by Emilia Finn
“Shut up.” She smacks my thigh. “You didn’t nearly bag him. He told me I was always the one.”
I roll my eyes, but it’s playful. “Ain’t that the truth. He was so stinkin’ in love with you, Meg. There I was, discussing six slice toasters and forevers, and he was off visiting you in his head. But it’s not like I had time to mourn the breakdown of my make-believe marriage, because Riley was prowling that party, staring, and making my tummy tingle.”
Turning to her side, she rests her hands beneath her cheek and studies my eyes. “How are you, Andi? I’ve never seen you so low before. We’re all over here worrying about you.”
I shrug, like her question doesn’t bring a lump to my throat. “I’m okay. I’m not the one that lost my leg.”
“But you kinda are.” She reaches forward and pushes stray hair out of my eyes. “If something like that happened to Marcus, then I’d be in mourning, too. When you’re with someone you truly love, their pain is your pain. His loss is your loss, and his bitterness cuts you.”
“Yeah, well…” I shrug. “I’m bleeding, Meg. He cuts me every day, and I’m dizzy from the blood loss. I’ve been in his home for more than a week, but he only comes out for a minute here and there. Sometimes that minute includes him yelling at me and telling me to fuck off. Other times, he says nothing at all, and somehow that feels worse than the yelling.”
Her brows pull close with concern, but she doesn’t offer the empty platitudes most would. She listens, accepts my pain, and takes my hand.
“He’s at the doctors today to get his staples out. Which, in my mind, is supposed to be an exciting day. Like, I know he’s in pain, and getting them out isn’t the end of this journey – in fact, it’s just the start – but I still felt like it’s an achievement, ya know? I wanted to do that with him, I wanted to be his cheerleader… but he shut me out.”
“Do you know why he’s shutting you out? I mean, there’s gotta be a reason, right? I didn’t shut Marcus out when I was healing after having the baby, and Alex didn’t shut Jules out after he was hurt at work. Mac got hurt last year, but he didn’t shut his mom or friends out. So what’s going on in Riley’s head? What’s the underlying issue?”
I shrug, sniffle, then use my sleeve to swipe over my nose. “We had a fight just before he was hurt. I was mean to him, mentioned how I didn’t want a relationship. I hurt him that night, and now he probably figures my change of mind is out of pity.”
“Well…” She hesitates. “Is it? If he wasn’t hurt, if you never got that call, would you be here right now?”
I study the chain that dangles around Meg’s neck and consider her question. I truly think about it, because it’s not as simple as a shouted “Of course!” If Lindsi never called me, would I be here?
“Yes.” I meet her eyes. “Yes, I’d have come back. The whole time he was in the hospital, before I knew he was hurt, I figured he was ignoring me because I was a jerk. Every night after work, I sat at home and stared at my floor. I called him, time and time again, because I wanted to hear his voice. I wanted to discuss what would happen if maybe I considered moving to town. I was going to discuss a relationship, and tell him how I was scared.” I laugh. “Not just scared – I was terrified – but I was willing to try anyway. I’ve never been in a relationship before, not the kind where I’d need to check in so they don’t worry, or think about their needs above my own, or share a bed and a bathroom and a home with the same person day after day. People annoy me, Meg. They seriously annoy the shit out of me, so I never considered picking one to spend all my time with, but I want to spend my time with him. I want to explore what it would be like to have someone I need to check in with…” Lowering my eyes, I go back to studying her necklace. “I was going to talk to him about career options in this tiny ass town, since I can’t be an unemployed freeloader. I enjoy my independence, but I missed him so much each night that it made me breathless when he wouldn’t take my call.”
I lie on those rubber mats with Meg for more than an hour, stare at her milk boobs, and wish I could go back in time and fix everything I broke.
Every time my thoughts circle back to Riley – which is every three and a half seconds – all I can think is that the mean outbursts he throws in my face aren’t the real him.
Riley Cruz is a momma’s boy, a chicken soup maker, a cat owner, a police officer, and the sweetest man I know when he’s not trying to dominate me in bed.
His meanness is so out of character, I can’t leave. I can’t give up, because deep inside, he’s sweet and caring, and so fucking good it makes my heart swell.
