by Emilia Finn
“I don’t wanna hang by it.”
Linc laughs. “Not today, Mr. Cruz. But you just never know what your future will bring. Alright.” Straightening his back, Linc shoves the cardboard packaging and his stool away, then he comes back with a walker, the four-legged, steel-frame kind with rubber feet.
I bought one of these for Riley already, but I haven’t taken it from the box or shown him, since I know how he’ll react.
“I’d really like for you to try to stand. Lean on the frame and show me what you’ve got.”
Riley scowls. “This is an old-folks walker.”
That’s why I didn’t show him the one at home yet.
“This is a tool that will assist your walking. I have clients – young and old – that find these walkers extremely useful for stability. Please stand, hold onto the sides, and let me know what you feel.”
“I feel…” He blows out a gusty breath. “I feel like my leg-bone will pierce straight through the bottom as soon as I stand.”
Linc frowns. “Are you having trouble with the bone? Is it too long? Because that’s something you need to discuss with your surgeon; you could have revision surgery to shorten it.”
“No, I’m not having trouble.” He runs a frustrated hand over his face and bounces his good foot. “I just believe in gravity. If I stand, I don’t understand how the bone won’t pierce through.”
“Because you’re not standing on the bone.” Squeezing his hand for confidence, I stand. Stopping in front of him and hip bumping the walker a couple feet to the right, I stare into his eyes and pray I can distract him from the clinic and everything that scares him. “No old-folks walkers for you. Use me instead; hold my hands and come on up.”
“Dee…” His voice quivers the way it did way back in the hospital when I discovered his leg. He’s scared. He’s nervous. For some insane reason, he’s embarrassed. “I dunno if you can hold me.”
“Have I ever let you fall?” I tug his hands gently. A soft reminder. A tender coax. But I will not yank him out of his chair until he’s ready. “I mean, except that one time I let you fall, and that time I tricked you into swimming at the lake, or the time I got you stoned against your will, and that other time I got your boss stoned against his will.” Linc steps back. He removes himself from our personal bubble and allows me to take the lead. “I never let you fall when it’s important.”
His eyes glisten with fear. “Only when it’s funny?”
“Exactly. Come on.” I pull again. “Just stand on your meat leg until you’re comfortable. You’ve done that a million times today, so there’s nothing to worry about. Come on up, give me a kiss, then we’ll work on the rest.”
He shuffles to the edge of his seat and sets his fake foot on the floor. His hands shake so wildly, I have to clutch harder and squeeze. He takes a deep breath and lets it out on a huff. Then another. Then another.
Frowning, I lean in until our eyes meet. “You’re going to gas and pass out. You’re doing it on purpose, aren’t you? You think I won’t stand over your unconscious ass and tell you to get up again?”
His eyes glitter with fear. He’s the bravest man I know, a hero who would step in front of bullets to save someone else. But standing on a fake leg terrifies him.
Or more accurately, falling terrifies him.
“You got me?”
“I swear to all that’s good in this world, I’ve got you. I promise I won’t let you fall. Come on.” I tug his hand again and hold my shit together when he comes with me. Like a powerful bear, he rises, rises, rises, and stands tall over me. His body straightens out, and his chest heaves with nervous energy.
“Good.” I take a single step back, just so I can see his body. I glance down at his legs and nod. “Okay, now use your left. I’m not asking you to walk on it. I’m asking you to just set it on the ground.”
“Deedee…”
Glancing up, I flash my crazy-girl smile. “We should get married for real. Right? I’d love to have a contract that gives me permission to send you insane for the rest of your life. And because you have a tendency to get shot and swim in black lakes in the middle of winter, it’s likely I’ll live longer than you. Doesn’t it feel good knowing death is the only way you could escape me?”
He chuckles and looks down to his feet. Slowly, he lowers the left to the floor, though his knee remains bent. “Maybe we should. I’m kinda attached anyway. You’ve got a nice ass.” He blows out an explosive breath when his foot touches down and his knee clicks in.
