Page 25 of Ripping the Odds
“Pru,” I started.
“No, Zak. Listen to me.” She blew out a shaky breath. “My stump is overwhelming even for me to look at. It’s ugly.”
God dammit!
My jaw clenched so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if I cracked a molar or two. It wouldn’t matter if I had. I wanted nothing more than to run back to the casino and beat the ever-loving fuck out of the bastard who was barely breathing in the basement until he begged for death. But right then, the only thing on my mind was making her see the truth. Glancing around, I spotted a full-length mirror hanging on the outside of the closed bathroom door. Inspiration hit immediately.
“Come with me.”
Without giving her the opportunity to protest, I scooped her up off the couch, placed her into the wheelchair, and pushed her down the short hallway. Once I positioned her directly in front of the reflective surface, I leaned over her shoulder, putting my mouth next to her ear.
“What do you see?” I asked.
“Me.”
“What else?”
A hush fell between us, like the kind of quiet that persists before a tornado rips apart everything in its path... the calm before the storm. Only the storm, in this instance, was psychological instead of physical, and it was long overdue. Pru kept too much bottled up inside. She needed to let it all out before it consumed her. When she finally spoke, I wasn’t prepared for the devastation.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I’m broken.” She angrily swiped at the sudden wetness on her cheek. “Are you happy now?”
“Bullshit.” Our eyes caught in the mirror. “Look closer, because what I see is a woman who fought like hell to survive, a woman whose strength rivals that of ten men who are twice her size. And, baby, there isn’t one damn thing ugly about you. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Prudence Mary-Elizabeth Turner.”
“You haven’t seen the ugly parts.” She patted her right thigh.
“Show me.”
What she didn’t know was I’d already seen it. After surgery, when she was out of it from the anesthesia, I’d refused to leave the room when the nurses came in to change the bandages. I’d wanted to see the result of my carelessness. If I hadn’t spent six months lying to myself and everyone else, she would’ve been protected. The guilt had eaten me alive, but it wasn’t guilt that changed my mind about wanting a relationship with Pru. That decision was made the second I knew she’d been taken. She was mine. Damn the consequences.
“I can’t.”
“You can.” I stood, turned the wheelchair away from the mirror and knelt on the floor in front of her. At some point, Daria had come out of the second bedroom. She stood motionless at the end of the hallway, watching the scene with a hand covering her mouth. Pru’s pant leg was tied in a knot a few inches below her knee. Watching for any signs of distress, I reached out, not quite touching the fabric. “May I?”
She nodded infinitesimally even though her eyes flared wide the closer my hand got. Slowly, giving her time to object, I undid the knot. Her fingers white-knuckled the arms of the wheelchair, and her breathing hitched.
God, I was an asshole.
“I’m sorry. We don’t have to do this today.” I moved to redo the knot.
“Keep”––her voice cracked––“going.”
Bunching the material between my fingers, I gathered the excess, carefully lifting it up over her knee. A white sock-like apparatus covered her stump. It looked tight. I was about to comment when she beat me to the punch.
“They call it a stump shrinker; I call it a pain in the ass. It’s a compression sleeve to help reduce swelling and get my leg ready for Mathilda.” Her whole body relaxed, like a weight had been lifted. She’d been waiting for me to recoil at the sight of her residual limb. As if that would ever happen.
“Baby, I’ve gotta ask. Mathilda?”
“My prosthesis.” She shrugged. “It means strength.”
“Perfect.” Pru’s leg jerked when I touched the end of it. I immediately withdrew. “Shit. Did I hurt you?”
“No. You startled me. I didn’t expect you to touch it.”
“Get used to it. I plan to touch a whole lot more than just your leg eventually.”