“Alright.” Meg slaps my thigh to bring me back to reality. “It’s nearly time for Chance to eat and nap. Let’s get up.”
Grunting, I climb to my feet and pat my jeans down. “Where is he? You do realize it’s illegal to leave them in the car now, right?”
“Is it really?” Her eyes widen. “Shit! We better move.” Laughing, she takes my hand and pulls me toward the double doors and into the hall. I don’t have to wonder for long if she truly left her baby in the car, because at the end of the hall, Marcus Macchio stands with his sweet baby in his arms, a beanie pulled low over his eyes – Marcus’, not Chance’s – and his green-eyed gaze zeroed in on his one and only.
Marcus has been on daddy duty, and now he’s ready to reunite mom and baby.
I don’t stop to intrude on their family time, I just continue forward and smile when Marcus shoots me a friendly wink. I glance at the cutest little baby, but I don’t touch, I keep moving and head toward the main room where the blue boxing ring lives.
Grunts and swears ring out the way they did when I arrived, but they’re not Ben and Mac, they’re women’s grunts. Smiling, I stop in the group of onlookers and slide my arm in the crook of Ben’s while he watches Kit and Izzy spar. Surprised, Benny glances down, then throws his arm around my shoulders when he recognizes who’s touching.
“Hey, baby.” Pushing up to my tiptoes, I flinch when Kit’s foot swings up fast and slams into Iz’s ribs. “Are they fighting over something serious, or sparring for funsies?”
“Funsies.” He doesn’t take his eyes off them, but his strong body moves and twitches with theirs. “They’re always sparring for funsies.”
I grit my teeth when Izzy comes back with a one-two-three flurry and lifts Kit off her feet. “Don’t they ever get mad at each other? One of them has to lose.”
“Not mad.” He nibbles on his bottom lip and concentrates. Bobby stands outside the ring, shouting instructions to his wife and calling for a roundhouse kick, only for Jimmy to stand on the opposite side and shout about jabs and take her down! Family be damned, they’re going for the win. “It’s just for fun, Aunt Andi. The guys sometimes get mad at each other, but that’s when it’s fun for the rest of us to watch.”
“You ever knock anyone out, baby?”
He grins. “One time. I got Mac by accident.”
I lift a brow. “By accident?”
“Well… we were sparring, so not accident exactly, but I meant to pull it back before he took the whole force.” He chuckles. “He kinda ran into my fist and knocked himself out.”
I think of the somewhat scrawny teen and laugh. “You ever been knocked out?”
“Nah.” His left arm twitches, jabs, lifts higher when Kit slams her fist into Izzy’s ribs. “We’re the new wave of Rollers, Aunt Andi, and I’m kinda awesome. Nobody can take me down.”
“And you’re so humble, too.” Laughing, I pat his stomach, then step out of his hold. “I’m glad I saw you today, babe. I’m only five miles away, but I still miss you like crazy.”
“Nobody’s stopping you from moving your ass back into your room at home.” He scowls. “If you truly loved me, you wouldn’t leave. In fact, I’d even go so far as to say you’re a negligent, bordering on crappy aunt.”
“Oh, shut up.” I smack his ribs and turn in search of Evie and Nacho, but a loud crack, a gasped squeak, and then a floor-rattling boom brings me sp
inning back to the ring as the Rollers mobilize. No longer playing, no one is laughing or heckling, Bobby and Jimmy throw themselves into the ring and surround the girls.
Moving forward with the crowd, my stomach drops at the sight of Kit’s tear-filled eyes and the longest and most colorful stream of expletives I’ve ever heard in my life.
“Baby?” Panicking, Bobby props himself behind his wife and drags hair off her face. “Tell me what I’ve gotta do.”
“Motherfucker-dick-licking-fuck-this-bitch-hurts-somebody-get-me-some-ice.”
“Baby?!”
“My knee popped out.”
“Out?” His face drains. “Out! Put the fuckin’ thing back in, dammit.”
“Don’t touch it!” Kit kicks out when Jimmy tries to straighten her leg. She kicks him square in the chest and shoots him back several feet until he slams into Jack’s legs. Her husband is panicking. Her brother is panicking. And Jimmy’s about to get himself knocked out.