I’m so proud of him. So insanely proud of my brave forever man. “How does that feel?”
“Weird.”
“Does it hurt?”
He unlocks his knee, bends it, straightens it, locks it in again. He does it over and over again, and each time, he places a little more weight on the left. “No, it doesn’t hurt.”
“Is there pressure on the bone?”
“No.”
Redundant, Linc stays on the opposite side of his office while I take a single step back. Riley’s hands shake in mine when he sees what I’ve done, but instead of panicking, he studies the floor, his legs, my legs, then he nods.
“Give me one step, Riley. Just one.”
“I…” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I’m not sure I can. I don’t wanna fall.”
“Do you want the walker?” Linc moves in my peripherals as though to fetch the walker. “It’s steel and has four legs. It might make you feel safer.”
Riley shakes his head. “No.”
“You trust me, right?” I squeeze his hands to draw his eyes back to mine. “I’m a jerk, and I tease a lot. I laugh when my friends fall over, and I sing too loud while baking pot brownies. Don’t even get me started on the fact I’m a mom to a tutu wearing pig. But I wouldn’t let you fall. You know that, right?”
“I know.” His eyes drop and his voice cracks, but his shoulders square up, they push back, and his head comes up higher. “Okay.”
“You’re ready.”
His head bobs as he draws in a deep breath. “Don’t let go.”
“Not for one single second. I promise.”
His chest lifts and falls – fast, heavily – and reminds me of the fighters in the gym before they step up to an opponent. He’s oxygenating his body. Preparing for battle. Taking stock of each muscle; his arsenal in war. His hands shake so much, the tremors vibrate right up to my shoulders, but despite his fears, he takes a final deep breath, holds it, leans heavily into my hand, and takes a step forward.
Instead of celebrating his victory, he realizes the lie in my words. He can’t take just one step. He needs two, just to bring his feet back together. The second will be the hardest, because all of his weight will rest on the artificial leg. “Deedee…”
“I will never, ever let you fall. Not for the rest of my life. Come on, show me how badass you are.”
He cheats at first. He shuffles an inch or two closer. He leans into me so heavily, I have to brace myself or risk collapsing inwards. But then his eyes meet mine, and resolve and bravery shine in them.
It’s almost like he’s made a decision to be my hero again. My hero needs to be able to walk. My hero needs to be able to chase down bad guys. So without taking his eyes from mine, he takes that step forward, then with a smile, another, and forces bubbling laughter up my throat.
Like we’re dancing, he takes a step forward, I take a step back. Then another. Then another. We cross the office at an excruciatingly slow pace, but we cross it. Riley crosses it! Our hands stay locked together for the entire lap of the office, and when we get back to where we started, he leans in and delivers that kiss I asked for.
“I’m so fucking proud of you.” I kiss him again, and swallow his panting breath. “I’m so turned on right now.”
He barks out a laugh and tugs me against his chest. I’m not holding him up anymore. He’s holding me as he bends his neck and rests his lips against my ear. “I’m so fucking in love with you, Dee. You’re crazy and wild
, and you’re not supposed to be the right person for me. But here we are, and I wanna marry you so you’re my crazy until the day I die.”
“Okay.” Untangling myself from his arms, I brush my cheek over my shoulder to clean up the mess my leaking eyes have made – damn allergies – take a step back, and study his strong body. When I know he’s ready, I release his hands and practically do a jig when he stands there all on his own. “Now walk to me.” I move back further and further until we’re separated by ten or so feet. “Give me ten steps, and I’ll suck your dick.”
“Dee!” His eyes shoot to a quietly watchful Lincoln. “Can you not announce that shit in here?”
I flash a wicked grin. “Linc promises to step out of his office for ten minutes to give us privacy, don’t you, Linc?”
“Ah… well…”
“But if you give me twenty steps, I’ll marry you.”
