Page 15

When he finally opened his eyes, he found that Adry was sitting cross-legged a few feet away, oiling one of her swords. “Linshi for this.”

“Of course.” Adry gave a shrug, tucked away her cloth, and sheathed her sword. She braced her elbows on her knees, studying him for a moment before she sucked in a breath in a way that indicated the next words out of her mouth would be hard ones to hear. “Why are you refusing the surgery?”

She didn’t add that he needed that surgery if he had any hope of walking again. That the longer he delayed, the more risk there was that his ankle or stump would heal wrong instead of right. He was just making things harder on himself.

And yet…he exhaled and stared up at the bright green of the interlaced branches and leaves rising high above him. “As soon as I agree to the surgery, it means acknowledging…this.” He gestured in the general direction of his legs. As long as he didn’t move, he could pretend he still had both feet. “Once I have that surgery, this is all going to be real. I cannot escape it. And I just…have not been able to face it. Not yet.”

He knew how cowardly that sounded. But all of this had been far too much to handle, and the surgery was one thing too many.

“You’ve had a lot of hard things come your way lately, I get that. Losing your leg is hard.” Adry’s voice roughened. “For those of us who love you, we’re just thankful you’re alive. Even after losing your leg, even if you never walk again, even if you were paralyzed in that crash, we’d still want you. Because you matter, and we love you as you are. We want you in our lives, however we can have you.”

He let those words seep into him, much as the peace of the forest had moments earlier.

He was loved. He knew that. He’d seen that in his dacha’s care, his mama’s, and Adry’s. Yet for the past few days, even their love had felt like too much to handle.

But maybe pushing them away hadn’t been the answer. Perhaps he needed to let them brace him up and take some of the burdens so the weight didn’t feel quite so heavy.

“If I have the surgery, would you come?” The words slipped out before he’d really thought them through.

He shouldn’t have asked such a thing. It wasn’t something to ask of a friend. No, this was a request that one would ask of the girl one was courting. They would never be that, but pathetic as he was right now, he couldn’t help but ask.

“Of course I’ll come.” Adry rested her hand on his shoulder, her blue eyes focused on him. “I’ll be there when they send you to sleep, and I’ll be there when you wake up.”

“Linshi.” He breathed out the word, not trying to stop the way his heart was reacting to her words, her nearness. Right now, she was the rope keeping his head above water, and he clung to whatever breath of hope she offered.

Someday, he’d drown all over again when he had to face the reality that she’d never be more than a sister. When that day came, his heart would shatter.

But right now he was too weak to do anything else. He just needed to get through the surgery and recovery. He’d worry about the state of his heart later.

Returning to his room proved to be a far more difficult challenge than leaving. After all the magical and physical energy he’d expended, it was all he could do to hold the end of the rope while Adry carried his wheelchair back to his room. He had to let her pull him up, even though he at least saved enough strength to get himself from the chair to the bed.

He hadn’t realized he’d promptly fallen asleep until he was blinking awake, the last sunlight of a summer evening streaming through his windows. His mama hadn’t closed the elven protections on the windows, and the chill breeze brushed his face and toyed with the now dry strands of his hair.

A knocking sound broke into his awareness. He managed to raise his voice to call, “Come in.”

The door opened, and Mama walked inside, balancing a tray piled high with dishes on one hand and arm while she closed the door behind her with the other. “How are you feeling?”

He gave a slight shrug, not sure how to answer that. Yes, he felt somewhat better after the time in the forest, but now his legs ached. They hurt even worse as he eased into a sitting position.

He wasn’t quite sure what to do with his legs. He could swing them over the side of the bed, but he had the sense that would make them hurt worse. But even stretching them out before him on the bed, he wasn’t comfortable.

Mama set the tray on the table beside the bed. “I brought supper if you’re hungry.”

He actually was, but there was something he needed to say first. “I am sorry I have been such a…” He wasn’t even sure what to call his attitude since he’d returned home. “Grump.”

Mama perched on the bed and pulled him in for a hug, tucking his head on her shoulder as if he was still a little boy instead of a man grown. “You are grieving. Both the loss of your leg and the loss of the person you were before the crash.”

Merrik squeezed his eyes shut, wrapping his arms around his mama to return the hug. She was putting words to the things he hadn’t been able to name.

“Grief often isn’t pretty, and it’s a process with its own stages and timeline.” Mama’s arms tightened around him. “But even in your grief, you need to grieve going forward. Don’t let yourself get stuck in the emptiness.”

Stuck was exactly the right word for what he felt right now. Stuck in bed. Stuck in his room. Stuck in the emptiness consuming him from the inside out.

“You know how I lost my parents and all of my siblings except for your Uncle Eugene.” Mama’s voice softened, still aching after all these years over the loss. “For years, I became stuck in my grief, to the point that I pushed your dacha away at first. I’m fortunate that he was patient enough to wait for me until I came to my senses. Otherwise, I would’ve missed out on so very much of what I hold dear. All the years I’ve had with your dacha. Having you and your sister. The close friendships I’ve built. My grief nearly cost me my future.”

Grieve going forward. He wasn’t sure if he had the strength to do that. After all, the loss of his leg had already stolen the future he’d thought he’d have. What did it matter if this weight stole the semblance of life that remained?

Adry’s words from that afternoon echoed in his head. We want you in our lives, however we can have you.