by Nicky James
My entire drive home, I’d been concerned if anyone had been with Gray to support him. Unlike me, he was a self-pronounced social recluse who only left the house to work, go to the gym, grocery shop, or, when he got desperate enough, to hook up at the local gay bar downtown.
Gray’s hand rubbed subconsciously at the upper part of his right leg, drawing my focus. His tattooed forearms peeked out from where he’d drawn his long-sleeved shirt up to his elbows. A sickening feeling invaded my gut at the reminder of his ink, and I dashed my gaze to the section of the bed where his right leg should have resided. The one that had been equally covered in ink like the rest of him, right down to his ankle.
When he caught me staring, he jerked his hand away and shuffled, arranging the sheet over himself awkwardly, trying to better hide what wasn’t there.
“So, um… you’re home early,” he mumbled. It was a statement, not a question. He glanced at the window before craning his neck to see the clock behind him.
“Why the fuck didn’t you call me? Jesus, I was at an auction in Toronto. You knew that, but I could have left. I didn’t know anything had happened until yesterday when I called the store to check in, and Maria told me. She thought I already knew!”
“How’d she find out?”
“It’s on the news. In the papers. What the fuck, Gray?”
He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his fingers into their sockets. “Great. So it’s all over the news?” He sighed and opened them again, his exhaustion evident. “I didn’t have my phone until this morning. It was at the house, and Mom and Dad met with the insurance inspectors yesterday and grabbed it for me.”
“Hello? What is this?” I picked up the receiver from his bedside hospital phone and waved it around in front of him.
His eyes clouded over as he followed the motion, his mouth drawing into a deep frown as he cut his gaze to his lap. Despair radiated from him in thick waves, and I saw the depths of his pain for the first time since I’d walked in.
“I didn’t know how…” He trailed off, shaking his head.
I wiped at my mouth and shifted in the uncomfortable seat. “Have your parents been here since… since it happened?”
“They flew in the day after I had surgery. The hospital called them.”
“Good. I’m glad they came. I… I should have been here.”
“You didn’t know. I’m sorry. I couldn’t…”
Grayson’s usual spark was absent, and a dreary quiet engulfed us. He grunted and repositioned himself, scratching his leg under the covers.
“Are you in pain? Should I call someone?”
“Please don’t. I’m fine. It’s apparently something I’ll need to learn to live with. Like it isn’t bad enough they cut off my damn leg, but now it’s gonna probably ache for the rest of my life.”
That couldn’t be right. Was it? I’d heard about that phantom limb syndrome or whatever it was called. Something about amputees feeling a ghosting impression of their missing limb, but I didn’t know it pained them.
“Can they do anything for that?”
He shrugged and grimaced, sucking air between his teeth as he clutched his upper thigh so hard his bicep bulged. That wasn’t a small ache. Gray may have been a lot of things, but he wasn’t a wimp. The man was in serious pain.
“So, how was the auction? Find anything worth bringing home?”
Typical Grayson topic change. He’d been doing it for as long as I’d known him. If there was ever anything he didn’t want to discuss, he moved on, and there was no dragging him back until he was ready.
Not wanting to upset him further, I blew out a breath and let the recent knowledge that my best friend had been permanently mangled in a freak accident leave my mind for a time.
I threaded fingers through my thick, too-long curls and grinned as I remembered my recent wins at the auction. “I got some really fucking cool shit. A whole collection of diaphonized animals and reptiles. Eight in total. Killer price, too. The collector was clearing out to make room in his shop.” I ticked off a list on my fingers as I recited, “There’s a rat, a baby monkey, a mouse, a chameleon, two snakes, a kitten, and a turtle.”
Gray’s face scrunched like he’d sucked a lemon. “Kittens and monkeys? Dude, you’re disgusting.”
“You say that now, but wait until you see them. Coolest fucking things ever.”
“You said that about those authentic Jivaro shrunken heads you bought last year, and those were disturbing, not cool.”