I step forward before this turns to a bloodbath. “Benny? Help me up, baby.”
Leaping onto the boxing ring three or so feet higher than the main floor, he pushes two of the four ropes down with his foot, and lifts the other two with his hand to create a gap to move through. With his spare hand, he pulls me up and doesn’t let go until I’m steady.
I push through the small crowd – Aiden, Jon, Jimmy, Izzy, Jack – and then reach Kit and smile at the tears on her cheeks. “I take no pleasure in your pain, I promise. But it’s kinda cool to see the formidable Kit Kincaid taken down by her much smaller sister-in-law.”
“You jerkoff! She didn’t even do it. It popped out on its own.”
Laughing, I shimmy Jim out of the way and lower to my knees just by her feet. Her bad leg lies bent to the side, so she’s half sitting on her hip, her kneecap clearly sitting an inch or so higher – and an inch too far to the left – than it should be. Chest heaving, sweating, she watches me as I slide my hand along her shin. “I’m gonna help you, okay? Please don’t kick me in the chest.”
“It’s gonna hurt, ain’t it?”
“Yeah.” My palm reaches the side of her knee, forcing her to tense up. “It’ll be quick though, okay? Super duper quick, then we’ll ice it and you’ll be golden.” I turn and look for a volunteer. “Can someone bring us an ice pack? And probably pressure bandages, so we can wrap it nice and tight when we’re done?”
“I got it.” Evie still holds Nacho against her chest, but turning on her heels and swinging her hair about, she darts off toward the kitchen without another word.
“Okay.” I turn back to Kit and grin. Mocking, I tell her, “I’m a professional. You can trust me.”
“Oh, God! Did anyone ever ask Andi what she does for a living?” She swings her gaze up to Bobby. “She’s not a pro, is she?”
He doesn’t think I’m funny at all. “Andi? You gonna bring undue pain to my wife? Because I don’t think I’ll tolerate that.”
“I promise, I got this. I’m an athletic trainer back home. I actually treat loads of shitty knees every week.”
“But are you responsible for popping them back into place?”
Bracing my hands on either side of her knee and preparing to be kicked into next week, I meet Kit’s wary eyes and yank her knee back into place. “Nope. I’m sorry!” I cringe away when her leg flies. She cries out at the sickening snap back into place, her nails scrape the canvas floor, but when the reality fights through her pain, with a heaving chest, her eyes meet mine. “It’s back in?”
“Yup.” I accept the ice pack Evie offers through the ropes, then the half a dozen brand-new bandages she obviously raided the first-aid kit for. Tearing a wide packet open and setting the metal fasteners on the floor beside my leg, I bring my hands back to her knee and slowly move the bandaging around. “It’s in now, but it’s gonna swell like a bitch. Keep it wrapped nice and tight, and maybe talk to someone about getting an MRI. Did this ever happen before?”
Pouting, now that her leg isn’t immediately painful, she leans into Bobby’s chest and shrugs. “Couple times when I was younger.”
“Surgery?”
“Nope. I just wore a brace whenever I trained.”
“Start using it again, or talk to someone about surgery, because your tendons are probably stretched to hell and back.” I bring the bandage lower, wrap a few inches below her knee, then bring it up and cover until the bandage stretches a couple inches above. “Ice it for the next three days. Fifteen minutes on, fifteen minutes off.”
Her eyes widen. “For three days? I don’t have three days to sit on my ass!”
“Seventy-two hours, princess. You may or may not be able to walk on it. Give it a go, but don’t force it. Get a set of crutches,” and just like that, Riley comes back to the forefront of my mind, “and be kind to yourself. For three days, you get to sit on your ass and order people around like the true queen you are.”
15
Riley
Firsts
Everything is going swimmingly.
Swimmingly!
Fuck those assholes.
My staples have been removed, my leg is the ugliest fucking thing I ever saw in my life, my boss – former boss – is still a know it all that thinks everyone must bow down to his orders – fuck him, too – and now I’m home.
Alone.
