TWO
WES
Snowfall could suck my dick.
The gray January sky peeked through my living room window, and all I could feel was dread. Well, dread and the white-hot poker of a limb that was no longer attached to me. With a frustrated breath, I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth.
It was the strangest thing to still be able to feel a limb that was gone. You didn’t realize how much space a leg took up in your brain until it was gone and still refused to shut the hell up. The constant foot-asleep feeling dogged me, and even a five-minute break from it would have been a miracle. An electric zing of phantom pain coursed up my leg until I broke out into a sweat.
When it finally passed, all I wanted to do was roll over on the couch and pull the blanket back over my head. There were weeks where the farthest I traveled was from the couch to the bathroom and back. My whole life, shrunk down to twenty sad-ass steps.
The second I heard the bang on the front door, I knew that plan was fucked. I knew it was him. Nobody else knocked like that—like the building was on fire but he was trying really hard to sound casual about it.
I couldn’t hide. Surely Hayes had seen my truck in the drive, andwhere the fuck else would I be?Despite my doctor’s recommendation, just last week, I had fired yet another live-in care nurse. I hated having a stranger in my space and didn’t need another person walking on eggshells around me. Hayes had taken it upon himself to slide into that role.
Every careful question, every soft voice, every “How are we feeling today?” made my skin crawl. I didn’t want to be observed for a living. I just wanted to be left the fuck alone.
His fist banged again. “Open up, buddy. I’ve got coffee.”
The tentative tone in his voice grated my nerves. I pushed myself up to a sitting position and looked down at my missing limb. Being an above-the-knee amputee was still jarring, even nearly six months later. My residual limb was covered with a shrinker—the stocking that helped shape what was left of my leg so it would fit into the prosthetic—but I knew beneath it was nothing but a scarred stump.
I swallowed past the rocks in my throat and looked away. I leaned forward to reach for my liner and prosthetic leg so I could answer the door before Hayes let himself in.
A key turned in the lock, and the front door pushed open. “Hey, it’s me.”
Of course he used the key. God forbid I get thirty seconds to strap my leg on without an audience. A frustrated breath pushed out my nose.
All I needed was a fucking minute.
My best friend Hayes let himself in, a sheepish smile plastered on his face. “Morning.”
I grunted in his direction as I hastily attached my leg. We used to greet each other with insults and shit-talking about whatever game had been on the night before. Now it was this—him tiptoeing, me grunting like a feral animal.
I was rushing and the fit wasn’t exactly right, but the faster I could get him out of my hair, the better.
Hayes’s large frame loomed in the doorway as he stared at me, his dark eyebrows pinched down as he looked me over. I couldn’t read his mind, but the careful way his gaze avoided my amputation told me everything I needed to know. I almost wished he’d just stare. At least then we’d be looking at the same ugly thing.
He set two coffee cups down on the entryway table and clapped his hands together. “It’s cold as shit out there today.”
I looked at him and nodded. That was what our relationship had become ... discussions about the weather and him giving methat look. I missed arguing about nothing. Missed him calling me out when I deserved it. Missed feeling like his equal instead of his project.
I steadied myself and went to take a step when Hayes rushed forward. His hand reached out to support my elbow, but I jerked my arm away. “I got it.”
His hands went up in defense at my shitty tone. “Sorry.”
My molars ground together. The look of pity was back and I wanted to scream. “It’s fine. I just didn’t get much sleep last night. I’m in a shit mood.” I walked toward the coffee and accepted the paper cup.
Hayes looked at the mess of blankets on the couch. “Still sleeping down here?”
I glanced at the rumpled sheets and offered a shrug. “Just fell asleep watching TV, that’s all.”
I didn’t love outright lying to my friend, but I also wasn’t going to admit that I hadn’t slept upstairs in my own bedroom since my accident. Somewhere along the line I’d developed a fear that something would happen and I wouldn’t be able to attach my leg in time to make it downstairs. The last thing I needed was there to be a house fire or something and get trapped.
Once the thought had taken root, I couldn’t shake it. It sank in deep, wrapped itself around my ribs, and suddenly my own bedroom felt like a death trap instead of a place to sleep.
The coffee was hot, and at least that was something. “How was the wedding?”
Hayes froze. “You didn’t hear?”