Riley’s eyes flash. “Oh, shit. Okay.” Serious, he scans the room and stops on the metal walker. He considers it. Flexes his hands as though they’re already wrapped around the handles. He thinks about it for a long time, locks and unlocks his knee, then shakes his head. “No walker.”
Linc was enjoying watching us. He’s being paid while I’m the one doing the work. But now he’s changed his mind. He jumps forward with wary hands and gestures across the room. “Let’s try it with the parallel bars. You don’t have to touch them, but they’re there, just in case.”
“No, I got it.”
“Mr. Cruz…”
“He’s got it.” I step around Linc and jockey him back a little so nothing stands between me and my man. “Walk to me. Come claim your prize.”
Linc signs his paperwork while Riley and I sit by his desk amid quiet giggles and whispers. Thirty steps. Thirty fucking steps! I think that means wedding bells and a BJ. And I will happily deliver; just as soon as we’re home alone.
“Your prosthetic shouldn’t hurt you, Mr. Cruz. It can and will bring you discomfort. It might annoy you sometimes. It might not always fit right. But if it hurts, you need to come back.” Tossing his pen down and folding the paper he signed, Linc passes it to me to hold. “Wear it when it’s comfortable. Take it off to rest when it’s not. You’ll be back often, so don’t feel like you can’t call me. There is no way for me or Miss. Conner to know it hurts or doesn’t sit right unless you say so. So, speak up.
“You need to continue your physical therapy, though I think Miss. Conner has you covered there. You cannot sprint with this leg, but you can run. Take it slow, give it time, but this leg will gain you a lot of your old mobility back.”
“Can I lift with it?”
“Weights?” Linc’s brow lifts. “You need to make that decision on a case by case basis. A lot of amputees do lift weights; some do it with their leg on, others do it with it off, so it’s a one-legged lift. These legs have a weight limit, so I guess the answer depends on how much you want to lift. Also, if you change shoes, you will probably need to make adjustments to the leg. Dress shoes are much different to sneakers, but the adjustments are quick and easy.”
“I can help with those.” I smile when Riley’s eyes come to mine. “I know how to adjust them.”
He squeezes my hand in thanks.
“Sweat could become a problem for you, especially in the summer. If you sweat too much, the suction might come undone, so be mindful of that. Wash your liners with regular soap, then hang to dry. No harsh chemicals, or it might wear the material away much faster than normal.
“Your whole life, your feet have been bearing your weight. But now your leg will. Your body will need to adjust to that, so don’t get frustrated if you hurt a little. It’s normal, and in fact, expected. If your incision opens at all, or if you rub your residual limb raw, keep the leg off until it heals. Infection is still a concern for you, so don’t push your limits. Other than that…” He stands and offers a hand.
Slowly, Riley and I stand. Riley holds my hand and grunts on the way up, but he comes up and smiles when he’s on two feet.
“You’re free to go, Mr. Cruz. I know you’re in capable hands, so stay strong, be smart and deliberate with your movements. Good luck. I’ll see you again in a few days, no doubt. Or a week at the most.”
20
Riley
Passage
It was late January before I got to stand on my own two feet again, then the weeks zoom by while Andi helps me get used to my reality. Linc wasn’t wrong; I’ve been in his office at least once a week since the first day, and some weeks, two or three times.
It’s not all rainbows and roses. I wasn’t given a leg and now my life magically reverts back to how it was before November. I still use my crutches every single day, and some days, my ass ends back up in my wheelchair. I attend physical therapy sessions most days – some ordered by my doctors, others ordered by Andi. Thankfully, the latter kind are also hosted by Andi, and often, when I impress her, she shows her excitement in ways most PT clients couldn’t even dream about.
My dick isn’t broken anymore.
I don’t know what was wrong with it. I don’t know what fixed it. I suspect it was all psychological and my own insecurities about my missing leg, but Andi and her pot brownies unlocked the door I was shut behind, and now I don’t even have to give my dick a pep talk on the way to the bedroom.
