“Six—?”
Waverly cleared her throat in warning, and I sighed.
“Right, six weeks,” I conceded.
“We’ll do another X-ray at that juncture and see how you’re doing.” He turned to face me. “But I must warn you, it’s possible you might have to do another week or two if it’s not looking like I want it to. You can still bear small amounts of weight, but only for limited amounts of time, so use your walker.” He speared me with a very doctorly stare. “Do you have someone to help you?”
“He does,” Waverly said.
He glanced her way. “Excellent.”
“And we’ll make sure he keeps it on,” Katie interjected.
“Even better.” Dr. Kraft smiled. “Right. Do you have any questions for me?”
I shook my head.
He reached out his hand and I shook it as he said, “Malcolm will be in to take you down to get your cast put back on.”
He left the room, and Waverly linked her fingers with mine. “You’re going to be fine, honey. This isn’t a death sentence.”
“Feels like it.”
“It’ll be less than two months, Razor. You can do it,” Katie encouraged.
I grunted in disbelief and both women chuckled.
Razor
TWO MONTHS LATER, my cast was finally off, my physical therapy was down to every other week, and Waverly and I were more in love than ever. In fact, it was her night to cook, so I headed to her place, knocking on her door, frowning when I got no response. She said she’d be home early, so I tried again. Still no response.
Glancing around the hallway, I saw nothing that raised any suspicion, but before I used the key she’d given me and let myself in, I leaned toward her doorbell camera. “I’m comin’ in.” I unlocked her door and walked inside. “Fizzy?” I called out. No response.
Locking the door behind me, I dropped my duffel on the floor, set the case of beer I’d brought on her island, and shrugged off my cut, laying it over the chair in her living room, then headed down the hall.
That’s when I heard the faint sound of crying.
“Waverly?”
More crying. It was coming from the bathroom, so I opened the door slowly, and that’s when I saw her.
She was in the tub, her knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs, and she was sobbing. I don’t think she’d even heard me walk in.
“Baby?”
She continued to cry, so I kicked off my boots, and moved further into the bathroom.
“Hey,” I said, sitting on the edge of the tub, and she turned her tear-soaked face up to me. “What’s goin’ on?”
“I got a call from the DA in Colorado. Damon’s in the wind.”
“What do you mean, ‘he’s in the wind’?”
“He escaped custody.”
“Shit,” I hissed, standing before stepping into the water.
“What are you doing?” she squeaked.
