5. CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER FIVE
We’ve moved to the living room, where Charlie’s clutching her glass of wine for dear life. “So what does ‘more’ mean?” she asks, facing me on the couch. “What does it look like?”
“I don’t know. This is new territory for us.”
She pauses. “Well, like you said the other night, we’re already closer than a lot of married couples. We just don’t have a physical relationship. So maybe we just add that. Not the couple part,” she hurries to clarify. “I’m not pushing that on you.”
I grin. “I didn’t think you were. This is just you and me, thinking out loud.”
We both fall silent, and Tucker’s phrase “friends with benefits” floats through my mind. I wonder if it would sound as tacky out loud as it does in my head.
“I don’t think we should go into this looking for romance,” Charlie blurts.
I look up, startled, as she continues.
“I mean, if we approach this like a dating relationship and things don’t work out, I’m afraid it will feel like a breakup, and I don’t want to lose you. If we keep everything casual and it isn’t working out, it will be easier to change course if there aren’t romantic entanglements.”
I scrutinize her cautiously. “So like... friends with benefits?”
I brace myself for a slap that doesn’t come. Instead, she hesitates. “Kind of. But with my issues –” her voice trails off.
“I’m not pushing you to have sex, Charlie,” I say gently. "I wouldn't do that. You know that, right?"
“I know,” she says, but I hear the doubt in her voice.
Time to come clean.
I take a deep breath. “You aren’t the only one uncomfortable with the thought of sex, Charlie.”
She stares at me like I’ve sprouted another head. “What are you talking about?”
I raise an eyebrow and gesture down at my body. “The missing leg. The scars all over me. I’m not the guy I once was. I’m not comfortable with my body, either.”
She takes my hand, her gaze unwavering. “I don’t see any of that when I look at you, Mark. I only see you.”
I lift her hand to my lips and kiss her knuckles. “That’s one of the million things that makes you incredible.”
She blushes. “Well, if neither one of us is comfortable thinking about sex, that should take the pressure off.”
“There isn’t supposed to be any pressure,” I remind her.
She sighs. “When it comes to a physical relationship, for me, there’s pressure. Not from you,” she adds hastily. “From myself.”
I observe her closely. “Did you feel pressured when we kissed?”
Pink tinges her cheeks. “No. It was actually very… freeing.”
I shrug. “So let’s stick to kissing.”
She thinks for a moment and reddens further, and I know exactly what she’s remembering. My eyes close briefly as I remember her legs around my waist, her soft whimpers driving me wild. I swallow hard.
“We can always add more if it’s something we both want,” I tell her, striving for calm in my voice. “But for now, we leave it at kissing. Does that sound reasonable?”
“It seems weird, discussing this like a business arrangement.”
“We’ve both been miserable because we didn’t discuss things. Hopefully, establishing some loose guidelines will prevent that.”
She’s quiet for a minute. “So kissing.”
I nod, unsure if it’s a statement or a question.
“When?”
I can’t help chuckling. “I don’t know. Let’s keep things relaxed, with the understanding that if we decide to kiss, it’s okay. We’ve merely adjusted our boundaries of what’s acceptable. Kissing isn’t a requirement. We’ll figure this out as we go.”
She grins sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I know I’m being stupid.”
I stop her with one finger on her lips. “The last two weeks have been hell for both of us,” I say quietly. “We took a big step without thinking it through and didn’t know how to handle the fallout. We’re just trying to keep that from happening again. If that means having awkward discussions now, let’s have them, instead of not talking for days or weeks later.”
Charlie studies me, then sets her wineglass down and slides over. She leans against my chest and wraps her arms around me. I hold her close, my face resting on her hair, inhaling her warm scent. I’ve missed this so much. Charlie’s part of me.
The best part of me.
She looks up. “I’m sorry it’s been so rough.”
“Me, too, Baby Girl.” I kiss her forehead. She leans her head on my shoulder, and we stay like that, content to be comfortable in each other’s arms again.
She looks nervous at bedtime. I’m in bed already when she comes in. She goes to the closet and removes the mirror and massage oil. She sets up the mirror and hesitates. “Is it okay for me to rub your thigh again?”
I grin. “It’s fine.” She warms the oil in her hands and begins to massage in firm, even strokes. The sight of her touching me sends my mind wandering, and I struggle to distract myself before my body reacts. I shut my eyes and mentally recite everything I know about osseointegration surgery, ignoring the feel of her hands so close to my groin.
