue what she’s taking about. Because arguing with Andi Conner is as useful as eating sugar and hoping my leg will grow back. So I don’t waste my time.
I eat my breakfast and think about the drawing I saw on the island counter and vow not to ask about it.
I’ll take a peek later when she’s not looking, because what I saw was intriguing – roses, thorns, vines interspersed around machine pieces.
“What time does your mistress arrive today?”
I glance up. “My… Huh?”
“Your nurse.” She shovels more cereal in. “I’m writing a book in my head, and in my story, your nurse is twenty-one, has perfect double D’s, and legs longer than my entire body. The cliches dictate you fall in love with her, because she’s your caretaker, she’ll give you sponge baths and massage your weary muscles at night. Plus, she’s got the double D’s thing going on.”
“I don’t wanna fall in love with a chick that tall. It’d hurt my neck when we make out.” I study my cereal when she scoffs. “Are you writing a book? For real?”
She laughs. “God no. That would be awful, wouldn’t it? I don’t wanna be holed up in a cave t
wenty-three hours a day while you fuck your nurse. The voices in my head will whisper naughty things, then they’ll whisper how you and your Becky will need to die. Maybe I’ll chop you up and bake you into a pie, then I’ll make her eat it.”
“Becky? You’ve named her?”
She rolls her eyes. “Becky with the good hair, obviously. Bitch better watch her back, because I wasn’t done seducing you yet.”
Andi is legitimately the craziest person I know. I have no fucking clue what I’m going to do with her. I’m not sure I’ve ever known. I was just enamored by her beauty, drawn in by her electric eyes, and intrigued by her smart mouth, despite the fact her bullshit was almost always pointed at me.
“What time is the bimbo gonna be here?”
I glance at the clock on the wall out of habit. “Ten.”
“Apart from marry you, what else will she do?”
I shrug. “Check my staples and redress it, I think.”
“Redress,” she grumbles. “I knew that bitch was a whore.”
The doorbell rings at nine-fifty-nine and sends every heart in this house into a tailspin. Nacho, who’s starting to venture a little further from the bedroom, spins in circles, and slams her ass on the coffee table on each revolution, while Ninja bolts from the top of the couch and knocks an empty glass off the coffee table as she flees.
No longer wearing my clothes, Andi struts around in yoga pants that I know – I know! – she’s not wearing panties under, and a long sleeve top that hugs her every curve, including her not-double D’s. She steamrolls toward the front door before I can do it and carries with her an air of ‘I’m gonna fuck a bitch up’. She’s just teasing. I know she is, but her acting skills make my heart gallop as she swings the door wide open.