“You’re welcome to get around on crutches or in a wheelchair, then,” he says with a shrug. “Plenty of people do.”
He leaves off the part where that will restrict my mobility during a time when I need it most. Not that I’ll be able to hop in a prosthetic and run anytime soon, but the delay could mean everything.
Or it could mean nothing.
Right now, not knowing what Romano plans to do next, it’s impossible to say.
“Will it delay my recovery?”
He shakes his head. “No. With the current state of your leg, I’d say it will speed things up.”
“And you can do it here?” I ask.
He hesitates, but after a beat, he nods. “I’ll need at least one other surgeon.”
That, I can do. And nurses. Whatever the hell he needs so I don’t have to leave my compound. “Deal. Just…talk with James about it, and he’ll make sure everyone’s properly informed.” As Cameron starts to stand, I hold my hand up. “And take this epidural out of me. I will be pissing on my own by tonight.”
He looks like he wants to argue, but instead, he just walks to the counter and pulls on gloves. A few moments later and I’m leaning forward, trying to ignore a horrible, twinging headache as he pulls the tiny catheter from my spinal column.
He gives me a shot of something in my IV that he promises won’t knock me out, then checks my vitals one more time, does a temperature test on my left foot, and leaves.
It’s only when I’m finally alone that I allow myself a moment to collapse into myself, and my fingers start to shake. There’s a sob lodged somewhere in my chest, but I’ll be damned if I let that out, even if I’m by myself. Mostly because I know I’m never actually by myself.
On a trembling breath, I press my hands to my face, then curl my toes—including the ones I don’t have anymore. It was a trick the doctor had used for when James’ phantom pain had become unbearable, and it works a little as, bit by bit, the epidural drugs leave my body.
It’s worth it to feel, of course. It’s worth it to know I’m home and that once I’m recovered, I can get back to my life.
Romano seems to think that taking me down will take me out, and I look forward to the day I’m standing over his body and the look of realization hits him. He seems to think this is nothing more than a family war.
He doesn’t understand how deep the river of vengeance flows in my home. Or just how far I’m willing to go for those I love.
The door clicks open, and I hear no footsteps, which means it’s either Ari or Alice, and I’m betting on the latter, considering I haven’t heard from James yet. I don’t move my hands, but her delicate fingers brush along my forehead, pushing hair back.
“Are you here to feed me chicken broth?”
She laughs and settles against the bed. “When I was little, my mother used to make me this soup with lamb in it every time I felt bad. I loved it so much I used to pretend to feel sick so she’d make it.”
I drop my hands, a smile on my lips in spite of how I’m feeling, and I let myself take her in. She looks so young now, getting lost in her memories. I know her life has been as dark and painful as most of ours, even if she was kept under glass for so much of it.
But she understands pain the same way we do—the same way most people do not.
“You loved your mother,” I say quietly.
Her eyes darken a little, and she turns her gaze to me. “Very much. I think she was the only person in my family who loved me back.” She quiets, and I see the questioning burning behind her eyes, but I let her ask it. “Did you…were you the one who—”
“Killed her?” I ask.
Her jaw tenses, and then she nods.
“No.” I shuffle upward a bit, then dart my hand out and pull her onto the bed next to me. She makes a sweet little noise of protest as I settle her on my noninjured side, and she scowls, but she makes no attempt to move.
I know why. She’s touch and affection starved worse than even James was when he first arrived, and it’s taking everything in me not to wrap around her now and make her promises I don’t know if I can keep just yet.
I search her face to see if she believes me, and I can’t get a good read on her. I want to praise her for that too. “Do you believe me?”
Her cheek hollows as she bites it, and then she sighs. “I think you’d happily take credit, even if you know it would kill me. So, yes.”
Ah, such a good fucking girl. She’s not just learning. She’s understanding. I lift my hand, which is feeling stronger today, and I brush a wavy lock away from her temple. “I didn’t kill your mother or your sister. Did your father say that?”