Chapter 20
RIGGS
Ithought it was a dream.
A vivid, drug-induced dream.
Waking up to find Gemma in my hospital room.
The brief, emotional conversation we had about all the reasons I should’ve stood my ground and stayed away when Reese insisted that I come back to Barrett.
When I woke up from my surgery, Gem was the first thing I thought about. Opening my eyes, I expected her to be there.
Expected is the wrong word.
I didn’t expect Gemma to be waiting for me to wake up.
I wanted.
I wanted her to be there.
I wanted to wake up to the feel of her hand in mine. Open my eyes to find her watching me, a relieved smile on her face because I was awake. I made it through and that meant everything was going to be okay.
Want is a hard feeling to manage—especially when the thing you want is the same thing you can’t have. The same thing you walked away from.
So, I convinced myself that Gemma was never there. I never saw her. Never talked to her. She never told me I broke her heart and I never told her that even though I imagine her happy, most of the time I want her to be just as miserable as I am.
Sitting here in this fucking chair, looking up at her, I can see it on her face.
She was there.
I didn’t say those shitty, fucked-up things to a figment of my imagination. I said them to the girl I left behind.
It doesn’t help that she looks so goddamned good I can’t even take a full breath.
Gem’s always been pretty—honey blonde hair.
Wide hazel eyes. Freckles sprinkles across the bridge of her nose…
but the Gemma I remember is a girl. That’s the Gemma I remember.
This Gemma is different. Same hair. Same eyes.
Same freckles, but… different. I’m pretty sure it’s the outrageously curvy figure, poured into a pair of barely there cut-offs and a skimpy tank top she’s wearing that’s throwing me off.
Opening my mouth, I’m not sure what I’m going to say—what I should say in front of my mom and Reese—but it doesn’t matter because Gemma isn’t interested in hearing it.
“Let’s get the angry man settled,” Gem says, flashing a bright, sunny smile. “We’ve all got better things to do today besides stand around on the porch and stare at each other.”
Before anyone has a chance to answer, Gemma turns away from the group and walks into the house.
“The entire first-floor is wheelchair accessible,” she says as she disappears through the open door.
Reese and my mom exchange a brief look before following after her while Gemma’s cat kicks her protest into high gear.
No
No
No
Angry… man… go
Jesus Christ, this is going to be a disaster.
Wheeling myself through the front door, I can hear Gemma drone on about the modifications that were done to the house to accommodate Dent after his stroke.
The same modifications that are going to accommodate me.
The differences are subtle. The doorways are wider.
Light switches have been lowered. Door knobs have been replaced with handles that are easier to manipulate.
All designed to make living here for someone with a physical disability easier and more accessible.
I have the sudden urge to wheel myself around and launch my chair off the fucking porch.
No
No
No
Angry… man… go
Wheeling myself through the front foyer, I head for the kitchen. Stopping in the doorway, I see there have been changes here too. The kitchen table has been lowered to meet ADA guidelines, as well as the sink and a section of countertop.
No
No
No
Angry… man… go
Looking to my left, I find Gemma’s massive cat pacing in front of a row of buttons. Fifty pounds if it weighs an ounce, its large frame is covered in long, pewter gray fur. It’s tufted ears prick forward while it walks, stopping in front of each individual button before giving it a slap.
No
No
No
Angry… man… go
“I wish the fuck I could, cat.” I say it out loud while I wheel myself further into the room. “But unfortunately, we’re stuck with each other.”
When she hears me answer her, the cat lifts its head to look at me before choosing another button.
Bitch
“Pretty sure I’m not the only bitch here,” I say on a laugh. Leave it to Gem to teach her domesticated mountain lion how to shit talk.
Go… bitch
“Would if I could,” I tell her honestly. “Here is the last place I should be but I wasn’t really given a choice.”
Angry
“Yeah.” I give the cat a short head bob. “I’m pretty fuckin’ angry.”
Sad
Shit.
Suddenly, my chest is tight and I feel like my eyeballs are on fire.
