Dad had started to sober up a little, but it didn’t help. He was starting to panic, yanking his neck backward and forward. “Gabi! Where are you?”
“Dad, stop it, keep still. You’re going to make the area swell, and it’ll be even harder to free you.”
I used the soap first, wrinkling my nose as I tried to smear it between the bars and his skin. “Christ, I can’t believe I’m even doing this,” I muttered.
When he didn’t budge, I tried the oil and then the detergent. I was making one hell of a mess, but I was getting desperate.
I attempted to move him again, taking his head in both hands now, and angling it in different directions, but my leg was starting to hurt, and I wasn’t able to put enough strength behind what I was doing, or get the angle right.
“Ah, Gabi, you’re hurting me.”
“Well, what the hell were you thinking?” I snapped.
“I dropped my keys and I was trying to reach them.”
“What with? Your mouth?”
This was insane. I couldn’t do this on my own. I simply wasn’t strong enough, or able bodied enough. I couldn’t call the emergency services; it would kill him. But I didn’t trust anyone else.
My mind went to the little slip of paper on my bedside table and my stomach flipped. Cole would help me, and he knew how to keep his mouth shut. Did I dare call him? The thought of doing so deeply embarrassed me—I hated he would learn my secret about my father this way, even though most of the town already knew why he’d been dismissed from his job. But I didn’t have any choice. I didn’t know anyone else in town strong enough physically to be able to help. And I hated to admit it, but part of me desperately wanted to be in his company again.
I touched my father on the shoulder. “I need to get help. It’ll be okay.”
“No, Gabi.” He started sobbing. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
“I won’t be long. Just try to keep still.”
I didn’t have any option but to leave him. I raced into the house, as much as my leg would allow me to race, and went upstairs to my bedroom. Cole’s number was right where I left it, and my heart thudded hard as I picked up my cell and dialed his number. My mouth had run dry from the adrenaline of finding my dad in such a way, and now calling Cole had only made things worse. I listened to the rings, my lips sticking to my teeth, my tongue to the roof of my mouth. Last night’s glass of water still sat, untouched, on my bedside table, so I picked it up and took a gulp.
He wasn’t going to answer, and what would I do then?
But then he picked up. “Hello?”
He sounded out of breath.
“Cole, it’s Gabi.”
“Gabi?” His tone brightened. “Hey, Gabi. It’s so good to hear from you. Sorry I almost missed your call, I was out running.”
“You were running?” I almost forgot my poor father as the surge of a combination of hope and jealousy rose up inside me. I missed the sport with a physical pang, almost like the loss of a loved one, though I hoped I’d get back to it one day.
“So, what’s up?” he asked me.
“Actually, I’m sorry to dump this on you, but I need your help. Can you come over to my dad’s house?”
“Sure. What’s going on?”
“Honestly, it’s kind of hard to explain. Can you come over quickly?”
“I’m on my way.”
“Thank you, Cole.”
I went back out to the yard, and waited for Cole beside my dad, listening out for the sound of the door, or a car pulling up. My dad slipped in and out of consciousness, or perhaps it was sleep. I wasn’t sure I knew the difference. I sat with my hand on his back, worrying I’d done the right thing by calling Cole. What if my dad was badly injured and I should have called an ambulance?
A figure walked out of my back door, still sweaty from his run, his t-shirt molded to his torso, his blond hair a shade darker.
Cole.
“Hey, I knocked but no one answered, so I let myself in. Hope that’s okay?”
I forgot he knew his way around this house almost as well as I did. He caught sight of the person half lying, half crouched on the ground beside me, and a couple of lines appeared between his brows. “What …?”
I had no choice but to explain. “My dad’s drunk and somehow he’s managed to get his neck stuck between the bars. I don’t have the strength to get him out myself. I need your help.”
He didn’t ask any more questions—and I was reminded of how that was something I’d always loved about him, that he’d never pressed me into revealing anything to him I hadn’t wanted to—and came toward me at a jog. When he reached me and my dad, he crouched as well, frowning slightly as he studied the scene.
My dad made a noise and tried to pull out of the bars again.
“Hey, Mr. Weston. It’s Cole Devonport.” He spoke slowly and calmly. “I’m going to get you out of there, okay?”
Utter thankfulness that he was here to help swelled inside me. I had no idea what I would be doing if he wasn’t. The sudden urge to fling my arms around him and give him a hug took hold of me, so I bunched my fists and pressed my arms to my sides to stop myself.
This is Cole, I reminded myself. He hurt you so badly you changed your entire life course. This is not a man you want to hug.
Cole’s gaze landed on the bottles of various liquids which I’d brought from the kitchen. “Which of these have you tried?”
“All of them,” I admitted. “But I couldn’t get a hold of him enough to try to work him out again. My movement’s kind of restricted with my leg.”
“Sure.”
Cole reached through the bars, one hand either side of my dad. Gradually, he manipulated my dad’s drunk, dead-weight head to the correct angle. “This is probably going to hurt your ears a little, Mr. Weston,” he warned.
My dad gave a gurgled grunt as answer, but at least he was conscious. “When I push, I’m going to need you to pull back. Can you do that, sir?”
