by Emilia Finn
When Riley and I fight, the whole world knows about it.
“I’ll be able to make your socket using this mold. As time goes on and your swelling decreases, we’ll add additional layers of prosthetic socks or cushioning gel liners to keep the socket from becoming too loose. These socks are worn between your body and the socket to protect the sensitive skin on your residual limb. Once it no longer fits, it might be time to fabricate your permanent leg.”
“How long until this one comes back?” I take the lead, since Riley has placed himself behind his wall of don’t fuckin’ talk to me. He’s scared, and he hates being at a disadvantage, so he won’t ask. But he’s definitely listening, so I ask the things I want to know, and I ask some things I already know the answer to, just so Riley can hear it, too.
“About three to four weeks. My receptionist will call you as soon as it arrives, and then we’ll get you back in to make sure it fits.” He flashes an excited smile. “You’ll walk on two legs again, Mr. Cruz. Four weeks from now, you’ll be walking on two legs.”
We’re shown out with happy cheers of Merry Christmas and well wishes for the new year. Candy canes are shoved into my hands by a receptionist that wears a hat with bells, and as though they had the clinic open just for us, the doors are closed at our back and the closed sign is flipped.
I think maybe Doctor Lincoln was at work today as a special favor for the cops. Word spreads fast when a young cop is hurt in the line of duty. It makes him a hero. It makes people want to go out of their way to help, even if that hero cop wants to be invisible.
We stop outside in the dreary weather and glance up at the graying sky. It’s cold as hell out today, so I think of running to the car and flipping on the heat, but in reality, I stay by Riley’s side and make sure he doesn’t slip on the icy paths. “So, it’s Christmas tomorrow.”
“Yup.”
I roll my eyes. He was nervous on the way in here, but now he’s grumpy. And it’s my luck, I have to ride the bad mood until he works today’s experience out of his system. “We have no Christmas tree yet. Wanna do that?”
“Not really.”
“Awesome!” I stop by the car and beep the locks open. “I’m so glad you’re on board. I can’t wait to go tree shopping with you.”
His eyes narrow across the roof of my car. “Dee, we don’t need a tree. I have money, but not enough to spend on dumb shit that’ll be thrown out again in a couple days. Let’s just turn the TV on and find a channel that has trees.”
I scoff. “Absolutely not. Let’s go; we have to be fast before they sell out.”
“Dee! No. I’m not spending money on a tree.”
“I’ll pay. I got a new job, so I don’t have a cash flow problem anymore.”
“You, what?” He stops halfway down into the car and snaps straight again. Snow begins falling on our heads, the soft, floaty kind, not the annoying razor blades in the air. “When are you going back? Will you…” He pauses with uncertainty. “Will you still be here when my leg arrives?”
“Yep, I’ll be here forever, my sweet little gumdrop. Get in the car, I’m freezing. You need help?”
“No, I got it.” He tosses the crutches into the backseat, then slowly slides into his side. As soon as he’s in and the door is closed, he turns to me. “I don’t understand what you’re saying. What job? Where?”
“Well, the other day, the day you went to get your staples out, I dropped by the Rollin gym. My fake fiancé was being a dick to me, and I’d promised to call Meg and hang out, so that’s what I did. While I was there, Kit was sparring with Iz and busted her knee. I rode in on my horse and used my superpowers to fix her.” His eyes narrow because of the extra flourishes I add to my story. I roll my eyes. “Turns out they could use an AT in their gym, and they don’t have cash flow problems. Those Kincaid boys are rich as fuck, did you know that? You’d never guess, considering how stinky that gym is, but between Bobby, Jimmy, and Jack, they have a bunch of title belts, and with every title belt comes a whole buncha cash. They’re swimming in money a’la Scrooge McDuck, and since I helped the kingpin’s wife, they asked me what I’m doing for the rest of my life. They asked how much it would cost for me to stay on… I quoted thirty grand more per year than I was already making.” I snicker. “I didn’t expect them to accept it, but whatever. They did, we shook hands, now I have a new job in a town I’ve never lived in before.”
