Chapter 30 Pike
Pike
After sleeping in, we have a slow morning in bed together.
We splurge on shitty budget-hotel room service so we can take our meds, putting it on Skylar’s work tab even though I’m happy to cover it.
Once we’re slightly more coherent, my girlfriend pays me back for yesterday by wearing my boxers and tuxedo shirt, only one button closed, no bra.
After I have a second breakfast, Skylar goes down on me in the shower, and I know I’ll never look at an accessible bench the same way again.
Now I’m lying with my head on her soft stomach while she brainstorms support group events.
My oxy has kicked in, sending a cooling sensation over the burn in my firing nerves.
She leans against a stack of pillows, her ice hat covering half her face.
Her fingers keep stroking my hair, and every once in a while, I pluck them up to kiss each tip.
Each time, she smiles like she has a secret.
“We should do a virtual game show night,” she says. “You could be the announcer.”
I crack an eye open. “Me?”
“You’d be a natural with that sexy voice.”
I give her a low rumble just to see her lips twitch up again. She’s so fucking cute. “I wanna play.”
“Of course! But if you could read any comments, that’ll help my eyes.”
“Anything you need.”
She beams at me. “Perfect.”
I turn on my side and wrap my arms around her waist. “With you, yeah, it will be.”
There’s a lot of good sex, and then there’s too much good sex. I think I finally understand where that line is, and I’ve blown right past it. My glutes are spasming and my back feels like it’s broken.
I wish I could work up the nerve to tell Skylar. She’s open with me when she’s not in the mood because of her pain, so I’m not sure why I can’t admit when my body’s too sore. Instead, I’m trying to lean into the natural breaks while she’s traveling for fair season.
I’m still having trouble managing spoons.
Not just with sex. I’m staying out late, sacrificing sleep, constantly driving to her place, climbing too many stairs, and overexerting myself.
I’m slogging my way through work, relying on my wheelchair more often, and sometimes I even skip PT knowing I’ll need to ice instead of hanging out with Skylar afterward.
I should find a better balance, but I don’t want to lose any time with Skylar. Being with her makes me feel like things are good again. Like good is possible. It’s been too long since I’ve felt that way.
Tonight, she paces around the kitchen talking on the phone while I wipe down the counter after dinner. Even doing everyday stuff together feels like an overdue exhale when I’m with her.
I finally pinpointed the right emotion. Happy. It’s a word that hasn’t graced the pages of my journal since I started writing. Now, when I do write, there’s less about the past, and more about the now, even if it doesn’t erase all the bad.
I don’t want my pain to overshadow what’s happening between us if Skylar’s happy too. It’s already taken enough from me.
Skylar hangs up the phone. I put down my rag and seriously consider hiring a cook and a cleaner. Every movement lately is agony. Maybe I should invest in a bathtub while I’m at it. That could be sexy but also soothing for aftercare. It’s too bad Skylar can’t do saunas…
She throws up her hands. “Mom’s mad we’re not going to Long Island with them, even though I already explained it’s too much for me right now.”
“Hey,” I say. “Come here.”
She joins me where I’m perched on a stool and slides between my legs. I hug her.
“Sorry she continues to disregard your health. Proud of you for sticking up for yourself.”
“They could all come here if they want to meet you properly. We’ve been together officially for a month, and my dad won’t even feign interest in you unless I drive six freaking hours. He’s too busy planning fishing trips with Devlin.”
My ability to remain upbeat dissipates. She never mentions her dad. Mrs. King always shows up alone, reminding me too much of my own mother.
“Have I told you much about my dad?” I ask.
“Just that he left.”
I sigh, rubbing a hand over my jaw. I need to get better at sharing. It’s hard to talk about, but I want to give myself to her as wholly as she gives herself to me.
“Mom and I traveled for competitions. We’d go away the whole week, and he’d promise to come to my events on weekends.
He’d rarely show, but I’d always scan the spectators anyway.
Early on, he’d make excuses. He was on the slopes himself and popped in for my run.
I just didn’t see him, he claimed. Even when I went pro, I still hoped he might show up.
Surprise me. But he only ever came to the competitions with substantial prize money.
Then, with me high off my win, he’d ask for a share.
He’d tell me how hard it was to see me, how he missed me and wished I lived closer.
How a little bit of money could help him afford this extra expense. ”
Skylar strokes my cheek. “I’m so sorry.”
“I finally accepted that he only came when he needed something. He has a gambling problem.”
“He’s an addict?”
I nod. “When I had my accident, he only came to the hospital once. Once. When he showed up the day I wheeled out of rehab, I was done with him. He still has the audacity to ask for money.”
“You don’t deserve that.” She kisses me softly.
