Well,Elliotwas home. And I liked the life we were building in Shawano. I liked my job, I liked the work I was doing with arson investigation and was looking forward to being a CFI, I liked my coworkers, I loved Elliot’s house and gardens, I liked Henry… And of course I loved Elliot and our life together.
I wanted desperately to get back to it.
I sighed and leaned my head back, trying to resign myself to the fact that I was, yet again, out of control in my own life. Subject to the consequences of actions that weren’t mine—to the actions of my father and the other members of the Community.
Again.
I was really fucking sick of the Community and my father controlling my life.
Anxious and unable todoanything, I wanted to talk to someone—Noah was with Lulu in Charlottesville and needed a break; Elliot was busy, but would be here in about an hour or so; Hart was working, having been released yesterday, although Taavi was sticking around for the time being to make sure he didn’t relapse himself back into the hospital, although I knew he’d have to go back before too long because of work.
Hey. You free to talk? We have a lot of catching up to do.
My phone started buzzing, Quincy’s face—sticking out her tongue—in the little round icon in the middle.
“It’s been forever!” Quincy exclaimed. “What’s going on?” she wanted to know.
“Hoo boy. Do I have… a lot to tell you.”
They were goingto have to replace most of my knee joint—femur head and patella, as well as my ACL, MCL, and patellar tendon—all of which were going to come from cadaver donors. The surgeon promised that if I did my physical therapy, I’d be able to walk again unaided within a few months. I might have to wear an offloader brace, but it turns out there was a company in Charlottesville who specialized in custom braces of exactly the right sort, and they’d do a scan of my leg once the surgical swelling went down to make one for me.
All of that was, supposedly, good news, but both Elliot and I were tense in the aftermath of the consult. I’d never had surgery before, and that was putting me on edge—and while Elliot had known people who’d had surgery before, he was still worried because it was me. Not that he thought I wouldn’t be okay, but he was just worried.
He hadn’t said so, but I could read the set of his jaw, even through the scratches and swelling and bruises, even though all of those were starting to heal and fade.
“I know a guy in the Nation who’s a PT,” Elliot said, and I forced myself out of my thoughts. “He’ll be able to help.”
“Okay,” I agreed. “Although I don’t want to take him away from someone who might need him more.”
One corner of Elliot’s lips twitched. “Nah. He needs rich white clients, too,” he teased.
“Well, that’s not me,” I told him. “Especially after what this surgery is going to cost me.”
“It’ll be fine,” he replied, his tone unconcerned. “We can afford it—Dad actually left me quite a bit, and I don’t exactly live the high life.” His lips quirked. “Miller or otherwise.”
I felt my neck heat. “That’s your money, El.”
He sighed. “Okay, fine,” he retorted. “And I want to spend it on you.”
“Elliot—”
He leaned forward in his plastic chair, catching my hand in both of his. “Tell me what it will take for you to believe me when I tell you I love you.”
“I do?—”
“You do not,” he argued, but he sounded more sad than angry about it, which made me feel even worse. “Because you keep trying to push me away.”
“I’m not pushing you away,” I insisted. “I just don’t want to take all your money.” My face was hot now, too.
Elliot gently squeezed my hand. “It’s just money,” he replied. “Which meansnothingto me next to your health and happiness. I will spend everything I have if that’s what it takes.”
“Elliot—”
“Fortunately,” he interrupted me. “It won’t take that. Not by a long shot. Especially because even out-of-network, that out-of-pocket maximum is going to kick in well before you’d bankrupt me.”
I stared helplessly at him.
“Blame Menominee culture if it makes you feel better,” he said, then.