I’m relieved when she moves from my right thigh to my left lower leg. “Is the mirror angle right?”
I glance down to ensure my healthy left leg is reflected where my right lower leg should be and nod. I close my eyes and visualize my missing lower leg being massaged as she kneads my left calf and shin. When I open my eyes to refer to the mirror again, I find Charlie staring intently at my mouth.
I can’t help the smile that forms on my lips. She looks up, flustered at being caught, and drops her eyes, biting her lower lip.
The sight of her biting her lip sends an electric jolt through me. I have a desperate urge to grab her and kiss her senseless. Once again, I’m left struggling to distract myself. Whatever happens between us needs to be on Charlie’s terms. She has to take the lead.
She finishes my massage and returns the mirror to the closet. She washes her hands and climbs into bed, scooting in and pressing her back against my left side as usual, facing the door. “Good night, Big Guy.”
Instead of lying on my back as usual, I curl behind her, draping my arm loosely around her waist, the way I sometimes do after she’s had night terrors. My mouth hovers beneath her ear. “Good night, Baby Girl.”
Charlie freezes, a marble statue in the bed beside me.
I smile, my mouth almost touching her smooth skin. “Relax. I’ve held you while you fell asleep before.”
“I am relaxed,” she lies, and I laugh softly against her neck. This time, she shivers.
“You’re stiff as a board. Do you want me to roll back over?”
“No,” she says, and I can hear her reluctance.
“Good,” I whisper just below her ear, my warm breath caressing her skin. This time when she shivers, she moves her neck against my lips instead of away.
I smile slowly, nuzzling her neck with my stubble, inhaling the coconut scent of her hair. She arches closer as my nuzzling turns to nibbling. Her breath catches and she drops her head back. I press my mouth against the base of her neck, nipping and nuzzling my way back up to her ear. She bites her lip again. That’s my cue.
I slowly pull back and cuddle her warm body, my mouth poised just below her ear without making contact. “Sleep well.”
Frustration and indecision radiate from her. I wait patiently, my breath warming her neck. It feels like forever before she turns toward me.
Her deep green eyes capture me. She bites her lip a third time, and it’s nearly my undoing. My gaze locks with hers. “Did you want something, Charlie?”
She hesitates for the briefest of seconds before raising up on her elbow and leaning forward, sliding her small hand behind my neck and pulling my face to hers. Our kiss is gentle and soft, lips barely brushing lips, until I brace my right arm against the mattress and lean forward to deepen it. She tastes like clover honey, and our lips meet again and again as she presses closer.
She wants more.
She clutches the front of my shirt and I ease her back against the mattress, holding myself above her. I don’t want her to feel trapped.
I slide my tongue across her lips, and they part immediately. I slip inside, exploring her mouth, caressing her tongue with my own. She moans softly, her fingers in my hair, and the sound nearly pushes me over the edge.
God, I want her.
Fiery heat builds rapidly between us. It’s like nothing I’ve experienced with anyone before, an intense blaze that could easily burn out of control. It takes every bit of my willpower to tamp down my desire. I transition back to languid kisses, easing space between our bodies. I pull back, looking into her eyes as I stroke my thumb across her cheek.
“So beautiful,” I murmur.
“You said that when you kissed me the other day,” she says shyly.
“Because it’s true.”
She’s always been beautiful.
Charlie could never not be beautiful to me.
I kiss her again lightly before drawing back and shifting to my side. I curl my arm around her waist and pull her against me.
“Good night, Baby Girl.”
Her tone is tender when she answers. “Good night, Big Guy.”
I sleep well, and when I wake, I’m still in Mark’s arms. It’s amazing the difference twenty-four hours has made.
“Good morning,” he says, his stubbled face nestled against my neck.
His whiskers tickle deliciously. “Mmm. Good morning.”
“Want me to start the coffee?” His lips graze the curve of my shoulder.
What I really want is for him to keep nuzzling, but as I haven’t brushed my teeth yet, I simply nod. He slides off the bed and heads for the kitchen.
When he returns, I’ve brushed my teeth, and he catches me finger-combing my hair.
He smiles. “Leave it. You look beautiful.”
