“Ladies.”
The bed depressed next to me. With one eye opened, I saw Jake. He was a mess. His hair was unruly, thick stubble lined his face, dark circles ringed his eyes, and new veins bulged along his biceps.
He looked terrible, and it crushed me that I hadn’t noticed his suffering, being so caught up in my own tragedy and all. Here was this guy I’d thought I was falling for, and despite my being a total nut, he cared for me. Yes, he was bossy, and swept me up into a whirlwind of a romance, going way overboard by moving me to a new place and buying us a dog.
But he’d made me want to live once. Could he do it again? Could I live a full and happy life like Bess said?
“I’m going to go,” Bess said in a hushed voice. Sweeping her dark hair behind her ear, she pushed off the bed and stood up, her eyes speaking clearly to me. Jake is a good man. She glanced at Jake and nodded before she slipped out of the room.
Jake took her place in the bed. I moved my right leg a little bit, letting the tingles escape. The phantom tingles tickled their way down my missing left leg, and I let them run their course. I knew they weren’t there, but I pretended I was whole for one moment.
“Aly, come back to me, babe.”
Settling in, he kicked off his running shoes and snuggled closer. “Come back to me. I love you.”
I love you?
Trembling, I lifted my hand to touch him but let it fall. He needs you, I told myself. So I lifted my hand again and brought it to Jake’s broad back, then drifted it in slow strokes up and down his spine. “I’m going to try to come back, Jake.”
Somewhere between declaring I wanted to die and falling asleep, I’d decided I wanted to live. I didn’t know if it was what Bess said or my dream that had changed me, but I was ready to live.
“Good,” he said, and snuggled closer.
As I stroked his back, I felt a lump under his shirt and panicked. “What is that?”
“It’s all good, Aly-cat.” He stood abruptly and tugged off his shirt, his movements sending his abs and arms rippling. He turned his back to me and reached over to rip a bandage off his shoulder blade.
I blinked, unsure what I was seeing was real. Tattooed across his shoulder blade was one of those silhouettes of a woman’s legs, except this one had one real leg and one with a prosthetic. It should have been ugly, but it wasn’t. It was very sexy. Red stiletto fuck-me heels adorned each foot, both the real one and the prosthetic, and underneath, Legs was written in a beautiful script.
“You ready to get your new leg, babe?”
Aly
“Shoot!” The bottle fell to the floor, sending bright orange lotion squirting everywhere except where I wanted. Deflated, I slammed my palm into the counter and grabbed my crutches. I let out a defeated sigh as I hobbled over to the stupid bottle, bending over on one foot to grab it, and cursing the fact I didn’t put on my damn prosthetic.
I needed a break from that mechanical hunk of junk. Of course, it was top of the line; I had government-employee health insurance. It still stank; it was ugly and foreign. And it wasn’t me. For God’s sake, all I wanted was to go into the damn bathroom and have some girl time without having to strap on my suit of armor.
With my right leg laid out straight in front of me and my good ole stump there too, I slumped down on the floor and snatched up the bottle. It was the Fourth of July, and I hadn’t spent much time outside so I was pale as a ghost. Was it too much to want to look sexy, seductive even, with an uneven body?
I slathered the hideous self-tanning lotion over my muscles and curves. My right leg had definitely benefited from the grueling workouts; it was toned and firm. My arm muscles flexed as I blended the cream into my fair skin. I was more fit than ever before¸ everywhere but my left leg. My right quad was sculpted, my calf equally as defined. I could have run a million steps with two legs, and they wouldn’t have been this muscular.
I guess one is better than none.
Shoving all of it to the back of my mind, I went back to prettying myself. I’d never been self-conscious before. I used to take care of myself, making health and wellness a priority but not a life mission. Forced to live within a budget in my old life, I’d bought flattering, somewhat sexy professional and casual clothes on sale. Now I lived with a muscle man and was a semi-cripple.
Okay, so I hadn’t shoved my inadequacies as far back as I’d hoped. If I wasn’t so fragile, why did everyone continue to treat me as if I were?
There was a knock on the door, followed by it opening a crack. “Al, you good?”
“Yep,” I squeaked out.
The door opened wider. “Babe? What’re you doing on the floor?”
Proud of myself for holding the tears at bay, I pushed up to one leg and leaned against the counter. “I was putting on some cream. I’m good.”
Jake didn’t waste any time. He stalked across the bathroom tile barefoot and shirtless, his workout shorts hanging low on his waist, and picked me up.
I slapped his back. “Jake! You’re getting self-tanner all over you.”
“So what!”
Tossing me over his shoulder, he walked me over to the couch in the far side of his—our—bedroom. A throw pillow fell to the floor as he set me down.
“Get it,” he commanded Maverick, and the growing puppy gingerly picked up the pillow and brought it to Jake. In addition to a slew of PT people and gym buffs, a dog trainer came twice a week to train Mav to be helpful to me.
It was all too much, but between Bess and Jake, there was no saying “no.” Bess steamrolled over everyone at rehab, demanding the best from every social worker and discharge planner in the place. She knew all kinds of lingo from volunteering with addicts, and she tossed it around like confetti on New Year’s Eve.
“Why are you smearing this shit all over your beautiful skin?” Jake wrinkled his nose and ran a finger down the gross orange color streaked down my leg.
“I’ve barely seen the sun, and now we’re going to a party.”
“Aly-cat,” he growled, and gathered me in his lap.
He put his hands on either side of my face and looked into my eyes. I wondered what he saw; his blue eyes were tortured with equal parts understanding and anger.
“I don’t like this crap all over you. I want you the way you are. You haven’t been outside because you’re training.”
“Rehabbing.”
“No, training for life.” He ran his lips over my jaw, speaking into my ear as he added, “With me.”
He kissed me; not a rough kiss, but tender, like his touch. We’d made love since the accident, and it was always soft and gentle. I’d be on the bottom, propped up on pillows, and Jake would get me off with his fingers before slipping inside me and riding me slowly. He didn’t gather my hands above me anymore, nor did he give me a little spank on the thigh or roughly snag my whole leg and shove it up on his shoulder like he used to. The days of Jake needing to be in charge were gone.
“Stop!” I blurted, creating distance from his lips brushing across mine.
He pulled back his head and raised an eyebrow.
“Stop,” I whispered. “Please, take me off your lap.”
Afraid of me—as usual—Jake set me down on the couch and walked to the bed. “What’s wrong?” He sat on the edge of the comforter, his bare feet restless on the hardwood in front of him.
“You can’t keep treating me like I’m a piece of fine china,” I said, and he swallowed and ran his hand over his forehead. “You don’t want me the way you used to want me, and I don’t want to be some guilty project for you so you can feel whole. I know I don’t look like a real woman, but I am one.”
“Fuck me!” He stood and punched the wall. Plaster spilled onto the floor, sending dust particles afloat in the still air.