Chapter 2
TWO
WES
Snowfall could suck my dick.
The gray January sky peeked through my living room window, and all I could feel was dread. Well, dread and the white-hot poker of a limb that was no longer attached to me. With a frustrated breath, I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth.
It was the strangest thing to still be able to feel a limb that was gone.
You didn’t realize how much space a leg took up in your brain until it was gone and still refused to shut the hell up.
The constant foot-asleep feeling dogged me, and even a five-minute break from it would have been a miracle.
An electric zing of phantom pain coursed up my leg until I broke out into a sweat.
When it finally passed, all I wanted to do was roll over on the couch and pull the blanket back over my head. There were weeks where the farthest I traveled was from the couch to the bathroom and back. My whole life, shrunk down to twenty sad-ass steps.
The second I heard the bang on the front door, I knew that plan was fucked. I knew it was him. Nobody else knocked like that—like the building was on fire but he was trying really hard to sound casual about it.
I couldn’t hide. Surely Hayes had seen my truck in the drive, and where the fuck else would I be?
Despite my doctor’s recommendation, just last week, I had fired yet another live-in care nurse.
I hated having a stranger in my space and didn’t need another person walking on eggshells around me.
Hayes had taken it upon himself to slide into that role.
Every careful question, every soft voice, every “How are we feeling today?” made my skin crawl. I didn’t want to be observed for a living. I just wanted to be left the fuck alone.
His fist banged again. “Open up, buddy. I’ve got coffee.”
The tentative tone in his voice grated my nerves.
I pushed myself up to a sitting position and looked down at my missing limb.
Being an above-the-knee amputee was still jarring, even nearly six months later.
My residual limb was covered with a shrinker—the stocking that helped shape what was left of my leg so it would fit into the prosthetic—but I knew beneath it was nothing but a scarred stump.
I swallowed past the rocks in my throat and looked away. I leaned forward to reach for my liner and prosthetic leg so I could answer the door before Hayes let himself in.
A key turned in the lock, and the front door pushed open. “Hey, it’s me.”
Of course he used the key. God forbid I get thirty seconds to strap my leg on without an audience. A frustrated breath pushed out my nose.
All I needed was a fucking minute.
My best friend Hayes let himself in, a sheepish smile plastered on his face. “Morning.”
I grunted in his direction as I hastily attached my leg. We used to greet each other with insults and shit-talking about whatever game had been on the night before. Now it was this—him tiptoeing, me grunting like a feral animal.
I was rushing and the fit wasn’t exactly right, but the faster I could get him out of my hair, the better.
Hayes’s large frame loomed in the doorway as he stared at me, his dark eyebrows pinched down as he looked me over.
I couldn’t read his mind, but the careful way his gaze avoided my amputation told me everything I needed to know.
I almost wished he’d just stare. At least then we’d be looking at the same ugly thing.
He set two coffee cups down on the entryway table and clapped his hands together. “It’s cold as shit out there today.”
I looked at him and nodded. That was what our relationship had become . . . discussions about the weather and him giving me that look. I missed arguing about nothing. Missed him calling me out when I deserved it. Missed feeling like his equal instead of his project.
I steadied myself and went to take a step when Hayes rushed forward. His hand reached out to support my elbow, but I jerked my arm away. “I got it.”
His hands went up in defense at my shitty tone. “Sorry.”
My molars ground together. The look of pity was back and I wanted to scream. “It’s fine. I just didn’t get much sleep last night. I’m in a shit mood.” I walked toward the coffee and accepted the paper cup.
Hayes looked at the mess of blankets on the couch. “Still sleeping down here?”
I glanced at the rumpled sheets and offered a shrug. “Just fell asleep watching TV, that’s all.”
I didn’t love outright lying to my friend, but I also wasn’t going to admit that I hadn’t slept upstairs in my own bedroom since my accident.
Somewhere along the line I’d developed a fear that something would happen and I wouldn’t be able to attach my leg in time to make it downstairs.
The last thing I needed was there to be a house fire or something and get trapped.
Once the thought had taken root, I couldn’t shake it. It sank in deep, wrapped itself around my ribs, and suddenly my own bedroom felt like a death trap instead of a place to sleep.
The coffee was hot, and at least that was something. “How was the wedding?”