I can handle everything else – my leg, my job, my mom, my relationship – I can take anything on, so long as I get to keep Andi. And she swears she’s sticking, so, I’m working hard to be worthy.
Sex is not the same as before – it’s not as wild, as rough, as spontaneous. I don’t get to pick her up or sweep her off her feet, but having a new leg means I can fuck her against the couch again. They never took my knee, so I can be on top just like I used to be. I can do almost everything I used to, and considering that’s legions better than what I thought I’d be capable of, I’m learning to accept my bitterness at what was taken, and turning it into appreciation for what I still have.
And what I have now is more than I used to have, because now I have Andi.
I’m not sure how we ended up in this odd relationship; I wanted to keep her forever, she left. I asked her to leave, she announced our engagement and started squatting in my home.
Andi has moved in and taken over the master bathroom. Her clothes are in my closet, and her bobby pins leave rust marks on my sink if she leaves them too long and they get wet. Her pig sleeps with my cat every night, and wears tutus three days out of seven.
Andi makes me her Andi special on the weekends, and egg white omelets on weekdays – because she’s a lot more responsible than she lets on, and knows a strong human body cannot live on sugar alone.
She works whatever the hell hours she wants to at the gym, and only around my schedule. Every morning, she works with me, helps me stand, helps me walk, helps me traverse stairs. She had the ramps taken away and burned the moment I showed I could climb the steps, so now when I’m extra tired, I have to sit and drag my ass up; because somehow that’s less humiliating than ramps.
I don’t often leave my house except for trips to Linc’s office, simply because I’m not comfortable with my new leg. I walk around the house fine, but going to the store is a whole other ballgame, and if I slip in aisle three and have to rely on a little old lady to help me stand, I might just kill myself.
I guess I’m not as perfectly adjusted as I’d like to be, but I’m way better than I was just a couple months ago. At least I’m not asking Dee to leave anymore.
I take one day at a time. One step at a time.
And that’s good enough for me, because at least I’m here, at least I’m living. I could’ve been dead. It took me months after discharge from the hospital to realize how close to death I came.
Too fucking close.
Alex has come by the house a couple times in the early months of this year; a few times in January, a few more in February, a couple more in March. He cares about how I’m doing, he asks me to come back to work because h
e doesn’t want to see a good cop down – his words – but each time he’d drive up and I’d catch sight of the cruiser in the driveway, I’d skip-hop toward the couch and sit my bitter ass down.
I don’t want to walk in front of him. I don’t want fake high-fives and pity job offers when we both know he doesn’t actually want me back. I know it. He knows it. And I’m kind enough to keep declining his offers rather than make him work with someone he doesn’t trust.
I was a traitor under his outfit. I was essentially a rat for the Bishop brothers, and though he’s since found out they were cops and not thugs, he still looks at me the way I knew all along he would; he doesn’t trust me.
He asks me back because he figures it’s the right thing to do. He’s conflicted because I went down while on shift, while on his watch, and while standing in front of the women he considers family. But to have me back would be to willingly hire a man to run through doors and protect his six when that guy is capable of – and has – lied to him for months.
There’s no room for that shit in the cop world, and it’s not like I can run anymore, anyway.
“Knock, knock?” Right on schedule, Alex thumps a heavy fist on my front door and kicks his boots against the concrete steps to dislodge any mud he might be carting around. Dee twirls around the house, cleaning up after Nacho, tidying whatever mess I’ve made, cooking my food, and folding my laundry. She whirls down the hall and through the kitchen.
She knows this routine now, but surprisingly, she doesn’t fight me on it. I thought she would. I thought she’d insist I go back to work, because I’m a cop, and that’s what I’m supposed to do. I worked hard to become a cop, and my savings will only last so long; all reasons not to sit on my ass any longer.
No woman wants to support a jobless bum.
But I guess, with her easy disposition about everything else in life, she doesn’t bring it up, she never makes me feel inadequate; I figure she’s going with the same motto she’s always had: it’ll all work out when it’s supposed to.