“You were sitting down, asshole. Nobody could tell.”
Adam’s face twisted, and I knew he couldn’t argue it.
“You drew attention to it,” he accused.
“Wake the hell up, Adam. Anyone who watches you can see you’ve got a limp. Nobody really gives a shit. It doesn’t make you any less, although in your mind it does. I pity you, living with self-loathing, self-pity, and self-hate must be tiring. I love you, but you don’t give a flying fuck that I do. Honestly, I’m at the end of my tether. Wake the hell up and smell the roses. You’re alive with a family that loves you, and sadly, Adam, that’s not enough for you. That’s just tragic.”
“I’m seeing Janet,” Adam whispered, and I stared at him.
“What did you say?”
“After last week, I called Janet. She says I’m suffering from PTSD,” Adam replied.
“Well, that’s damn obvious. We’ve been telling you that,” I retorted.
“Is this going to turn into a ‘I told you so’ session because if so, I’d like to be comfortable.” Adam sat down on the bed and stretched his leg out with a wince.
“Are you in pain?” I asked as concern flooded me. Adam’s leg hurt when the conditions were good. I could only imagine what the struggle with the snow had caused. Especially hauling our cases and luggage through the thick snowbanks.
“I always am. The doctors did their best, but the pain lingers. It always will, we knew that.”
“Are you slapping me back and saying I’m stating the obvious?” I asked, confused.
“No. I’ve gotten used to being defensive.” He sighed. “Yes, my leg hurts,” Adam replied.
“If we were at home, I’d call the physio. What can we do here? We’re snowed in.”
“Maybe ask our hosts if they have any heating packs?” Adam asked.
“Yes. Of course,” I said and hurried out.
If Adam were actually asking for help, I’d get it to him, because this was the first time since he opened his eyes after surgery that he’d asked.
I caught Mariah in the bar. “Hi, sorry to bother you, but do you have any heat packs. Adam’s leg is causing him pain.”
“We have some hot water bottles. Would those help?” Mariah replied.
“Most certainly, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. There is a lift he can use if the stairs are too much,” Mariah suggested.
“Lift?”
“Elevator.” Mariah chuckled.
“Oh, that would help, although stairs are good for keeping his leg fit.”
“Well, the option is there if you require it. Do you need anything in your rooms?”
“No, we’re fine, thank you.”
“I’ll just fetch those hot water bottles. It seems that Benedict has some straps so that Mr Maddon can secure them to his leg. Lunch will be ready soon. Would you like to eat in your room?”
“No, I think we should keep to normalcy for Adam’s sake,” I replied. I could see the curiosity in her eyes.
“There was a fight in our hometown of Rapid City. An MC attacked the city, and Adam was wounded in defending it. He was shot, and his leg was ripped apart. We thought it would be amputated, but a stubborn junior surgeon saved it. It left Adam unable to do his job as a bodyguard, and Adam has struggled ever since,” I explained as briefly as I could.
“That was worldwide news. We read about it over here; we were horrified for you all. I’m sorry to hear about your husband’s injury,” Mariah said.
