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And all of us are afraid to ask right now. His mood is volatile as he attempts to adjust to his prosthetic now that the second surgery is over, and his swelling is starting to go down. Everyone in the house keeps looking at me as though I can relate, and while the pain and the loss are similar, learning to cope was entirely different.
I had to stop reaching for things with my right hand. More than once, I attempted to brace myself on an arm that wasn’t there and ended up breaking my nose on a hard floor in the middle of sparring with Ari. A few times, I tried to touch myself with my missing fingers.
The crushing weight of that recovery is something I’ll never forget, but I won’t know what it’s like to learn to walk again. Or to run. Or to worry that I never will.
In truth, I’m afraid to be around him right now because I’m scared he’ll ask me to support him in a way that I can’t.
But right now, I’m walking into the gym, where Kane’s working out because Phoenix told me to get my ass in there before things blew up. I have no idea what’s going on, and I didn’t bother to ask, but I couldn’t pass it off to Ari, who’s in the city taking care of a few loose ends we left behind on our trail to find Kane.
I take a breath as I turn the corner, then come to a stop outside the doors as I hear Kane’s voice, tight with tension.
“…didn’t fucking ask you to do this.”
“No, you didn’t. Your damn therapist had to because you’re being a literal man-baby.”
My lips twitch at Alice’s exasperated tone. She’s always walked on eggshells around Kane, so I’m surprised to hear what a little spitfire she’s being, and I think I love it.
No. I know I love it.
“You’re the one pissing and moaning about needing to get back up on your feet, then acting surprised when you skip your PT and lose progress. And you don’t get to take your shit out on me.”
“I can do whatever the fuck I want to you, sweetheart. I own you.”
I step in because I can only imagine that’s going to make whatever Alice is feeling worse. I don’t announce myself, but the door creaks loud enough that Kane’s head whips over, and he stares at me with narrowed eyes. He looks nothing like himself in his jogging bottoms, his forehead shining with the sweat from his exertion.
He’s wearing his prosthetic and standing between the parallel bars about midway down. Alice is on the other side in leggings and a T-shirt, looking delicious as she ever does, her arms crossed, her brows furrowed.
“I received an SOS,” I tell them.
Kane’s gaze whips back to her. “Are you serious?”
“I didn’t call him,” she says, throwing her hands up in the air. “I don’t need backup for man-babies.”
Kane’s jaw twitches, and I hold back a laugh as I walk over and slide my hand along the back of Alice’s neck. Not pinning her down and slipping inside her, pumping her full of my come, is getting harder and harder the more she comes into herself—the more she becomes one of us.
“Why don’t you have a little break, darling. I’ll take over.”
She scoffs. “I was warned by his therapist not to let any of you take over because all three of you keep letting him get away with…”
I stop her with a kiss, and she growls into it, even if she doesn’t pull away. “I’ll take care of it,” I murmur.
She gives another dark look toward Kane, then spins on her heel and marches out. I wait for the door to slam, then sigh quietly and offer him my hand. He steadfastly ignores me as he increases his grip on the bars and makes it all the way to the end and back without an issue.
When he approaches the end of the bars, I make a curious noise, and he looks over his shoulder at me. “You don’t seem to be having trouble.”
He gives me a filthy look, then lets go of the bars, tries to take a step, and his leg nearly gives out. I’m quick enough to catch him, easing him down into a sitting chair. Dropping to my knees, I let my hand rest on his thigh as I look up at him.
“Is it your balance?”
He grits his teeth, then blows out a puff of air. “It’s my knee. It’s not healing fast enough to catch up with all of this shit.” He waves his hand at the bars. “The fucking stump is fine, and my balance is fine, but it won’t take my goddamn weight and—” He stops abruptly, likely realizing how he sounds.
I laugh, unable to stop myself, and I ignore his poisonous glower. “It’s only been eight weeks, love.”
He bares his teeth at me, his hand lifting into my curls and tugging hard. “I’m perfectly fucking aware of how long it’s been.”
Of course he is. We all are. Eight long weeks since we’ve had him for more than a few hot kisses. Eight long weeks that he’s kept himself apart from us as he heals, and his own expectations for himself are impossible. He wants to heal on his mental timeline, not his physical one.
“Romano’s got some internal shit going on,” Kane says after a beat. I relax a bit into his grasp as he pulls me closer between his legs. The bite of his prosthetic since he doesn’t wear a foam cover is a little sharp against my ribs, but I love it. It’s a reminder that he’s here. “I’ve got a couple of guys working in his shipping factory. One of them’s the director of finance, and he says he’s been getting some orders he knows for a fact haven’t been greenlit by Romano.”
