So what’s the point?
He glances away. “I wish you wouldn’t get down on yourself like that.”
I know my injury and recovery were hard for him. Hell, the EMTs who rescued me off that mountain are the sole reason he went into the field. He wanted to live the same life as the peoplewho had saved me, and I also know he thought that maybe if he tried hard enough, he could save someone else from my fate.
He hadn’t liked Liam very much. Not by the end of our marriage, which—if it was a good day—I was willing to admit it had been strained. But I would be a fool not to recognize that the whole thing had traumatized him in a different but no less horrific way.
Easton’s face had been the first thing I was able to recognize when I came out of the coma. Easton’s voice was the one I remembered hearing when I was still in it.
I try not to constantly remind him that things for me are always going to be different now because I know it upsets him, but I also don’t want to shy away from it. Some of the injuries I have are permanent, and no amount of talk therapy, physical therapy, or occupational therapy is going to fix that.
I just want him to accept that pieces of me won’t ever be the same as the Leo he helped raise.
“Look,” I tell him after a long, tense pause, “I’m not trying to be down on myself. I’m just starting to wonder if maybe there’s something else out there for me. It’s not like I need to work.”
He scoffs, but he knows it’s true. I got a settlement from the tour guide agency after the accident was ruled neglect, and Liam had life insurance, which took care of everything that needed taking care of. It left me enough to buy this house, pay off lingering medical bills, help me with the therapy I will always need, and make sure I never need to work if I don’t want to.
And that would be a godsend if I liked staying idle, but doing nothing makes me feel like I’m actually losing my mind.
“What are you saying?” he asks quietly.
I shrug. “I don’t know. Every now and again, I think about selling this house and starting over somewhere new. I don’t hate it here, but there’s not a lot for me. You have the station and your friends there. You built a whole life here while I was on theother side of the country doing fuck-all and trying to make Liam happy. Maybe there’s something else out there that’ll make me feel more like…”
Like me. But I don’t say that aloud.
Easton swallows heavily, looking slightly panicked. “What would you do? I mean, where would you go? I couldn’t just pack up and leave, Leo.” He sounds frustrated now. “I can’t uproot my life because you get a wild hair, and?—”
“I’m not asking you to. I wouldn’t. If I leave, you don’t have to come with me.” He scoffs, and it hurts my feelings because normally, he hides the fact that he doesn’t think I can survive on my own. “I don’t actually need your help anymore.”
“And if you have some grand mal seizure and bash your head on the side of the bathtub?” he demands.
I give him a steady look. “The same damn thing if I have a seizure here. You can’t be with me twenty-four seven. That could happen when you’re on a long shift and don’t get a chance to check in for half a day.”
He pales. “I don’t want to think about that.”
Unable to help it, I burst into laughter. “Neither do I, East. Fuck’s sake, I’m not out here hoping that my brain will go haywire and a fall will kill me. I take my meds, I use my cane when I go on walks?—”
He gives me a look.
“Fine. Most of the time, I use my cane on walks. If I feel a seizure coming on, I lay down on the floor and wait it out. There’s not much more I can do.”
“A service dog. A seizure alert dog,” he says pointedly.
“I don’t want the responsibility of a dog. I can barely remember to feed and walk myself.”
“Well, I don’t want a fucking dead brother,” he snaps, his voice shaking. Swallowing again, he meets my gaze for a second,and then it drops to his lap. “I know I’m being unreasonable. I know it’s been a long time since the accident.”
It has been, but I’m starting to see his point.
“But I’m not going to stop being afraid that something else will happen, and I don’t want to be a thousand miles away if it does.”
I don’t bother telling him right now that I feel the same way about him. That I get terrified every time he goes to a dangerous call where guns are involved because he could be the next victim who doesn’t walk away from the scene.
Or what if a fire is sneaky, hiding behind a closed door, and engulfs him in flames the moment he opens a door? Or there could be some reckless driver who doesn’t hear the sirens over their music and blasts through an intersection, tipping the truck, rolling them all, and killing him.
It’s fair to say I’ve given this too much thought during quiet nights when I hear sirens off in the distance.
“Anything can happen to any of us,” I say instead. “But I didn’t say I wanted to move out of the country. I don’t even think I want to leave the state. I just…I don’t know. I need something different.”