Hayes froze. “You didn’t hear?”
Of course I didn’t hear. I don’t leave my fucking house.
I just waited for Hayes to continue. “Clara bolted, man. Five minutes before the ceremony was supposed to start, she and Kit hightailed it out of there.”
My brain unhelpfully supplied an image of Clara Darling in a white dress, running through the snow with her skirt fisted in her hands. I hadn’t seen her in years, but even the memory version of her looked too alive for whatever shit show that wedding must’ve been.
“Damn.” I shook my head. Hayes’s little sister Clara hadn’t really been around since she’d left for college, but I could imagine that whatever had made her run from her own wedding was pretty bad. “Cold feet?”
A pop of laughter erupted from Hayes, but just as quickly he looked down at my missing foot and used a cough to cover it.
I had to stifle an eye roll. I would have loved to let the joke land, but the stricken look on Hayes’s face killed the moment.
That was our new normal—every half-decent joke detouring into a reminder that one of us didn’t have both feet anymore.
“Actually,” he continued, “the wedding still happened. The groom married the best man instead.”
My eyes popped open. “Damn.”
Hayes shrugged. “It’s fucked up. She’s moving in with my parents, but . . . I don’t know how that’s going to work out. Mom’s already smothering her.”
I stared at my friend. Pot, meet kettle.
“You ready to go? PT waits for no man.” Hayes’s eyes glossed over, and his smile thinned in that sad way it had since the accident.
I understood it—the guilt he felt. Hayes had called me when his car broke down on a dark and winding road.
I was helping him out when a driver took a turn too fast, got spooked, and lost control.
My instincts were sharp, and a moment before he hit us, I’d managed to push Hayes out of the way.
I lost my leg, but he’d be dead if I hadn’t been there.
The guilt sat between us like a third person in the truck.
I hadn’t figured out how to shut it up or kick it out.
I only wish he’d go back to being my best friend instead of this mother hen who wouldn’t leave me the fuck alone.
I didn’t shove him out of the way that night just to lose him to his own conscience.
“I need a minute to adjust.” I lowered myself to sitting so I could take my time and reattach my prosthetic properly.
Hayes immediately moved into action, scooping up leftover dishes and empty cups to deposit them into the sink. It was pretty clear that watching me attach my leg still made him deeply uncomfortable.
Everyone in town thought Hayes was cursed with shitty luck, but in reality, I was the one who’d lost his leg.
Go figure.
When I was properly adjusted, I stood again. “Let’s get this over with.”
I had started to walk to get my winter coat from the closet when my eyes landed on a magazine on the console table.
Hayes must have brought it in with him, because I sure as fuck hadn’t put it there.
It was a publication for people living with limb loss.
I stared at the happy faces on the magazine cover—laughing and smiling with one another.
I picked it up and tossed it into the trash.
What a crock of shit.
I didn’t want to join some shiny club of “brave survivors” smiling through the pain. I wanted my old life back. Failing that, I wanted to be left alone with my anger.
Hayes stayed silent as he opened the front door for me.
The cold Michigan wind slapped against my cheeks.
I looked down the porch steps and braced myself.
Had I known I was going to have to navigate those steps with a fresh prosthetic, I would never have built the wraparound porch.
I’d designed this place to be all charm and curb appeal.
Now it felt like a level in some sadistic video game I hadn’t signed up to play.
With a heavy sigh, I gripped the banister and slowly took one step down.
“Careful, man. It’s icy today.” Hayes hovered, not giving me a single inch.
“I’ve got it,” I bit back.
I took another clunky step down and felt the wood beneath my sneaker. Hayes moved in next to me. “Here, let me—”
“I said I’ve got it.” My arm jerked away as he tried to steady me, but the swift movement knocked me off-balance. I stumbled forward, desperately trying to stay upright as I fumbled and grasped the air.
I face-planted in the snow with a grunt, my pride wounded more than anything else, though my back was none too happy about the fall. Snow packed into the collar of my shirt, icy and shocking. My prosthetic twisted at a weird angle, reminding me that even the fake part of me could screw up.
Hayes’s hands immediately went to my waist, trying to haul me up.
Embarrassment and shame heated my cheeks as I fought back a swell of self-pitying tears. “Get the fuck off me! I said I’ve got it. Jesus Christ, man!”