Pffft. I know better. I just saw my reflection.
He stops in front of me, raising a hand to tilt my chin. “Good morning,” he murmurs.
I smile. “You said that already.”
He leans down and kisses me. “Did I do this, too?”
My breath catches. “I’d have remembered that.” He kisses me again, longer this time, his lips firm yet gentle, lingering, tasting, teasing. He leaves me breathless, clutching his shirt.
“Damn, Baby Girl,” he says when he pulls away, his voice gruff.
The effect his touch has on me is surprising, given my plethora of issues. The fact I affect him similarly is utterly inexplicable.
We share a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast with orange wedges. When Mark goes to bed, my mind drifts to last night.
Mark’s confession that he’s not sure he’s comfortable having sex because of his body leaves me speechless. The man is incredible in every way. His scars and injuries don’t even register with me. I’m appalled someone as beautiful as he is can’t truly see himself. He only sees his scars, and he’s convinced they diminish his value.
My brain chimes in with her two cents. The way you only see yours? The way you’re convinced they detract from your worth?
I dismiss that annoying inner voice. That’s different.
I was memorizing his features last night when he caught me staring. He’s so good-looking, he steals my breath. Pale blue eyes framed by too-long-to-be-legal-on-a-man eyelashes, sandy blond hair that curls at the nape of his neck, a strong jawline dusted with soft stubble. And that mouth. God, his mouth. Butterflies spiral through my stomach just thinking about it. I was totally focused on his full lips when he caught me gawking at him.
I pause, remembering. When he stopped nuzzling my neck, I was torn between wishing he’d never started and begging him not to stop. Desire fought with fear as I debated turning to him.
My stomach does somersaults at the memories. Nuzzling. Nibbling. Suckling. Kissing.
And I was aroused almost immediately, my body burning with need.
It’s never been like this, not even before Afghanistan. I’ve never responded so intensely to anyone.
I’m still torn, but things have completely shifted from a mere twelve hours ago, and I don’t even know how it happened. Last night, my conflict was between fear and desire. Now I’m conflicted about the pace of progression.
Because I definitely want things to progress.
Mark’s touch makes me want more, a lot more, and my body longs to say yes – the big yes, the yes I never thought I’d say because the mere thought of sex held such a negative connotation. That’s definitely one for the win column.
But despite my newly-raging libido, my mind is pumping the brakes. Logic says it’s much too soon to even consider such a significant step with someone so important. It’s too risky. Rushing into a kiss left both of us reeling. Racing into sex would be disastrous.
As though he sensed my inner turmoil last night, Mark took control, slowing things down, being cautious when I couldn’t. It reiterates how much I can trust him.
Mark won’t hurt me.
I stay cocooned in my delicious memories all morning, smiling throughout my shower, light housework, and errands – a typical Sunday. I’m unpacking groceries when Mark enters the kitchen. He’s freshly showered, his hair still damp. His shirt hugs his tautly muscled chest and arms, and my mouth goes dry as my eyes linger.
Down, girl.
“How did you sleep?” I ask, hoping my voice doesn’t betray my wayward thoughts.
He smiles slowly. “Very well. I had exceptionally pleasant dreams.” His husky voice sends tingles down my spine, and his eyes fix steadily on mine.
Butterflies whirl in a flurry through my stomach. I like Suggestive Mark very much. “What did you dream about?”
He leans back against the island, moving his left crutch away so he’s only leaning on the right one. “Come here and I’ll show you,” he murmurs.
I’m scarcely in front of him when he hauls me against him, his mouth meeting mine in a kiss that’s instantly explosive, all lips and tongues and heat. My fingers slide into his damp curls and I tug him closer, arching upward, my breasts pressing into his chest.
I know I need to slow down, but damn, I don’t want to. There’s a delicious ache building in me, and I want more. I need more.
I need him.
Mark slows his kisses, gentling them. I nip his lower lip as he moves to pull away, and he chuckles. “We don’t need to rush things,” he says against my mouth as he kisses me again. “I want to enjoy every second of this.”
“I am,” I whisper.
His blue eyes hold mine. “Me too. But I don’t want things to go further than either of us is ready for because we got lost in the moment.”
He’s right, and we both know it. I sigh. He caresses my face and gently kisses me once more before sitting on a barstool and unpacking the canvas bag closest to him.
