61. Bionic Limbs
bionic limbs
Mirren
“Ugh.”
Two days post surgery and the nerve block is wearing off. I remember this part. I hate this part. Everything around my knee is tingly, like the warming up after the dentist’s numbing wears off. It’s the worst pins and needles mostly because I can’t control it, can’t touch it. Can’t fix it.
Mom and Dad worked their magic, and we were home the night of the surgery. I didn’t ask how. And I don’t really care. I wanted my apartment and my bed and to be away from the scene of the crime.
Well, two out of three isn’t bad. The bed thing is a bummer, but I know the drill. A few more days—yes, I’m lying to myself—and I’ll be where I belong, pressed into Strider’s side.
In the meantime, he’s camped out on the sofa while I’m in the big chair they brought in.
My apartment doesn’t have room for this monstrosity, but the alternative was to dump my bookings at the cottage.
Or, of course, stay with my parents. That was a no go, not because I don’t love them, not because we don’t have the system down pat.
It wasn’t two years ago when we did it last…
It really boiled down to how Strider might feel moving into my parents’ house for a handful of weeks. He said he’d do it. I know he would have. But I wanted us time, and this is what we came to.
“What do you need, baby?” His voice is cautious and kind.
“A leg that doesn’t feel like ants are crawling on it with no way to scratch?”
He adjusts his glasses and tilts his head. “I’m fresh out of bionic limbs. Any other ideas?”
I’d stamp my foot if I could. “No.” It’s a whine, but he knows the deal.
“Can I refill your water?”
I shake the cup, splashing droplets onto the floor. “If I drink the water, I have to pee. That requires moving.”
“Can I make you something to eat?”
Same result, different… avenue. I shake my head.
“Can I interest you in diamonds and platinum?”
What? My face must convey my utter shock as I hold his gaze.
Strider, in those sexy as fuck glasses, slides a velvet box from his pocket, drops to one knee, and lifts the lid.
“You already agreed. But I don’t like the idea that you didn’t get to choose.
So, Mirren Jones, will you accept this ring as a sign of my devotion to you and promise to be by my side for as long as we both shall live?
” His words get faster and faster as he goes through his question.
It hints at nerves which is the first time I’ve seen them on him. He’s always been so self-assured.
I lean forward, around my awkward knee, and take his face in both of my hands. “Yes.” And I kiss the man who’s my forever.
He plucks the delicate band from its pillow and takes my left hand, sliding it home.
I squeeze his wrist and smile, unable to stop staring at it.
It’s not something I’d ever have picked, but it’s absolutely perfect.
An oval diamond, inset in the band sideways, with twisted filigree and smaller diamonds all the way around.
It’s oddly light for as big as it is and how sparkly the rainbows are that catch the light.
“It’s… I’m… Wow.”
“That’s damn near a direct quote from the first time I slid into you.” He stands and lifts his hands to bounce them like scales. “Are you fucking with me? Wow. So similar. It’s hard to tell the difference.”
“That’s not what I said the first time we were together.”
“Not the first time I touched you or ate you, but yeah. It’s rather burned on my brain. I knew I’d met my match, and I hadn’t even gotten to come.”
“I never expected my husband-to-be to say he’d ‘met his match’ with me.” I nod and purse my lips. “But I’ll take it. I like that challenging you is your expectation.” I allow the wicked grin to form on my face.
It’s met with one of his own. “It doesn’t have to be on everything, but I don’t mind the tussle, so long as you end up underneath me.”
“I like being on top.”
“There’s the woman I love.” He saunters down the hall and returns, his water refilled. “Drink up, Freckles. Your body needs all the help it can get to recover.”
He seems to be doing the same, whether in sympathy or solidarity, I don’t know.
“After my nap,” I offer quietly.
Strider
She sleeps.
And I take another God-forsaken pill.
The blood transfusion I got in Austin was probably a life-saver.
The same for the platelet infusion. I can thank Jamie for that one.
Between those and the prednisone, I should be okay.
I’m watching every symptom I know and am prepared to head to the doctor at any given moment if something feels off.
In the meantime, this is a typical, run-of-the-mill flare-up. I hate that I even know that, but I do.
I managed to get away with everything without Mirren noticing. Not that I’m trying to get away with it. But she has enough stress as it is. Major surgery is plenty. The pending meeting at the agency actively weighs on her mind. The holidays around the corner add to that too.
I’ll tell her. Of course, I’ll tell her, but I want her recovery to be as easy as it can be. Surgery twice in two years is two times too many.
Besides, Jamie knows and is checking in. Speaking of checking in…
Hey, Mom. Texting because Mirren is sleeping. She had surgery to repair a knee.
How much can I say here? Ugh!
Mom
June already let me know. How’s she doing?
That’s the last thing I expected to hear.
You talked to June?
While you were at the hospital. She wanted to introduce herself. She sounded dead on her feet but was sweet.
June Jones is not sweet.
Glad you both connected.
June doesn’t know. But I’m in a flare.
My phone rings, and I silence it and head down the hall on quiet feet.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Strider.” My name is love and pity on her tongue. There’s a pause before she rushes on. “Are you okay? Do you have what you need? A good doctor? Are you getting rest?”
“I’m fine. I just wanted you to know. I don’t know why I always feel the need to tell you.”
“You can always tell me anything.”
Like I’m engaged, and my fiancée is an honest to God spy? Yeah, that’s a no.
“I know. I’m watching everything. I’m on the right track.”
“That’s good to hear.” Her sigh is relief not exasperation.
“Oh, and we had some excitement too. Aaron Fitzgibbons’s home was raided the day before yesterday.
Like they do on TV. They swarmed in and came out with boxes upon boxes and then taped it up with that yellow crime scene plastic.
Gene Clasky called Dad. You remember Gene? ”
“I’ve been gone for five minutes, Mom.”
She may not have meant to land the barb, but she did and she did it well.
“Well, he called Jim and said he heard that the boy was into some bad stuff.”
“That’s not like him to tell Dad about a case.” I’m fishing, but I need to know how much she knows.
“It isn’t a case. It’s the feds. Anyway, your dad began terminating him from Electric Peoria, so his stink doesn’t roll down on us.”
Shit. I forgot to do that. “I want to say thank you, but he should have run that by me first. I’m still the president.”
“Pish posh. He’s not usurping your authority or anything. He was stepping in where he could help. You had your girl to worry about.”
“I asked her to marry me.” Asked may be a strong term, but Mom definitely doesn’t need to know the details.
Her gasp is quiet but still there, followed by a muffled sniffle. “Oh, Strider, I’m so happy for you. She said yes, right? Of course she did,” she goes on, answering her own question. “Who would be foolish enough to turn down my boy?”
“She said yes. I’ll send a pic of the ring when I can.”
“June and Mirren both offered open invitations to your father and me.” She leaves the last part hanging as if she’s looking for confirmation or rejection.
“That makes me happy. We’re living in Mirren’s garage apartment for now, but I think we’ll move into the house come early spring. That means the apartment is always available.”
“Will you be home for Christmas?” she asks quietly.
“I don’t know, Mom. It’s doubtful—”
My words are cut off by a scream. I drop the phone and run.