“You love them.”
“I don’t. You know why I never go through the front of your shop? That’s why. Your obsession gives me nightmares.”
I chuckled but took no offense. Gray had been telling me the same thing since I opened O’Keefe’s Antiques and Oddities eight years ago. Turned out, I wasn’t the only weirdo out there in the big bad world. There were plenty of people just like me, and my shop saw a lot of traffic, especially from tourists. It was more of a museum-type place where people could tour my unique finds than a store. Although, we did have a gift shop with all kinds of bizarre souvenirs people could purchase.
“You know what else I got that you might find interesting?”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“A taxidermied, cyclops miniature poodle. I’m not shitting you. One fucking eye.” I pointed at my face, squeezing one eye closed for emphasis.
Gray bit back a smile and shook his head. “That will go great with the two-headed calf you’ve got in the Red Room.”
“Thought you avoided going in my shop. Funny how you know what room Hilda is in.”
“It’s been burned into my retinas like everything else. I can’t unsee the things I’ve seen. And stop naming them, for fuck’s sake. That’s even more disturbing.”
Gray’s hand shifted over his upper thigh again, and he dug his fingers into the muscle, his lips pressed tightly as he breathed evenly, yet forcefully, out his nose. My focus was diverted by his pain, and I wished I knew how I could help.
“So, what do the papers say?” he asked with a hint of reluctance.
I scratched my unshaven chin and made a face, worried he wouldn’t like what I had to report. “Basically, high winds and lightning during an early spring storm brought down that grisly tree in your backyard. It landed on the house, weakening the structure and caused two support beams in the basement to collapse. The owner, you—”
“They named me?”
“Oh yeah. Thirty-year-old Grayson Brooks was found three days later with his leg crushed under one of the fallen supports. They say it was believed you had gone to the basement to take shelter from the storm. There was a brief mention at the end of the article that said you were lucky to have survived and that…” I trailed off and waved a hand at his covered leg—or lack thereof—so I wouldn’t have to voice the unmentionable.
Gray sighed and closed his eyes. “Dad said there were reporters here last week looking for an interview, but hospital staff shooed them away. I don’t think they’ve been back. They’ll be sorry if they do. Fuck if I give them an interview or wave my leg at them for pictures.”
“Gray...” I paused, working the limited saliva around my suddenly dry mouth as I searched for a way to ask what I wanted to ask. “Three days?”
He stared unseeing at the spot where his right leg should have ended. There was a concerning emptiness behind his eyes. Jaw tight and fingers always moving over the sore muscle in his thigh, he didn’t respond. When I was about to change the subject because of the uncomfortable weight that had settled in the room, he moved his hand from his leg and drew back the sheet, exposing everything for the first time since I’d walked in.
I didn’t want to look. His gaze didn’t move from that spot on the bed. His face hardened, but he couldn’t hide the tears pooling in his eyes.
“It just…” He swallowed hard enough his Adam’s apple bobbed. “It doesn’t feel real. I keep thinking I’ll wake up and it will all have been some nasty nightmare, you know? When I was stuc
k, I really thought I was going to die. Kinda wish I had.”
He shook his head as his fingers inched lower. I finally found the courage to follow the movement and see the aftermath of the accident with my own eyes. Trembling, Gray touched the thickly wrapped bandage, tracing it as though it was an impossibility, an oddity like the things in my shop. Only this one didn’t fascinate me the way all the others did. Instead, it made me horribly nauseous and incredibly sad for my best friend who was clearly suffering mentally and physically.
My stomach squeezed tight, and my blood chilled, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. I was at a loss for words.
“Lots of people live productive lives with prosthetic limbs, right?” Gray asked, a sliver of hope in his tone.
“Of course they do.” My voice was strained and weak. I wanted to offer more support but everything I could think to say only sounded patronizing.
Gray scowled and whipped the sheet back over his bottom half looking disgusted with himself. His gaze danced around the room, and I knew he was searching for something else to say. Something different. A topic change because he couldn’t handle any more.