My phone buzzes on the counter. It’s a text from Lila. “Well??? I’ve tried 2 b patient, but ur KILLING me with this radio silence!”
I send a kiss emoji in response. She answers with several smiling emojis, followed by hearts, champagne glasses, and party hats.
I’ve barely laid the phone back on the counter when she calls. “Do you guys want to come over? We’re taking the four-wheelers up the trail for a picnic. Mark can use Joey’s four-wheeler.” Tucker bought a special ATV utilizing strictly hand controls after his brother’s spinal cord injury left him without the use of his legs.
“Let me check.” I turn to Mark. “Want to ride four-wheelers and go on a picnic?”
“Sounds fun.” Then he frowns. “What about my crutches?”
I smile. “Gotcha covered.” I turn back to the phone. “We’ll be there. What do we need to bring?”
“Just yourselves.”
“Let me put up groceries and we’ll head over.”
Mark finishes unpacking the bags while I put the food away. “I’m going to change into old jeans and a different shirt. Tucker’s like a ten-year-old, splashing through creeks and slinging mud.”
He grins. “I’ll change, too.”
I return with my hair in a ponytail, wearing an ancient pair of soft jeans, a baseball-style shirt, and old running shoes. I’m surprised to see Mark in faded jeans. He’s sitting on the bench, trying to cut off the lower right leg of his pants while wearing them.
I chuckle. “You really should have done that before you put those on.”
He shoots me a crooked grin. “Are you laughing? It’s rude to laugh at cripples.”
I roll my eyes. “Nice try. First of all, the preferred term is ‘amputees’ not ‘cripples’, and second, I’m laughing at your lack of common sense. Do you want some help, or would you prefer to keep mangling them with those dull scissors?”
“I’ve got it.”
I watch him struggle with the thick denim for a few more seconds before I can’t stand it. I pull fabric scissors from a drawer and hand them to him. “At least use these. Otherwise, we’ll be here all afternoon while you hack away.”
He sighs. “Fine. Would you give me a hand?”
“Gladly.” I take the scissors and kneel in front of the bench. “Where did you find these?”
“In my stuff the Army finally shipped. They’re probably ten years old.”
“That’s when they’re just broken in.” I cut his jeans off evenly. “How’s this?”
Disgust flickers briefly across his face. “As long as it covers everything, it’s good.”
I wonder if he’ll ever stop hating his changed body, but say nothing. Instead, I collect a backpack from the hall closet and a zip-top bag from the kitchen.
“What’s that for?”
“Your crutches. They’re held together in the middle with a bolt and a wing nut. So before we ride, we take them apart and put the hardware in this.” I hold up the baggie. “Then we put the disassembled crutches in the backpack and zip them in place.”
“Pretty smart.”
I wink. “That’s me. Pretty and smart.”
“Beautiful and brilliant,” he corrects me, and I can’t contain the stupid grin that spreads across my face.
When we get there, Tucker’s already pulled the four wheelers out. Lila dances out to meet us.
“Where are these magnificent goats you’ve bragged so much about?” Mark says as she hugs him.
She beams. “Come see my girls. Just watch your step. The ground’s uneven and the animals like to leave deposits.”
She leads Mark around the side of the house to the pasture, gushing about her hooved hellraisers that are all named after supermodels. Tucker steps out of the shed and grins knowingly in my direction.
“So…” The word hangs in the air.
I raise one eyebrow but say nothing.
He walks closer, stopping directly in front of me. His big muscled body might seem imposing if we weren’t like siblings. He crosses his arms. “Are you really going to make me ask?”
I blink innocently.
He sighs. “Well? Are you two together now or what?”
I pause, suddenly uncertain how to describe our situation. “It’s complicated,” I finally say. “We’re keeping our options open.”
Tucker stares at me, his dark blue eyes registering confusion. “What does that mean?”
“It means… well, we aren’t dating, but we’re open to things changing.”
He looks at me blankly. “I still don’t know what that means.”
I sigh. “We decided we’re okay with trying more.”
“More what?”
“I don’t know, Tucker,” I say in exasperation. “You know things are hard for me. But we’re willing to explore the possibility of being more than friends.”
“You’re already more than friends,” Tucker scoffs. I start to protest, but he waves me off. “You know it’s true. You guys are as close as Lila and I are, just without the sex.”