“Why didn’t you say anything? I feel kinda hurt I’m the last to know.”
I roll my eyes. “Actually, apart from the kingpin himself, you’re the first to know. I asked him to keep it on the downlow until I got my personal life straightened out, so him and Kit know, but no one else does. I didn’t tell Oz or Lindsi or anyone else yet.”
“So you’re staying?” His light eyes flicker across my face. “Where… Um…” He clears his throat. “Where will you live?”
“I got a house over on Eleventh Street – it’s cute, and comes with two bathrooms and a pig. Where will you live?”
“Shut up.” It’s almost like his deep exhale is relief. Add the tiny little smile on his lips, and the way he looks anywhere but at me, and I consider that approval. He wants me to stay. He’s just too fucking proud to admit it. “Can we go home now?”
“Yup, but we’re getting a Christmas tree. I don’t even care how you feel about it.”
Riley and I spend Christmas Eve together like a real couple. Like our world wasn’t thrown to shit because of someone else’s actions more than a month ago.
We have a date – albeit at home – with candlelight, soft music, and gourmet food that he helped me cook. Tired from a massive day, he swallowed his pride and used his wheelchair for a little while, but when the food was eaten and the music demanded it, he stood with me and we swayed to Elvis’ voice as he sung of falling in love.
It’s the same song we danced to at Oz’s wedding. Our first ever dance. There’s no way we could ignore it.
A month from now, when Riley has his leg, I’m going to request another dance. We’ll toss the crutches away, and I’ll allow him to lean on me while we sway. And then, a few years after that, when I convince him he might actually want to marry and keep me around forever, we’ll dance to that song again and celebrate how far he’s come.
We’ll celebrate the fact he survived.
That he’s a hero.
That he’s resilient and can overcome anything.
Nervous, though I have no clue why, Riley led me to our room while giving his dick a pep talk, then he made love to me in a way that was reminiscent of that time before the accident. The time he showed me how it could be without the angry fucking.
Riley’s not all better yet. He’s not even close. His mind and confidence have a hell of a lot more healing to do than his leg ever will, but he’s here with me, he’s participating and including me, and when we sleep, he does it with his face over my heart and soft breath fanning my chest.
Everything’s going to be okay.
For the first time since I got here, I know everything will be okay.
“Riley, I’m coming in with your Christmas present, so I need you to close your eyes, okay? Sit on the couch and tell me when you’re ready.” Standing at the front door with giddiness swirling in my heart, I hold his gift close and inch the front door open. “Riley! It’s snowing out here and cold as shit, so answer me, dammit.”
“I told you not to get me anything, Dee.” His crutches thump across the floor and head toward the front door. Riley Cruz’s default setting is grump, but I have the motherload of all Christmas gifts right here with me, so he better get on board, or I might lace his brownies with something more dangerous than pot butter.
He swings the door open despite my instructions to sit the hell down. For the briefest moment, his eyes transform from exasperated, to loving, to downright angry when he notices his gift, to straight up big fat tears. “Mommy?”
Raya Cruz’s eyes spill over as she walks toward her son and throws her arms around h
is neck. “Hey, mijo. I missed you, baby.”
Riley cries on his mom’s shoulder. This big, strong, amazing man, cries against the tiny woman and almost uses her to stand up. He squeezes her tight and forgets that he’s injured and doesn’t want the world to know.
Today’s a good day for Raya; she knows who she is, she knows who he is. She even knows who I am. She knows it’s Christmas day, and she was present enough to have a conversation with me before we left the home.
Riley got hurt at work, so he’s going to look a little different. But he’s okay. He’s not in pain. He just wants to spend the day with his mommy.
I help the couple into the warm house and out of the biting cold. Closing the door, I drop Raya’s overnight bag on the floor and pull my thick coat off. Note to self: I need to go shopping and give Lindsi’s clothes back. Moving forward, I help the unsteady couple move toward the couch. Raya clings to her baby like her life depends on it. And Riley’s clinging to his momma like he doesn’t ever want to let go again. The only issue is that neither of them are strong enough to hold the other up. So I take Raya’s arm with my right hand, and Riley’s in my left, and I lead them toward the couch.