Pressing the power button on his phone, he frowned and craned his neck to see the clock behind the bed. Then he rattled his head, mumbled something I couldn’t understand, and met my eyes.
“So. How’s Chrissy?”
I blanked for a moment before realizing who he was talking about.
“Chrissy? Long gone. Like, January gone. Did you forget about the meddling mother incident?”
“Oh, right. That’s not who I meant.” Gray snapped his fingers and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What the fuck was her name? The goth chick you met at that Valentine’s speed dating thing.”
“Ah, Willow. Yeah, long gone, too. I had to draw the line at seances. She was obsessed with getting in touch with century-old serial killers. Too weird for my blood.”
“Didn’t know that was possible. So you’re adrift right now?”
“Meh, kinda. Before I left for the auction, I went out with this girl… Nora? Nova? Something like that.” I shrugged. “Maria’s friend. She was all right. Probably won’t call her again.”
“Considering you don’t even remember her name, I’d say that’s a good call. Clearly, she didn’t leave an impression.”
“Definitely not. Her oral skills were terrifying. I thought I was gonna lose my dick. Too much metal mouth for my liking. Braces and blowjobs don’t go together.” I shuddered, remembering the fear and how hard it’d been getting off when my sole concern was on the safety of my favorite appendage.
Gray smiled, but it was tight and lacking in sympathy. “Yeah, well. Maybe you need to stop bouncing so much. You go through women faster than a college boy goes through a case of beer.”
I didn’t know why he asked about my hookups. For whatever reason, they always seemed to annoy him. I grunted and didn’t offer a response.
“So, did Maria watch the gang while you went away?” he asked, shifting topics yet again.
Maria was my twin. Not genetically. We weren’t related, but she was my equal when it came to weird obsessions. She understood and appreciated my collections and had started working for me two years ago when business had picked up.
“Yeah. She’s a big help.”
“How are the Beatles?”
“Pissed that I left. Maria said Ringo was being an asshole, but let’s be honest, when isn’t he. Dumped his food dish daily, hissed at her, hung from the curtains and scared the shit out of her every time she went to feed them. The bastard even shredded my new box of Captain Crunch cereal. He didn’t even eat it, just tore it apart and left it littered all over the floor. He knows that shit is my favorite. That cat is gonna die one of these days.
“John and Paul sulked apparently and only came out of their little fish castles to eat, and George tattled the minute I got home. It was all ‘Ringo did it,’ ‘Ringo did it,’ ‘Ringo did it.’ He sounded guilty as hell. If that fucking bird wasn’t caged the whole time, I’d have been sure it was him trashing the joint. Some days I wonder if Ringo knows how to open his cage.”
Gray chuckled. “I missed you, man. You are one of a kind. I haven’t smiled since the accident, but leave it to you.”
I laughed with him before a strangling discomfort stole the moment, reminding me why I was at the hospital. Girlfriends, weird, prize-winning finds, and joking aside, Gray was in a bad place, and I knew he would dance around it all day if I let him.
“Listen, I’m so sorry about your leg, man. If there is anything I can do, you know I’m here, right?”
Gray’s smile soured and disappeared. His gaze dropped to his lap. “I’m fine. It’s fine, or it will be. Just need to buck up and get over myself.”
Before I could counter his statement, a rap at the door drew our attention. A solidly build guy entered with a grin, and he clapped his hands together before rubbing them fiercely. I thought he might be a nurse, but I couldn’t be sure. He didn’t wear scrubs, just regular clothes. For a beat, I thought Gray had gone and got himself a boyfriend finally and just hadn’t told me. But that wasn’t the case.
“Grayson, my man. Are you up for some hard work today? I’m gonna get you out of this hospital soon if it kills me.”
I flashed my gaze from the new guy to Gray who was scowling at the clock… Again. “Is it seriously ten o’clock?”