I take a deep breath. “I know that. But neither of us wants to screw up what we have.”
He shakes his head. “You two are meant to be together.” He looks down, his eyes softening. “I was with him when you were kidnapped, Charlie. It nearly destroyed him. If we hadn’t found you guys, it would have. Mark loves you with every fiber of his being. Trust me.”
I wrap my arms around his waist, resting my head on his broad chest. “Thanks, Tucker.”
He returns my hug and kisses the top of my head. “You two are meant to be,” he repeats.
Lila and Mark return a short time later. Mark is complaining about one of the goats giving him the cold shoulder. “All the others were friendly, but not that tall skinny one with the long legs. She’s awfully pretentious for a goat.”
Lila winks. “Chele,” she says, and I grin. When Lila named her, we had no idea Tom’s haughty ex-wife – Maya’s mom – was the exotic, mocha-skinned supermodel Chele, but the name perfectly fits the goat’s snooty personality. We’ve never mentioned it to Tom or Maya. Tom would be amused, but Maya might not. Luckily, it’s never come up.
Tucker explains the hand controls for the four-wheeler before Mark climbs on and hands me his crutches. I dismantle them and tuck them in the backpack, then slide behind him. He looks over his shoulder in surprise.
“You’re riding with me?”
I cock my head. “I was planning to.”
“You trust me?”
I snort. “I’ve ridden with you in places way more dangerous than this.”
“Yeah, but not since – I mean – I’ve never used controls like this before.” He stumbles over his words.
He’s nervous. He doesn’t trust himself.
No. He doesn’t trust his changed body not to disappoint him.
Mark has always been a natural at everything he tries, but his changed body has damaged his self-confidence. I hand him a helmet and put mine on, then wrap my arms around his waist. “I trust you. Now shut up and drive.”
Tucker laughs. “You heard the lady. Let’s go.”
Tucker and Lila lead the way up a winding path into the mountains. The trails are little more than deep ruts in some places, but thankfully, it’s dried enough since yesterday’s brief downpour that we don’t get stuck in the mud. Mark is hesitant and tense at first, but after a few minutes, he relaxes. We bounce along for what feels like an hour, splashing through three small streams before finally reaching our destination.
The scenery is spectacular. Sprawling oaks and weeping willows spread their low limbs wide, shading the ground with curtains of green leaves. The summer heat is absent here. Instead, it’s cool and refreshing. A narrow creek babbles quietly in the background. I hop off the back of the four-wheeler, and Mark and I quickly reassemble his crutches while Lila spreads out a blanket and pulls sandwiches and bottled water from her backpack. Tucker and Mark discuss the four-wheeler and how it felt using the hand controls.
It’s a wonderful afternoon. The four of us lie around on the blanket, eating and talking and laughing. It’s relaxing. Serene. Perfect.
At one point, Mark moves closer to me and slips an arm around my waist, drawing me against him, never pausing in his conversation with Tucker. It feels so natural, so right. From my peripheral vision, I see Lila smile.
The sun is starting to dip in the sky when Tucker glances up. “We should head back. Those trails are a bitch in the dark.”
We gather up our things and break down Mark’s crutches once again. “Want to drive on the way back?” he offers.
I shake my head. “I’d rather hold on to you.” Tucker’s chuckle turns quickly to a grunt when Lila elbows his ribs.
It takes longer to get down the trail because the setting sun is blinding, shining directly in our faces. When it finally drops below the ridgeline, shadows obscure the path, making it more difficult to see the dips and ruts. I’m relieved when we arrive back at their house.
Lila hugs me before we leave, leaning close to whisper in my ear. “Details. Tomorrow morning. I’ll bring the coffee.”
I have no doubt that Tucker is muttering something similar to Mark behind me.
Night has fallen when we get home, and Charlie stays beside me as I climb her front steps in the dark. She’s scarcely locked the door when I pull her against me. “I’ve been wanting to do this all afternoon,” I whisper between hot, wet kisses.
“Why didn’t you?”
I move my lips to her neck, my hands low on her lush hips. “I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about me touching you in front of Tucker and Lila.”
She shivers as I nuzzle her ear. Her words are more breathy when she gasps, “You put your arm around me in front of them.”
I graze her jawline with my teeth before nibbling her earlobe. “They’ve seen me with my arm around you plenty of times. They’ve never seen this.”
