Of course I didn’t hear. I don’t leave my fucking house.
I just waited for Hayes to continue. “Clara bolted, man. Five minutes before the ceremony was supposed to start, she and Kit hightailed it out of there.”
My brain unhelpfully supplied an image of Clara Darling in a white dress, running through the snow with her skirt fisted in her hands. I hadn’t seen her in years, but even the memory version of her looked too alive for whatever shit show that wedding must’ve been.
“Damn.” I shook my head. Hayes’s little sister Clara hadn’t really been around since she’d left for college, but I could imagine that whatever had made her run from her own wedding was pretty bad. “Cold feet?”
A pop of laughter erupted from Hayes, but just as quickly he looked down at my missing foot and used a cough to cover it. I had to stifle an eye roll. I would have loved to let the joke land, but the stricken look on Hayes’s face killed the moment. That was our new normal—every half-decent joke detouring into a reminder that one of us didn’t have both feet anymore.
“Actually,” he continued, “the wedding still happened. The groom married the best man instead.”
My eyes popped open. “Damn.”
Hayes shrugged. “It’s fucked up. She’s moving in with my parents, but ... I don’t know how that’s going to work out. Mom’s already smothering her.”
I stared at my friend.Pot, meet kettle.
“You ready to go? PT waits for no man.” Hayes’s eyes glossed over, and his smile thinned in that sad way it had since the accident.
I understood it—the guilt he felt. Hayes had called me when his car broke down on a dark and winding road. I was helping him out when a driver took a turn too fast, got spooked, and lost control. My instincts were sharp, and a moment before he hit us, I’d managed to push Hayes out of the way. I lost my leg, but he’d be dead if I hadn’t been there.
The guilt sat between us like a third person in the truck. I hadn’t figured out how to shut it up or kick it out. I only wish he’d go back to being my best friend instead of this mother hen who wouldn’t leave me the fuck alone. I didn’t shove him out of the way that night just to lose him to his own conscience.
“I need a minute to adjust.” I lowered myself to sitting so I could take my time and reattach my prosthetic properly.
Hayes immediately moved into action, scooping up leftover dishes and empty cups to deposit them into the sink. It was pretty clear that watching me attach my leg still made him deeply uncomfortable.
Everyone in town thought Hayes was cursed with shitty luck, but in reality, I was the one who’d lost his leg.
Go figure.
When I was properly adjusted, I stood again. “Let’s get this over with.”
I had started to walk to get my winter coat from the closet when my eyes landed on a magazine on the console table. Hayes must have brought it in with him, because I sure as fuck hadn’t put it there. It was a publication for people living with limb loss. I stared at the happy faces on the magazine cover—laughing and smiling with one another.
I picked it up and tossed it into the trash.
What a crock of shit.
I didn’t want to join some shiny club of “brave survivors” smiling through the pain. I wanted my old life back. Failing that, I wanted to be left alone with my anger.
Hayes stayed silent as he opened the front door for me. The cold Michigan wind slapped against my cheeks. I looked down the porch steps and braced myself. Had I known I was going to have to navigate those steps with a fresh prosthetic, I would never have built the wraparound porch. I’d designed this place to be all charm and curb appeal. Now it felt like a level in some sadistic video game I hadn’t signed up to play.
With a heavy sigh, I gripped the banister and slowly took one step down.
“Careful, man. It’s icy today.” Hayes hovered, not giving me a single inch.
“I’ve got it,” I bit back.
I took another clunky step down and felt the wood beneath my sneaker. Hayes moved in next to me. “Here, let me?—”
“I said I’ve got it.” My arm jerked away as he tried to steady me, but the swift movement knocked me off-balance. I stumbled forward, desperately trying to stay upright as I fumbled and grasped the air.
I face-planted in the snow with a grunt, my pride wounded more than anything else, though my back was none too happy about the fall. Snow packed into the collar of my shirt, icy and shocking. My prosthetic twisted at a weird angle, reminding me that even the fake part of me could screw up.
Hayes’s hands immediately went to my waist, trying to haul me up.
Embarrassment and shame heated my cheeks as I fought back a swell of self-pitying tears. “Get the fuck off me! I said I’ve got it. Jesus Christ, man!”