“I can do it,” came his slurred, anger-filled answer.
Cole didn’t appear perturbed. “Okay, ready. One, two, three …”
I wished I could help more, but instead stood by, every muscle in my body tensed, wincing as Cole worked my dad’s head back through the bars, and my dad pulled back on him like a cow trying to get out of its milking equipment. For a moment, I didn’t think it was going to work, but then he popped free and fell backward onto his ass in the dirt.
“Oh, thank God,” I breathed, so relieved this horrible, embarrassing incident was over. “Dad, can you walk?”
“It’s okay,” said Cole. “I’ve got him.”
I smiled. “Thanks, Cole.”
Deciding I didn’t want to leave the collection of soap and oil bottles around my back yard—yet another thing for the neighbors to gossip about—I stepped toward them. The heel of my prosthetic limb hit an oil patch, and before I could even yelp my shock, the ground vanished from under me. I felt the twist on my leg as the sleeve attached to my stump wrenched in the opposite direction to my actual limb. My knees hit the floor with a bone jarring smack, my teeth clacking together, and I cried out, partly in pain and partly in shock. Cole reached for me, but he had his hands full with my dad. I squeezed my eyes shut, remaining on my hands and knees, biting the inside of my lip to stop myself crying out. The intense brightness of the pain softened to a throb, and I was able to open my eyes and reconnect with the outside world.
Cole stared at me. “Shit, Gabi. Are you all right?”
I nodded briskly. Not only was the fall painful, it was also embarrassing. Like father like daughter. “Yes, just get my dad inside.”
His gaze flicked between me and the house, clearly debating in his head if he should dump my dad and help me instead.
“Please, Cole,” I insisted.
He exhaled a sigh through his nose and hoisted my dad higher on his shoulder. My dad muttered something unintelligible.
“I’ll be right back,” Cole said.
&nbs
p; I forced a smile. “I’m fine.”
Even so, I waited for him to return before I attempted to stand again. I couldn’t risk going over in all the slippery liquids on the ground again.
Cole ran back to me. “I put your dad on the couch. He’s snoring.”
I rolled my eyes. “Typical.”
He crouched beside me and put my arm around my waist. “Can you walk at all?”
“I think so.”
He hesitated, and then said, “Screw it.” His other arm reached beneath my legs, and before I had a chance to argue with him, he lifted me up, cradled against his chest. “Cole, I can walk!” I protested, though honestly in that moment, I wasn’t completely sure I could. I wasn’t averse to dragging myself across the ground, though. It wouldn’t have been the first time.
“Stop talking, Gabi,” he told me.
I opened my mouth to protest some more, and then shut it again. Being carried by Cole, feeling his big, strong biceps bunched up beneath my body, was certainly preferable. His body felt completely different than how I remembered. Though he’d always been strong, back then he’d been lean and wiry. Now he was physically bigger, his shoulders and chest thick with muscle. From my position, I could see more tattoos crawling up from beneath the neckline of his shirt and up the back of his neck. The thought of seeing what Cole looked like now with no shirt on suddenly flashed into my head.
It was just curiosity, I told myself. It didn’t mean anything. I just wanted to compare what he looked like now to the body I had known off by heart as a teenager. I told myself this, but it didn’t stop my heart from fluttering and set my insides squirming.
He carried me into the house and set me down on the seat of one of the chairs at the kitchen table.
“Thanks,” I said, and tried not to miss the feel of his body against mine. “Do you think my dad is all right?”
Cole gestured with his head. “Yeah, he’s still asleep in the other room.”
I wrinkled my nose. “How does his neck look?”
“Pretty sore and bruised, but he’ll survive. What the hell was he doing?”
I sighed and shook my head. “He said he was looking for his keys, but who the hell knows. He might as well have been searching for fairies, he was so out of it.”
Cole frowned. “Does he get like that often?”
I hated talking to Cole about this. Even when we’d been teenagers I’d done my best to hide my dad’s drinking, almost even more than he had. Since my dad had been fired, I figured there wasn’t much point in making a secret of it anymore.
“Too often for my liking,” I admitted.
“Jesus. I’m sorry, Gabi. Like you don’t have enough to deal with.”
I sighed and ran my hand over my face. “Yeah, my life’s just a fucking bed of roses right now.”
“I know the feeling.”
No, I wanted to say. You asked for what happened to you, or at least a large portion of it. I never asked for any of this. You can carry on and live a normal life, but I’m stuck with my disability forever.
He must have noticed my silence. “What’s wrong?”
I didn’t want to throw a whole heap of accusations at him now, especially not after he’d just helped me. Plus I carried my own guilt about what had happened back then, and I didn’t want to bring it all up again. I was still bitter from the past, there was no doubt about it, but what I hadn’t realized was that I was also bitter about the future.
“I have an appointment to get my new leg in a couple of days,” I said instead, “but my doctor is never going to fit it with an injury.”
“It might be better by then,” he suggested.
I shook my head. “Even if it’s the slightest scrape, he won’t allow me to even wear my old prosthetic, never mind fit me for a new one. The risk of infection is too high, and if there’s swelling, it won’t even fit.”
“When is it?”