We’ve already had breakfast and cleaned up, and Raya’s nurses told me she’s eaten, too. So I leave mom and son on the couch and give them the privacy they’re both in desperate need of, and I move to the door and collect her bag.
The home gave me enough meds for the night, and packed pyjamas and a new outfit for tomorrow. Riley’s going to lose his everloving mind when he finds out she’s staying all night; my gift to him is a Christmas from his childhood. I’ll bake cookies, I’ll make hot cocoa, I’ll keep the popcorn bowls full and warm, and the TV playing whatever Christmas specials they want to watch.
Raya will sleep in the guest bedroom, she’ll snuggle Nacho all day, then she’ll go home tomorrow with new memories, an understanding of what Riley’s been hiding from her for more than a month, and a belly full of sugar and carbs.
If she forgets it all tomorrow, then that’s okay, because Riley won’t.
I drop Raya’s things in the spare room and tap Nacho’s bottom to wake her up. She’s in a green and red tutu today, because we like to dress for Christmas. “Wake up, Nacho. We have visitors today. You wanna go see?”
She looks at me with derision in her eyes. She doesn’t like to be woken, but I ignore her upset and pick her up off the bed. Setting her on her feet, I tap her bottom a second time. “Go find Riley, Nacho. Go find Raya.”
I fix the covers on the bed, then follow her back to the living room. Like she remembers, she bounds into Raya’s lap and makes both me and Riley smile. I stop behind the island counter and prepare to start baking, but before I do, my eyes meet Riley’s. He holds me captive, he studies my body in a way that makes me tingle, and with sparkling eyes, he mouths ‘thank you.’
19
Andi
Four Weeks Later
“Today’s the day, Mr. Cruz.” Riley’s prosthetist walks into his office in the least cool way possible; with a fake leg propped over his shoulder as though it was an umbrella, and a tie with a pattern of legs wearing crazy colored socks.
Personally, I can find the humor in the situation.
But Riley… not so much.
Linc drops down onto his roller chair while Riley scowls and squeezes my hand until my fingertips lose circulation. Moving forward with a geeky grin, Linc-The-Technician thrusts the leg forward and leers at Riley’s remaining leg like he wants to hump it.
Prosthetist humor, I guess.
“How do you feel today, Mr. Cruz? You’re ready? You’re set?”
“I wanna go home.”
“Well that’s no fun.” He playfully scrunches his nose and sets the new leg down. “This, my friend, is your new best friend. You can name it if you want; a lot of my clients do.”
Riley practically growls. “No thanks.”
It’s almost like Linc knows Riley now, like he knows how to deal with him… or send him to drink. So just like me, he chuckles and brushes away Riley’s shitty mood and forges on. “This is not a permanent leg; as you can see, it’s a transparent socket that you will learn with. You’ll be re-casted and re-fit many times over the next year as your leg shrinks.” Finally, he turns serious when Riley pales. “Your leg will shrink; muscular atrophy is real, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Add in the fact your leg is technically still swollen, though the incision is completely healed.” Without asking, he lifts Riley’s residual leg and inspects the scar. It’s still pink, but not open. “There’s a lot of fluid in there that will shift over time, so for the next many years, we’ll be seeing each other a lot.”
As ordered, we brought Riley’s spare shoe – a black and white sneaker that matches the one on his right foot. When Linc notices it in a bag beside my leg, he grins and snatches it up. “Your foot arrived last Wednesday, and your leg on Friday. We decided on the Dynamic-Response, which will hopefully help you keep up with your old lifestyle.” Almost like he’s speaking on rote, Linc takes out a shoehorn and attaches the rubbery foot to the steel foot of the prosthetic. “This foot is specifically designed to provide a symmetrical feel to your steps, and is made for the younger, more agile crowd who move fast. For fast turning, pivoting, walking.” He jams the foot on and looks up triumphantly. “Remind me in a few months to discuss a Microprocessor-controlled foot. It’s a newish technology that has small computer type sensors in the foot and ankles. These sensors process information from your limb and the environment around you; that is, are you walking on dirt? Concrete? Sand? It takes this information and adjusts to meet your various needs to make your stride feel as natural as possible. I think you’d make an amazing candidate to give this technology a try.” He takes Riley’s spare shoe and pushes it onto the rubber foot.