“Afraid so, buddy. How about a trip to the bathroom first? Then, I thought I’d like to see how you manage getting down the hall with the crutches today, since you are hating on that wheelchair, and we’ll get you in a shower. Think you can handle those obstacles on your own? I won’t leave your side. I promise. And… Once we get that out of the way, we’re gonna do a few extra exercises today and get you working toward that temporary prosthesis. How about that?”
The guy’s enthusiasm was too much for me, and based on the blush highlighting Gray’s cheeks, he was thoroughly embarrassed having his inadequacies broken down in front of a friend. I didn’t even think how compromised Gray’s independence was going to be as he learned how to live without half a leg.
“This is my physio guy, Christian,” Gray explained, waving a hand in the man’s direction. “Christian, this is my best friend, Beck.”
“Nice to meet you.” We shook, his grip firm and unyielding, before I turned back to Gray. “I’m gonna head to the shop for a few hours. How about I come back around five and bring food?”
“Sure.” Gray’s heavy sadness returned, and my heart went out to him. I couldn’t even imagine what he was feeling.
Chapter Three
Grayson
It was hard to be proud of myself when I managed to hobble down the hall on crutches and shower without help, especially considering it was something I’d been doing unassisted since I was eight. Never mind that Christian still supervised from the sidelines or double checked that I’d properly waterproofed the bandage over my residual limb. Pushing away my feelings of helplessness, I listened to all his instructions and precautions, knowing soon I’d be on my own.
Back in my room, Christian had our chairs facing while he removed the bandage from my residual limb. “We’re going to go over a few things today that you’ll need to know once you’re home. Basically, a bit of limb care, stretches and strengthening exercises, massage practices, some desensitization and end-bearing exercises which will help with controlling the over-sensitive areas and help your prosthesis fit more comfortably when you get it. Also, we’re going to talk about how to fit and use a shrinker sock. We’ll start off with a lot of low-intensity stuff right now because you aren’t past the four-week mark yet, but as you heal, we’ll increase everything.
“Today, it will be me talking and explaining a lot. I want you to have a solid knowledge and understanding to take home with you. So you’ll hear me repeat myself between now and then. I don’t mean to annoy you or be a broken record, it’s all intended to help.”
I mumbled something akin to a respo
nse as he went on explaining.
With my residual limb uncovered, I glanced away, hating how it looked. It was bad enough with a bandage on, but bare and seeing the harsh line of stitches covering the raised pink incision line was more than I could take.
“These will be coming out probably tomorrow. Looks good.” I took his word for it, pressing my molars together as I stared at the clock, its persistent ticking echoing inside my head louder than I liked.
Christian then performed a tapping exercise over my stitch line. Using both hands, open-palmed, he alternated hands as he pattered back and forth along the wound, not applying a lot of pressure and being mindful of the delicate area. I knew from having seen my leg the day before that it was still inflamed. The tapping, slapping motion surprisingly helped ease a lot of the discomfort, and after a few minutes of his steady rhythmic patters, I decided to watch.
“You try,” Christian said when I caught his eye. “You can do this multiple times a day for a few minutes each time. Start off light and work up to something a little more intense as you can tolerate it. Be mindful of your stitches right now. Feels good, doesn’t it?”
Christian watched and guided me through a number of basic exercises and residual limb care instructions over the following hour. Another man came after a while, showing me a few types of temporary prostheses we would try in the coming weeks. He took measurements and chatted a bit about the differences between temporary and permanent prostheses. Apparently, it would be six or more months before I’d decide on something more permanent. For the time being, I was to use temporary ones while the swelling slowly came down. Over time, with the help of the OT I would see on discharge, I could judge what type I felt worked best for my lifestyle.
Before Christian was ready to part for the day, my parents were hanging at the door, listening in. Like it wasn’t grating enough on my nerves to be in this situation, but knowing my mother was hovering made it ten times worse. It would only encourage her to pamper and coddle me more.
