Page 104 of Shattered

“Neela,” Sunshine says. “It was my idea, and I picked most of the designs, but she made it happen. If it’s too emotional for you, we can take it down. We wanted to do some kind of memorial for Bane and Jared.”

I don’t know where to begin. Finally, I turn my head, my eyes meeting hers, blurred with tears. I grab her arm, squeezing it meaningfully.

“It’s perfect.”

She steps up to the wall where her designs are, running her hands over them. They’re so well done that they blend right in with the others on the wall, mine and Bane’s.

“She wasn’t supposed to put these up,” she says in confusion.

“I’m glad she did. You’re a tattoo artist now.”

She brightens as I approach and lowers herself right into my lap on my good leg, a position we’ve mastered now. There, she wraps her arms around my neck and leans in. My eyes close as our lips meet.

Before I met Lila, I didn’t know what love was. Now I do. Love is terrifying, fragile, and the best thing I’ve ever felt. Love is what makes everything else feel insignificant.

I think, when it comes to life, love is the entire point.

Asher

When my leg was injured in that motorcycle accident, I was so panicked, afraid that nothing would be the same. I let that fear consume me, and it ended up being my downfall. My life was fueled with anger and fear.

Now, everything’s changed.

Almost losing Lila eclipsed any other fear or anger I was holding on to. It changed everything. But the after? It’s what glued us both back together.

We became a unit. She was my legs, and I was her backbone. Every bit of anger and malice we had for each other before was written over with support and understanding.

We got through it. Together.

I’m washing Lila’s hair in the salad bowl. While her body is fully healed, including her chest, and she’s come far enough to be able totake showers from the neck down, water on her head is still a huge trigger for her. So every time she needs her hair washed, I fill a big salad bowl with cool water, and we do it together. I talk to her the whole time to keep her grounded, and she says it helps.

I actually enjoy doing her hair. At first, when Macy taught me how to braid her hair, it was out of necessity. Her body was so spent that for her to try to hold her arms up long enough to do anything with her hair was just not feasible, not to mention her shattered mental state. It’s turned into a routine of me washing, blow drying, and doing her hair, and now, minus the hair washing, she loves it. She says it makes her feel cared for.

And she is. She always is.

I’ve mastered several different hairstyles on her, but today, she wanted a crown braid, the one I’m best at. Once it’s done, she heads upstairs to get dressed.

I follow her up shortly after, using my cane to get me to the stair lift we had installed a couple of months ago. It’s a chair on a track along the wall that folds down. I can sit down on it, hit a button, and it carries me up the stairs, removing my biggest headache of getting around in this house.

With the right attitude, a bum leg isn’t a life sentence; it’s just a different way to live. Once I got past my stubborn ego, everything became easier.

I’m wearing the same suit I borrowed from Gareth. Walking into the bedroom, I find my beautiful girl adorned in a sweet yellow dress. It’s floor length and has no straps other than the thin loop that holds it up around her neck, covering her entire chest. She’s been wearing lots of clothing that make it hard to ogle her tiny tits, andwhile I completely understand she wants to hide her mangled chest, I can’t wait to redo her tattoo so she won’t feel like she has to hide anymore. It’s not going to be perfect, and it may not even be possible, but she wants to try once her skin is fully healed, and I completely understand why. She loved that tiger, and she wants to take back whatever she can that the brothers stole from her.

“Yellow? Seriously?” It’s taken some time, but much of our original banter has returned. A fly on the wall would think we hate each other, but it’s the farthest thing from the truth. We just love pushing each other’s buttons.

She grins. “Anything to piss you off.”

It’s easier to get dressed now. I have a chair I sit in, and I get my legs into my pants and boxers. From there, I’ll get my shirt on, and when I use my cane to stand up, I lean on my good side and put everything into place. I still don’t know how to tie a tie, and I feel pretty fucking stupid about it. So, instead of spending twenty minutes fighting it, I put the rest of my suit on and drape it over my shoulders before walking over to Lila with a pleading expression.

“Don’t look at me. I’ve never worn a tie,” she laughs.

We arrive at Turner’s and pull in just behind Edgar and Nash. I open the door before they can rush inside, hollering for help.

“Ed, Nash, help!”

They turn just as Lila and I step out of the car. Nash chuckles, approaching me with amusement. He has my tie done up before I have time to blink.

“Nash, show him how,” Edgar says with an amused smirk.

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