Because maybe my behavior has finally scared Andi off, and the idea that she packed up and has left my stupid ass in her dust hurts more than the loss of my leg. I’m so fucking bitter, so angry, so over the pitying stares. All I wanted a few hours ago was five minutes alone where no one would feel bad for me, but now that my home is empty but for Ninja’s loud padding as she sprints the hall, I take it all back.
I want five more minutes of Andi’s icy blue eyes studying me, even when she’s pretending to watch the TV. I’d even take her pity if it meant I could pull her into my lap with permission to bury my face in her hair.
But no.
My home is empty. It’s cold, and so fucking clean it makes me sick. My leg is braced again, with fresh bandages wrapped from the end to several inches above my knee, and a note from the doctor saying my nurse visits are done. Kari Macchio might be a friend, but insurance doesn’t pay for more than they need to.
This is the land of the rich, of course.
Standing at my front door on crutches and studying my spotless living room, I drop my head and slowly move forward.
I guess I’m officially back to regular life now, right?
Staples are out. I’m home alone. I’ve been offered my old job back – but at a desk for a little while. No thanks. I have no follow up appointments until the new year. I have no intention of going to my prosthesis appointment on Monday. And my poor sweet mom will spend Christmas alone, because it’s too soon to tell her what happened, and I don’t want to upset her.
It burns me to know she won’t even miss me. She’ll have no clue that I’m absent, so I’ll keep it that way until I’m steadier on my feet… foot. Then I’ll go to her.
So I guess I just… exist.
Moving forward on a long sigh, I drop my keys and wallet onto the kitchen counter and head into the hall. I haven’t showered in more than three weeks. Literally. I’ve survived on wash cloths and a bucket of water. Deodorant clumps on the deodorant, because smelling might be one of the worst things about this whole fucking ordeal. Not the worst, because losing my leg ruined my career and passions, and losing Andi is basically the same thing as losing my life.
But not being able to shower is right up there with the phantom pains and twitching leg in the middle of the night – it fucking sucks.
The guest bedroom door is closed, so I don’t go in. It’s not my space anymore. Nacho’s litter box remains in the hall, which brings me comfort that she might be back. Ninja curls herself around my one good leg and threatens to toss me on my ass, but I can’t bring myself to push her away.
I move along the hall and curse the deep thump-thump-thump of my crutches. Stepping o
nto soft carpet, it’s almost like a coil of anxiety unravels in my stomach and allows me to relax. I don’t know why I let it bother me so much. I’ve been on crutches before. I’ve had sprained ankles, and knee pain during training. But now the crutches have become loathed; though they’re infinitely more tolerable than the wheelchair.
Moving through my room and stopping at the bathroom door, I look toward the shower stall and glower. Andi thought of everything, every possible need I could think of, she took care of it despite the fact I hurt her in the hospital and told her to never come back.
I don’t deserve her.
That’s the truth right down to the core. I’m barely a man, and I don’t deserve her goodness. So I tell her to leave and pray she doesn’t listen.
It’s funny how I’ve dreamt of having a shower for weeks. I dreamt of washing off the stink of hospital and death. I’ve craved cleanliness since I woke in the hospital missing a leg. But now that I have permission, I only stand at the doorway and stare.
I’m scared of slipping.
I’m scared the water will hurt my st–
Say it, Riley. Say the fucking word.
“My stump.” I say it out loud, because with that and the echo of the bathroom, I might be able to accept it easier. My stump. I have a stump. It’s not a whole leg. It’s not a freak of nature.
It’s just a fucking stump.
I’m scared the water will hurt my incision, but I’m more terrified that if I don’t have a shower right now, I might lose my sanity completely.
Moving into the bathroom and stopping by the toilet, I rest my crutches against the wall and lower to the closed lid. The doctor just yanked forty or so metal staples from my skin – a little water won’t do me any harm. Holding onto the handle Andi had installed beside the toilet, I lean forward, unlace my single Nike, and toss it into my room while I ponder what the fuck I’m supposed to do with my odd shoes now. I unzip my coat with shaking hands, and toss it aside, then yank my shirt over my head so I’m sitting in my cold bathroom in sweatpants and a ball of lead sitting low in my gut.
