Chapter 45
Forward Motion
Reed
Offices inside hospital waiting rooms all look the same.
Same off-white walls, same uncomfortable chairs, same smell of disinfectant trying to cover up things even I didn’t like to think about.
Maliyah sat beside me, fingers drumming against her thigh—tap tap tap, pause, tap tap tap.
I'd learned her rhythms over time. This one meant she was singing something in her head and keeping a beat going with it.
"Stop staring," she quietly muttered.
"Why?”
She scoffed, sounding annoyed.
I caught her gaze and held it. "Get used to it. I like looking at you. When the most beautiful woman in the room is sitting next to me, where else would I look?"
"She locked eyes with me, focused."
"Now who's staring?" I said with a smirk I couldn't prevent.
Scoffing again, she looked away after rolling her eyes, which only gave me more of a chance to study her face.
The swelling was gone. But those thin scars along the side of her face—those would stay.
She kept touching it, an unconscious gesture that made me want to hold her hand and tell her that I see her through them and I love what they represent—her survival.
I leaned close to her ear—close enough I knew she could feel my breath—and said, "I like your battle wounds, you know. Nothing more stunning than a warrior goddess. And, baby, that’s exactly what you are."
She drew back, her eyes widening before narrowing again, her fingers twitching against her thigh.
Her lips parted slightly, then pressed together in a thin line as she glanced away, then back to my face, searching for something.
I kept my expression open, steady. Let her look all she wanted. I’m not running away.
"Miss Davenport?" A nurse appeared in the doorway.
Maliyah tossed the magazine onto the table harder than necessary. I stood first, offered my hand. She looked at it for a moment, her eyes dancing between mine and my hand before she finally took it. Her fingers were ice cold.
"You sure you’re okay with me coming?" I asked as we followed the nurse.
Her grip tightened. Out of the corner of her mouth, she answered in hushed tones, "No, but you'll just make me tell you everything anyways. Easier this way."
If that’s what she needed to tell herself, then who was I to question it. I was just glad she was letting me come.
The exam room was every medical room ever—paper on the table, old cupboards with a sink, fluorescent lights that made everyone look sick or wrinkled. Maliyah hoisted herself onto the table, wincing. Her ribs were mostly healed, but I could tell that sudden movements still hurt her.
"How are we feeling today?" The nurse—Janet, according to her badge—pulled up Maliyah's chart on the computer.
"Want a burger," Maliyah garbled out. "Real burger. I want to chew!"
Janet smiled. "I’m sure you do! Soon."
Janet took Maliyah through the motions, taking all her vitals and marking them down. "Okay, then. You just sit tight and Dr. Pettit will be right in."
The door clicked shut. Maliyah's heels started bumping against the table base. Another tell—this one was pure nerves.
"Hey." I moved closer but didn't touch. We were still figuring out boundaries. "It's going to be fine."
"Hmmmmmm."
"Listen. The x-rays last week looked good. Dr. Pettit said—"
"Hmmmmm." She cut me off, then softer: "Can we just wait to talk? It’s hard for me."
I nodded, realizing how much I may have been pushing her. It couldn’t be easy. The door opened before I could try to fill the quiet by saying something stupid.
"Good morning." Dr. Pettit entered, already pulling up images on his fancy tablet. "Ready to see how we're doing?"
"Ready to get these wires out," Maliyah said.
"Let's take a look first." He moved closer, gentle hands examining Maliyah's jaw. "Open as much as you can."
She stretched out her lips by maybe a centimeter. The wires held everything locked tight.
"Good. Let me get fresh images, then we'll make our decision."
The x-ray tech wheeled in a fancy portable machine. I watched Maliyah go rigid as they positioned it, her knuckles white where she gripped the table edge.
"Deep breath and hold," the tech said.
The machine clicked and whirred. Maliyah's eyes found mine over the tech's shoulder. I tried to look confident. Like I wasn't remembering her face six weeks ago—broken, swollen, barely recognizable.
Dr. Pettit studied the new images on his tablet. The silence stretched. Maliyah's hand found mine, squeezing hard enough to hurt. Finally, he looked up with a smile. "Beautiful. The fracture has healed perfectly. We can absolutely remove the wires today."
Maliyah made a sound—half laugh, half sob. Then the tears came, fast and sudden. She pressed her free hand to her mouth, shoulders shaking.
"Shit. Sorry. I just—" Her words came out muffled. "I didn't think—"
"Hey." I wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulled her against my side, burying her face against my chest. "It's okay. You're okay."