All the tension in my shoulders releases. I take her face in my hands before she can pull back. I feel every caress of her tongue, every tiny thing she communicates. I realize now that I missed this type of real connection when I was on mindless hookup autopilot.
Skylar’s lips find the curve of my jaw. “I have some news.”
“Does it involve your mouth?”
“My brain.”
I pull back. “What is it?”
“I got an appointment with a neurointerventional radiologist, Dr. Richardson.”
“When?”
“June second. It’s to redo a lumbar puncture and get my imaging, but then the follow-up is with him on June tenth. Could you drive me on the second?”
“Of course. I’m sorry you have to get another tap, though.”
Something buzzes against my inner thigh. Skylar’s phone.
“Not another article,” I say.
Yesterday we were included in a think piece on inspirational love stories. I know Skylar hates it, which kills me. I assured her it would die down by now.
“No.” There’s a worried slant to her eyebrows. “Emy’s trying so hard to get an hEDS diagnosis, but her doctors keep blowing her off.”
The fuck is wrong with all these doctors?
“What if we went to the appointments with her?” I haven’t been helpful with Dr. Wharton, but maybe it’ll work for Emy.
“Her family goes with her.” Skylar worries her lower lip. “And we haven’t met in person. Remember?”
“Would meeting them be so bad?”
“No, you don’t get it. I want to meet them, but I tend to mess everything up. I don’t want to risk messing up these friendships too.”
I frown, but I’ve learned not to push her about this. She didn’t want me to set up a double date with Kal and Analia, either, unless Analia suggested it.
A lot of people have left her. I think she’s afraid they’ll leave her too.
“Would you prefer if I didn’t stay over tonight so you can talk to them? Figure out a new strategy for Emy?”
“Would that be okay? We don’t usually talk till later, so you and I still have more time.”
“Of course. I’ll stay another hour, then.”
She runs her fingernails down my thighs. “There’s a lot we can accomplish in an hour.”
Hazy pleasure snakes through me. “Indeed.”
She nibbles on my ear, and I’m already half-hard by the time her mouth finds its way back to mine. “You’re not too exhausted?”
I’m grateful she’s asking, but I want to celebrate her news and not worry about the heavy for a bit. “Not if we take it easy.” I slip the corner of her sweater down and kiss the smooth line of her throat. “Besides, I haven’t had dessert.”
“I can’t be horizontal right now, though. My head.”
“Do you want to stop?” I ask.
I don’t want her to have pain, either, but it’s hard sometimes to tell what will help. There was one scary moment when Skylar did black out. I got her ice and water until she recovered. Other times she says sex lessens the pain.
“No,” she says, “but I need to stay upright.”
“No complaints from me.” Skylar on top is my favorite position.
“Ugh, I hate my body right now.”
“Unacceptable.” I nip the pulse point on her neck. “Your body’s a work of art.” I swirl my tongue until I pull out that little gasp of hers, the one I’d do anything for.
Next time. I’ll tell her next time.
I suck on her tender skin. She straddles my thigh to get closer, and a small shift in my position sends a pinch to my hips. Fuck.
I consider asking to stop, but she reaches a hand between us, and my eyes roll back into my head.
Relocating will kill my mood, so I do a quick mental calculation.
With my back to consider, there are logistical issues with going at it in a kitchen, but it’s a challenge I’m more than willing to accept.
“Here,” I say, “get up on the countertop.”
Skylar’s forehead pinches with concern.
“No worries.” I’ve told her I have hard limits, like standing up. It’s never been an issue. I don’t need to make my pain one now. But this chair is out of the picture if I don’t want her doing all the work.
She climbs up hesitantly. I pull on her legs until her exquisite ass reaches the edge of the counter.
“Pike, what are you—”
“Shh.” I undo the buttons on her jeans and tug until she lifts up. A scrap of lace that skims her ample curves sends all my blood rushing south. Why would I ever say no to this? She’s everything I want.
When her jeans hit the floor, I kiss my way up the freckles and stretch marks on the inside of her thighs. Every part of her is a masterpiece, and I want her to know it. I spread her wide, and fuck, she’s already drenched.
“Look at you,” I grit out, my voice nothing but gravel. Every inch of me is tense, throbbing, fighting against the confines of my jeans. “So damn pretty.”
She tries to shift beneath me, but I hold her still and watch the way she squirms, already restless, already needy.
I love this too. I can still take care of her without increasing my pain.
Slowly, I nudge the lace aside, making sure she feels every second of it. My breath hovers just close enough to make her beg.
She reaches for me, fingers raking into my hair, trying to pull me to her. Trying to set the pace. “Pike, please.”
I smirk, keeping her exactly where I want her—open, waiting, mine.
“Relax, sweetheart. Let me ruin you properly.”