She turns her head and catches my lower lip in her teeth. “You talk too much.”
I smile and kiss her thoroughly, deeply, until we’re both breathless. I pull away reluctantly, leaning my forehead against hers. Only then do I notice she’s pressed me against the wall, and both of my crutches have tumbled to the floor. She realizes what she’s done in her ardor a split-second later and blushes to her hairline.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, making sure I’m balanced before grabbing my crutches for me.
I catch her by the waist. “I’m not,” I tell her, staring into her gorgeous eyes.
A shy smile flits across her face. “Me neither.”
Both of us are mud-spattered, so she heads upstairs to shower. The bumpy ride down the mountain has my leg throbbing fiercely, something that hasn’t happened in a while. I down a couple of aspirin in my room and hope a hot shower will help.
It doesn’t.
By the time I’m out of the shower, my pain has escalated so much I can scarcely breathe. I wonder if I've damaged something with all the jostling. I don’t bother drying off. I drag on clean shorts and barely make it to the bed.
The agony keeps intensifying. My entire leg feels like it’s on fire.
Long minutes pass before I hear Charlie on the stairs. I’m draped across the bed, rummaging through the bedside table for the pain medication I haven’t needed in months. I spot it and reach for it with shaking hands, but the bottle slips from my fingers and tumbles to the floor. I let loose a string of curses as the door opens.
“What’s wrong?” She’s at my side instantly, her hand on my shoulder.
“My leg.”
Charlie helps me back onto the bed before picking up the bottle. “Phantom pain?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know. It’s my whole damn leg,” I groan. Excruciating pains shoot like fire from where my toes would be if I still had them, all the way to my upper thigh.
I toss back the two pain tablets and muscle relaxer she hands me. She pushes the leg of my shorts all the way up, her touch gentle, her voice soft. “Close your eyes.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and fist my hands in the blanket as waves of pain wash over me, making me nauseous. She places her small hands just above my knee, massaging the length of my quad muscle, slow and deep. She pauses, and when she resumes, her hands are slick with oil. Her fingers glide across my skin as she works in silence. My quad starts to loosen, but the pain continues.
“Roll onto your stomach,” she murmurs several minutes later, and I comply. She oils her palms again and rubs my hamstring with long, measured strokes. My body eventually begins to relax, but I’m not sure if it’s from the massage or the medication.
About fifteen minutes later, Charlie has me roll onto my back again. She nudges my legs apart and kneels between them, pushing both legs of my shorts all the way up.
“I’m wondering if the rough ride on the four-wheeler has agitated the nerves in your leg,” she says, oiling her hands. “I’m going to massage both thighs at the same time to see if it will interrupt the pain loop, sort of like what I do with your lower leg. If that works, we’ll try mirror therapy for the lower part.”
Once again, she starts just above my knees, her hands sliding across my skin before beginning a deep-tissue massage. I groan, and she pulls back.
Please don’t stop touching me. The thought pops unbidden in the forefront of my mind.
“I’m okay,” I mutter. “Keep going.”
“You sure?”
I nod. “I’m alright. It’s helping.”
And it is. Charlie keeps working her magic, and the pain in my right thigh gradually eases. The phantom pain in my nonexistent lower leg has dulled as well, though I can still feel it. She follows the thigh massage with mirror therapy for my missing limb, and after a twenty-minute mirror session, I’m finally pain-free.
“How do you feel?” she eventually asks.
I love the feel of your hands on me.
“You’re incredible.”
She smiles and puts away the mirror, then curls up next to me on the bed. I pull her closer, and she rests her head on my bare chest.
“Thank you,” I whisper, kissing her damp hair and inhaling its coconut scent.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Suggesting the trip. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“There was no way of knowing that would happen. I guess the nerves are still healing.”
“I still feel bad.”
“I’m just glad you have a magic touch.”
She lifts her head and grins. “I could add that to my business cards.”
“I’m not sure you should hand out business cards for a massage with a magic touch,” I tease, and she swats me before laying her head back on my chest. I lace my fingers through hers, my lips on her hair.
Everything about this, about her, about us, feels so… right. So perfect.
The only thing that could make this any better would be if I were the old me. The whole me.
The undamaged me.
I suddenly can’t wait for my osseointegration surgery so I can be normal again.