“I can’t fucking walk.” I push the words through clenched teeth.
Sad… bitch
Stunned, I stare at Gemma’s cat for the space of a few seconds before I start to laugh again. A real laugh. My first real laugh since I woke up in a Middle Eastern desert, buried under fifteen tons of rubble.
“Riggs, honey,” my mom calls out. “Come see what Gemma’s done with the sunroom.”
“To be continued,” I say before turning myself around in my chair and exiting the kitchen. Behind me, the cat starts up a fresh round of protests.
No
No
No
Angry… man… go
Leaving Gem’s cat to protest in peace, I wheel myself down the short length of hallway that runs behind the main staircase. I can hear Gem talking as I get closer.
I opened up direct access to the kitchen. It was really important to Dent that he maintained as much independence as possible.
For some reason, hearing her say it brings back that hot, prickly sensation again.
Holy fuck.
That goddamned cat is right.
I am a sad bitch.
I can see my mom standing in the sunroom’s doorway. When she sees me, she gives me a bright smile. “This is where you’ll be staying—Gemma’s done a wonderful job converting it.”
Jaw set, I wheel myself through the widened doorway and into a room I don’t recognize. Years ago, the sunroom was really nothing more than a screened in porch. Iffy clapboard floors. Patched sun screen. Second-hand patio chairs. A few potted herbs on the sill.
It’s all gone.
The place where Gem and I would sit in the quiet and watch the sun rise over the river together is gone.
In its place are smooth, hardwood floors and a ceiling made of glass.
A wall of windows stretches the entire length of the room.
An expansive deck overlooking the tree-lined river.
When I catch a glimpse of it, I feel my throat tighten again and I look away to survey the rest of the room.
The rocking chairs are gone, replaced by a queen-size hospital bed and ADA accessible dresser and nightstand.
Tucked discreetly in the corner is a commode and walker.
Across the room, I can see an assortment of PT equipment.
Hand weights and medicine balls. A treadmill, facing the river.
A short set of steps that lead to nowhere, bracketed by a set of handrails. A set of parallel bars.
“The mattress is new. The VA delivered it this morning and there’s a bathroom.
” Gemma lifts a hand and points to the corner just over my shoulder.
“It’s small, but it passes ADA requirements.
” Flicking me a quick look, she forces herself to acknowledge me.
“I’ve already put in the extension on the bed so you’ll have a little more leg room. ”
“Thanks.” I practically grunt it at her, my throat so dry I can barely get the word out.
“This is just beautiful, Gemma,” my mom gushes in an attempt to make up for my obvious lack of enthusiasm. “I’m sure Dent appreciated being at home those last few years.”
“It wasn’t easy,” Gem answers her quietly. “It was just the two of us, but we managed just fine on our own.”
Through the doorway Gemma opened into the kitchen to give Dent his independence, I can hear her cat taunting me.
Sad… bitch
Sad… bitch
Sad… bitch
Suddenly feeling like I’m being strangled, I roll myself forward and shove my duffle off my lap and onto the bed. “I need to take a leak—can you guys get the fuck out?”
My mom looks at me like she wants to slap me upside the head.
Reese looks like she wants to punch me in the face.
Gemma doesn’t look at me at all.
“I’ll come by in the morning before I leave,” my mom says, choosing to ignore my outburst. Coming into the room, she leans down to press a kiss to the top of my head. “I’ll stop by June’s and pick up some cinnamon rolls.”
“Don’t bother,” Reese says before shooting Gemma a quick smile on her way out the door. “They suck now.”
On her way out, Gemma stops in the doorway. “Do you need my help?”
Fuck my life.
Seriously—fuck it.
“Whaddya gonna do, Gem?’ I shoot her a nasty sneer over my shoulder rather that turn around and face her because not only am I a sad bitch, I also happen to be a miserable coward. “Hold it for me?”
“Suit yourself, angry man,” she says with a shrug on her way out the door. “But if you pee on my floor, you’re cleaning it up.”