Page 56 of Playing for Keeps (Checkmate 4)

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Riley

Firsts

Everything is goingswimmingly.

Swimmingly!

Fuck those assholes.

My staples have been removed, my leg is the ugliest fucking thing I ever saw in my life, my boss –formerboss – 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 toregularlife now, right?

Staples are out. I’m home alone. I’ve been offered my old job back – but at a desk for alittle 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. Nottheworst, 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 onto 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.

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