"I know. I know. I just..." She nuzzled her face closer, wrapping her arms around me. "I was so scared."
Dr. Pettit handed her tissues, giving us a moment. "This is completely normal. You've been through significant trauma. These emotions need somewhere to go."
Maliyah nodded, wiping her face. Mascara smudged under her eyes. "Okay. I'm okay. Let's do this."
"The removal is straightforward," he explained, preparing his instruments. "I'll cut the wires and extract them. You'll feel pressure, maybe some pulling, but it shouldn't hurt."
"And after?"
"Soft foods only for two to three weeks. Your jaw muscles have been completely immobilized for a while—they need time to remember how to work. Soups, yogurt, scrambled eggs, mashed potatoes. Nothing that requires real chewing. No chips, no nuts, definitely no steak."
"But eventually?"
"Eventually, yes. Everything goes back to normal. Or as normal as can be given all you’ve been through."
Maliyah lay back on the table. Her hand stayed locked with mine as Dr. Pettit positioned the overhead light.
"Open as wide as you can," he instructed, wire cutters in hand.
The first snip made Maliyah flinch and me want to wrap her in my arms while she went through all of this. I rubbed my thumb across her knuckles, watching her face. Her eyes stayed locked on the ceiling tiles, jaw trembling. Snip. Snip. Each cut seemed to echo.
"Almost done," I murmured. "You're doing great." I brought her hand to my lips. I knew I was testing some boundaries, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to take all this from her, but since I couldn’t I would settle for making sure she knew I was here.
"This is weird," Maliyah said through barely parted lips. "I can feel them moving."
He smiled. "Last one—then we extract."
Snip. The doctor's hand moved with precision as he extracted the final wire, metal sliding out—a sensation that made Maliyah's nostrils flare. Her chest barely moved, each breath coming in tiny sips of air.
"All done." Dr. Pettit stepped back. "How does that feel?"
Maliyah worked her jaw experimentally. The movement was tiny—muscles protesting after so many weeks locked in place—but her mouth opened. Just a crack. Just enough. Fresh tears spilled over, but she was smiling. Actually smiling.
"Holy shit," she whispered. "It works. My mouth actually works."
"Careful," Dr. Pettit warned, but he was smiling too. "Small movements only. And remember—soft foods. Your jaw needs to rebuild strength gradually."
He went over ice packs, jaw mobility exercises, and warning signs of infection.
"Limit range of motion to quarter-inch increments for the first three days," he said, demonstrating with his thumb and forefinger while Maliyah nodded.
I glanced at her face—that tight smile that meant she was already planning to ignore half of what she heard.
My fingers fumbled for my phone, thumbs tapping frantically as Dr. Pettit mentioned something about pain meds and sleeping with her head elevated.
"Questions?"
"No. Nothing that I can think of right now."
Yeah, okay. I was sure we’d have a ton soon enough.
Dr. Pettit's pen clicked shut with a finality that seemed to punctuate their session.
"Most patients remember their questions the moment they leave my office," he said with a practiced smile.
He steadied Maliyah with one hand as she eased herself upright.
"I want to see you back two weeks from today.
And my office is just a call away if something doesn't feel right before then. "
"Thank you." Maliyah's hand went to her jaw, fingers exploring the freedom. "Really. Thank you."
"You did the hard part. I just removed some metal."
We walked through the hospital corridors, Maliyah testing tiny jaw movements every few steps. Open, close. Open, close. Like a kid with a new toy.
"Stop that," I said. "You'll hurt yourself."
"I can't help it. Do you know how weird it is to suddenly be able to move something that's been locked for what seemed like forever?"
"I'm guessing pretty weird."
"The weirdest." She stopped walking suddenly. "Reed?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm starving. Like, actually starving. And I can theoretically eat real food. Sort of real food. Soft real food."
"Protein shake?" I said, holding back a laugh and dodging a swipe from her hand.
"Too soon!"
Laughing, I moved closer again and asked, "How about some chowder?"
Her face lit up. "God, yes. Chowder. With oyster crackers I can smash into it like I'm ninety years old."
"I know a place."
Twenty minutes later, we were sliding into a booth at a favorite spot for New England clam chowder. Nothing fancy—just a hole-in-the-wall that made the best clam chowder in Boston. Maliyah studied the menu like it was holy scripture.
"Look at all these options," she said. "Soup. Different soup. Other soup. I'm dizzy with power."
"Don't go crazy. Remember what Dr. Pettit said."
"Soft foods, I know. But look—after the chowder, they have a lava cake. That’s soft!"