Chapter 27
RIGGS
As soon as Gemma has my wheelchair righted and positioned behind me, I let go of the doorframe.
Legs crumpling like paper under my considerable weight, I’m glad she had the foresight to lock the wheels because my momentum would’ve knocked us both across the room.
From the kitchen, Janet starts up with her bullshit.
Feed… me
Feed… me
Feed… me
“Are you fucking crazy?” Gemma hisses while she circles around to glare at me. “What were you doing?”
What was I doing?
Trying not to look like a guy in a goddamn wheelchair.
Before I can come up with an excuse for my display of toxic masculinity that doesn’t make me want to roll myself into the river, I catch the splash of headlight coming up the road. Moving past me, Gemma slams the front door closed and locks it.
“What’s going on?” I demand while outside, the spread of headlights slows as they move past the house.
“Nothing,” she says, giving me a tight head shake.
Making a rough, ugly noise in the back of my throat, I bob my head before reaching past her to open the door so I can see for myself. Unwilling to let me, Gemma positions herself between me and the knob.
“Nothing is going on,” she insists, while outside, the headlights cruise past. I can see the dark shape of a car through the low foyer window as it moves down the street and out of view. “Everything is fine.”
“Don’t lie to me, Gem,” I tell her. “Colt was here. I know?—”
“Colt was here?” She looks around like she’s expecting him to jump out from behind the couch while Janet’s fuckery escalates.
Feed… me… bitch
Feed… me… bitch
Feed… me… bitch
“Shit.” Muttering it on a sigh, Gemma heads for the kitchen, leaving me behind. Following after her, I roll myself through the doorway to see Gemma standing in front of her cat, hands stacked on her hips.
“I’m not going to argue with you, Janet,” she says, lifting a hand to point at some sort of feeding contraption in the corner next to the refrigerator. “You can feed yourself.”
Abuse
“You’re exhausting.” Gemma drops her hand and sighs before giving up. Crossing the kitchen, she hits the pedal on the contraption with the toe of her sneaker, releasing dried cat food into the dish. “There. Happy?”
Yes
“Unbelievable…” she mutters it before sagging against the kitchen counter, looking at me like I’m the last person she wants to deal with. “Colt was here.”
“Yeah.” Swallowing hard on a head bob, I watch while she makes her way to the refrigerator and pulls out the baking dish full of cinnamon rolls she prepped before she left for work.
She looks exhausted. Her body limp and heavy.
Face pale. Dark circles under her eyes. I suddenly feel like the biggest asshole alive for jumping down her throat the second she walked through the door.
“He a… he said Janet climbed through his bedroom window while he was sleeping.”
Setting the baking dish on the counter, she looks at her cat. “Took him to the biscuit factory again, did you?” she asks on a tired laugh.
Colt
Colt
Colt
“God, you’re such a creeper.” Opening one of the drawers in front of her on a quiet laugh, Gemma pulls out a clean dish towel.
Colt… friend
“Yeah, well…” Covering the tray of cinnamon rolls with the clean towel, Gemma gives her cat a droll smile.
“Colt can’t be your friend with a punctured lung, Janet.
” Pushing the baking dish as far back on the counter as she can get it, Gemma looks at me, that droll smile of hers dimming slightly.
“Colt was here when he got the call to come to the Mill?”
“Yeah.” I give her another head bob. “He walked in like he owned the place, looking for you, and…” I don’t tell her he was half dressed or that when I saw him in her house at 1AM like he had every right to be here, I instantly wanted to murder him. “He tore out of here when he got the call.”
Gem makes a neutral noise in the back of her throat.
“It was nothing. Just a drunk creeker who got mad when I cut him and his buddies off. He started getting loud so Jensen called it in before Cade could dig himself a hole.” Giving me a flat smile, she pushes herself away from the counter.
“I’m really tired—can we get you to bed before I fall on my face? ”
She’s lying.
At the very least she’s not telling me the whole truth about what happened.
There’s more. The Jensen I remember wouldn’t call the law over a belligerent creeker, but Gemma isn’t going to tell me.
She doesn’t trust me. Not after the things I’ve done.
Not after the way I’ve behaved since being back.
It’s only been a few hours for fuck’s sake and I’m already reverting back to old habits.
Old patterns. Old jealousies. Like the last eleven years never happened.
That’s what being here does to me.
What being around her brings out in me.
“Yeah.” Giving her a flat smile, I angle my wheelchair toward the open doorway between the sunroom and the kitchen. “We can do that.”
“Great.” She looks so relieved, she could cry. “Do you need a quick sponge bath before?—”
“No.” I say it quickly because the thought of Gemma giving me a sponge bath is one part humiliating, two parts arousing.
So arousing that if it weren’t for the fact that she’s practically sleeping on her feet, I might’ve endured the humiliation just for the chance to have her hands on me. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Okay.” Like she’s reading my mind, Gemma’s cheeks flush while she hurries across the kitchen.
“You can get washed up while I prep your bed,” she says while disappearing into the sunroom.
Following after her, I leave her to turn down the bed and fluff my pillows while I wheel my way into the bathroom.
Pulling a washcloth from the clean stack on the counter, I take off my shirt and toss it in the empty hamper.
No stranger to field baths, I give myself a quick rub down, wetting the washcloth in the sink before I scrub myself with it.
Finished, I hang it on the towel bar to dry before exiting the bathroom to find Gemma still fussing with my pillows.
“It’s fine, Gem,” I say, rolling my way toward her. “I got this. Go on up to?—”
“The VA is paying me to take care of you Riggs Wheeler,” she tells me in that sassy, stubborn tone of hers that tells me I’d have better luck getting the world to stop spinning that getting her to stop messing with my pillows. “I’d appreciate it if you’d let me do my job.”
“Alright.” Swallowing a laugh, I bob my head. “Where do you want me, nurse Gemma?”