I’m riveted to Lincoln’s every word. I want to know every single thing about Riley’s set-up so I can help him at every possible turn, but Riley’s still on the negative-Nancy train about this. He barely meets Linc’s eyes. He’s yet to really even look at the leg.
He doesn’t like this unknown world, and his hand squeezing mine says he’s not coping.
When Linc gets the shoe on and the laces tied, he sets the leg down with a genuine grin and nods. “Let’s discuss each step, shall we?” From a box similar to a shoebox, he pulls out a rubber type sock. “This is your gel liner. It will be tight – it’s the first step of our suction set-up.” When Riley offers no enthusiasm, I give a small nod to spur Linc on. Taking that as the only permission he’ll receive, he lifts Riley’s leg a second time and sets the gel liner at the very base. Inside out and rolled up, he uses his strength to unroll it over Riley’s calf and up over his knee. The liner stretches right up to the middle of his thigh. It’s tight, to the point Linc’s arms bulge and his breath speeds as he works it up Riley’s leg. “The bottom of the liner bears a pin, which is what will slide into the bottom of the socket. Next, we’ll slide socks on.” He reaches back into the box and pulls out an extra long pair. “These are just cotton; the size of your leg will fluctuate during the day – all day, every day – so you might start with one or two pairs in the morning, but you could end up with more by the evening as your leg loses mass and your prosthetic becomes a little loose. This is normal.” He looks to me for approval. “This will be a daily occurrence, so work with the socks until you find the right fit. Eventually, there just won’t be a fit, which is when it’s time to come back and re-cast. This will happen a few times in the next twelve months. Any questions so far?”
Riley watches our joined hands and shakes his head.
Linc nods. “Alright. I’d like to start with two pairs, then we’ll get the leg on. Are you ready for this?”
Riley clears his throat, but still, he says nothing.
When Linc is satisfied with the socks, when he’s happy there are no wrinkles and everything seems to be in place, he brings the prosthetic closer and slides his stool in until Riley’s leg is ba
sically nestled between his.
Riley’s shaking hand in mine turns positively quaking, but he doesn’t pull away, he doesn’t banish me and tell me he doesn’t want me here. He doesn’t even kick Linc in the face. So I consider it a win and let him squeeze as hard as he needs to.
I watch as Riley’s leg slides into the clear socket. As the pin lines up at the bottom. As the suction takes hold, then as Linc stands and pushes his hands onto Riley’s knee to push him in as far as he’ll go. I grit my teeth at the sight of his weight on Riley’s leg, though I know it doesn’t hurt. I’ve done the same to Tim in Mia’s clinic, but it’s different now.
Tim was a kind man, I cared that he was well and happy, but his success on a new leg meant just a fraction of what Riley’s does. I don’t want this to go to shit. I don’t want Riley to fall or feel like he’s failed.
When Linc is satisfied with the fit, he sits back with wary eyes and glances between me and Riley. “Ah… how does that feel?”
“Tight.” Riley leans a little to his right until our shoulders touch. “It feels really tight.”
“Tight enough you think you want to remove a layer of sock?”
“No. Tight like I can feel the suction. It’s snug, I guess. But in a good way.”
Linc smiles, satisfied Riley is participating. “It’s good?”
“Yeah…” Clearing his throat, Riley sits taller and peeks at his leg. He tilts it just a little to the left. Then the right. “Like, I was worried it would feel like it was going to fall off.”
“Not only won’t it fall off, Mr. Cruz, but the suction is enough you could actually hang from the foot alone and it shouldn’t come off. I have clients that are gymnasts, who hang from beams and silks. These legs are really quite versatile.”