“Eleven on Friday morning.”
Cole frowned. “I’m supposed to be working the lunch shift, but I’ll get it changed.”
“Why would you do that?”
“So I can take you, of course.”
I shook my head. “I don’t need you coming with me, Cole.”
“It doesn’t have to be a need. Sometimes you’re just allowed to just want something.”
I let his words sink in. I hadn’t allowed myself to want anything in a very long time.
Cole walked over to our refrigerator and pulled open the freezer section, and started hunting through it.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for ice to help with any swelling, and then I’m taking you upstairs and making sure you’re comfortable before I leave you again.”
Leave you again. I tried not to read too much into his words.
“You don’t need to, Cole. You did everything I asked.”
“I’m not leaving you here like this.” He paused and pulled out a cool pack I’d kept in there for exactly this kind of swelling. “Ah-ha. Here we go. Right, now I’m going to carry you upstairs. I assume you’re still in the same bedroom?”
I nodded, my cheeks heating from the memories of all the times we spent in that bedroom. There was nothing quite like that passion of a first love, of exploring each other’s bodies, and for me, my sexuality for the first time. We hadn’t been able to get enough of each other back then. I wondered if he was thinking the same thing, or had the fact I was now an invalid put any kind of thought like that from his mind.
As though we were a newly married couple, Cole scooped me back up, and then balancing me on one knee, he reached out, picked up the cool pack, and dropped it onto my stomach.
I squealed and snatched it back off again. “Hey, that was cruel!”
He laughed, his eyes creasing at the corners in a way they hadn’t when he was eighteen. “Sorry, couldn’t resist.”
I caught him staring at me, and my heart flipped. “I thought you were taking me upstairs.” Why did everything I say make me think of him in that way?
He grinned. “Of course.”
With me clutching the cool pack in one hand, the other hand around his tattooed neck, he carried me up the stairs to the bedroom. I tried not to focus too much on the soft hairs at his nape and the warmth of his skin beneath my fingers. He pushed open the door and placed me carefully on the bed.
“Wow, this place doesn’t look any different.”
I kept feeling as though we were slipping through cracks in time, brief flashes of how things had been all those years ago. Then I’d be back in the present with a sickening jolt, remembering how things were now, and how they would never go back to the way they’d been. Ever.
He stood back, his hands on his hips. “Right. Tell me exactly what you need.”
“I’m fine, Cole, thank you. I might have lost my leg, but I can still take care of myself.”
The truth was, I needed to remove my leg and see what the damage was, but I had no intention of doing so in front of Cole. The process was ungainly and embarrassing, and I wasn’t about to show him what my stump looked like, especially not if it was swollen and possibly scraped up, which I suspected it was.
“Can you just check on my dad again on the way out?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks, Cole.”
He gave a regretful smile. “Any time.” He looked like he was hesitating, considering something, but then he turned and left.
Unexpected tears filled my eyes, my heart clenching. No, no, no. I couldn’t still have feelings for Cole Devonport. There would only ever be heartbreak in store for me if I allowed myself to go down that route. The feelings would never be reciprocated, and even if I allowed myself to believe for a moment that they were, there was nothing to stop him screwing everything up all over again.
***
I lay in bed that night, trying not to worry about my appointment. Wrenching my stump today might set me back weeks, and I could even end up back in a wheelchair, temporarily, at least.
W
ould Cole really come to drive me? It would mean he’d see my stump, and the thought filled me with anxiety. No, if he did turn up to take me, he would just wait outside. There was no reason for him to come into the office with me.
My phantom limb sensation was driving me crazy. I knew it was partly because of my anxious state that it was worse tonight, my brain sparking off too many nerve endings and trying to communicate with a limb that no longer existed, but that didn’t mean I could stop it. As I lay in bed, I had the horrible feeling I still had my leg, but instead of laying flat in a normal position, it felt as though it was bent at the knee, and my leg and foot were hanging through a hole in the mattress. I’d experienced the sensation plenty of times before, but it didn’t make it any less unnerving or distressing. I tried to shift onto my side, but now it felt as though the leg would have been bent at an unnatural angle. Even though I knew the limb wasn’t even there, never mind bent weirdly, I couldn’t get the thought out of my head and my heartrate increased, panic clutching my chest. If I continued to lie there, I’d end up with a full-blown panic attack—something that I’d started to get a handle on in recent months. I needed to distract myself, and that meant giving up on sleep.
I should probably go downstairs to check on my dad. His neck was most likely swollen and bruised from getting it stuck in the gate—my mind still boggled at how he’d managed to get himself in that situation—and I hoped it wouldn’t swell enough to affect his breathing in any way.
Sudden bitterness rose inside me. I shouldn’t be worrying about him right now. He should be here, taking care of me. I hated how selfish his addiction to drink had made him. He didn’t even know I had taken a fall, never mind actually care if I was hurt. If it wasn’t for him and his stupidity, I would never have slipped in the first place.
Anger filled me. Next time, I’d leave him out there. I’d let the neighbors see, and I’d call the emergency services.
I was done protecting him.
Chapter Fourteen
Cole - Eleven Years Earlier
No Second Chances Page 8
