With my right leg laid out straight in front of me and my good ole stump there too, I slumped down on the floor and snatched up the bottle. It was the Fourth of July, and I hadn’t spent much time outside so I was pale as a ghost. Was it too much to want to look sexy, seductive even, with an uneven body?

I slathered the hideous self-tanning lotion over my muscles and curves. My right leg had definitely benefited from the grueling workouts; it was toned and firm. My arm muscles flexed as I blended the cream into my fair skin. I was more fit than ever before¸ everywhere but my left leg. My right quad was sculpted, my calf equally as defined. I could have run a million steps with two legs, and they wouldn’t have been this muscular.

I guess one is better than none.

Shoving all of it to the back of my mind, I went back to prettying myself. I’d never been self-conscious before. I used to take care of myself, making health and wellness a priority but not a life mission. Forced to live within a budget in my old life, I’d bought flattering, somewhat sexy professional and casual clothes on sale. Now I lived with a muscle man and was a semi-cripple.

Okay, so I hadn’t shoved my inadequacies as far back as I’d hoped. If I wasn’t so fragile, why did everyone continue to treat me as if I were?

There was a knock on the door, followed by it opening a crack. “Al, you good?”

“Yep,” I squeaked out.

The door opened wider. “Babe? What’re you doing on the floor?”

Proud of myself for holding the tears at bay, I pushed up to one leg and leaned against the counter. “I was putting on some cream. I’m good.”

Jake didn’t waste any time. He stalked across the bathroom tile barefoot and shirtless, his workout shorts hanging low on his waist, and picked me up.

I slapped his back. “Jake! You’re getting self-tanner all over you.”

“So what!”

Tossing me over his shoulder, he walked me over to the couch in the far side of his—our—bedroom. A throw pillow fell to the floor as he set me down.

“Get it,” he commanded Maverick, and the growing puppy gingerly picked up the pillow and brought it to Jake. In addition to a slew of PT people and gym buffs, a dog trainer came twice a week to train Mav to be helpful to me.

It was all too much, but between Bess and Jake, there was no saying “no.” Bess steamrolled over everyone at rehab, demanding the best from every social worker and discharge planner in the place. She knew all kinds of lingo from volunteering with addicts, and she tossed it around like confetti on New Year’s Eve.

“Why are you smearing this shit all over your beautiful skin?” Jake wrinkled his nose and ran a finger down the gross orange color streaked down my leg.

“I’ve barely seen the sun, and now we’re going to a party.”

“Aly-cat,” he growled, and gathered me in his lap.

He put his hands on either side of my face and looked into my eyes. I wondered what he saw; his blue eyes were tortured with equal parts understanding and anger.

“I don’t like this crap all over you. I want you the way you are. You haven’t been outside because you’re training.”

“Rehabbing.”

“No, training for life.” He ran his lips over my jaw, speaking into my ear as he added, “With me.”

He kissed me; not a rough kiss, but tender, like his touch. We’d made love since the accident, and it was always soft and gentle. I’d be on the bottom, propped up on pillows, and Jake would get me off with his fingers before slipping inside me and riding me slowly. He didn’t gather my hands above me anymore, nor did he give me a little spank on the thigh or roughly snag my whole leg and shove it up on his shoulder like he used to. The days of Jake needing to be in charge were gone.

“Stop!” I blurted, creating distance from his lips brushing across mine.

He pulled back his head and raised an eyebrow.

“Stop,” I whispered. “Please, take me off your lap.”

Afraid of me—as usual—Jake set me down on the couch and walked to the bed. “What’s wrong?” He sat on the edge of the comforter, his bare feet restless on the hardwood in front of him.

“You can’t keep treating me like I’m a piece of fine china,” I said, and he swallowed and ran his hand over his forehead. “You don’t want me the way you used to want me, and I don’t want to be some guilty project for you so you can feel whole. I know I don’t look like a real woman, but I am one.”

“Fuck me!” He stood and punched the wall. Plaster spilled onto the floor, sending dust particles afloat in the still air.

“You are not some guilty project,” he said, sneering on the last word. “You’re not any project. Don’t be fucking ridiculous. A project? Get real!”

With his arms flexed and his amped-up breathing, he looked poised to fight. But not with me. With himself, his inner demons, whomever he wanted to blame for his reluctance.

“Then what am I? You have all this equipment in your house, a therapy dog, and me with one leg in your bed. You’ve moved me twice now. When we first met, you demanded I allow you to be in charge. Now you’re all touchy-feely, carrying me all over the place. I’m not a baby, Jake! I’m a woman.”

This time, Jake brought up his other hand and punched a matching hole in the wall. “I told Bess I was treating you too gently! I knew I was fucking up. Doc Wells told me too. Al, I don’t know what to do. I’m a helpless man. Up until I met you, I barely stayed the night with anyone. My ass was out the door before breakfast.”

“Then go back and do that!” I screamed.

“But I don’t want to,” he shouted, pacing back and forth in front of me as he ran one hand through his hair. Then he stopped in front of me where I sat on the couch and glared at me.

“I want to throw you on your stomach and pull your hands above your fucking head and slam my cock into you from behind. Then I want us to shower—together—and I want to take you out to dinner. But you only have one leg! One fucking leg, Aly! And I don’t know how to deal with that other than to take care of you like I’ve been doing. To me, you’re still Aly. But I want you to be my Aly-cat, and I want to plunder you and love you, just like I always did. ”

He made his way close and slid onto his knees in front of me, laying his head in my lap.

“But that’s my problem, not yours.” I didn’t touch him when I said it; I just shut my eyes and sucked in a deep breath.

“It is my problem,” he said, mumbling into my lap. “I could’ve been there, saved you, found you. Fuck, I could’ve prevented the whole thing from happening in the first place. Instead, Shirley was there. The person I hate the most.”

I leaned back, trying to see his face. “Is that what this is about? Shirley?”

I knew she continued to plague him. The thought of her watching him, keeping an eye on his brother and niece, messed with Jake’s head. He hated that she pretended to care, and despised her for rescuing me. He panicked at the thought of letting his anger go, not knowing what to do with himself without it.

If he let go of it all, he’d be absolved. I learned this from Dr. Wells during one of the two times I’d gone with him to see her. He wanted me to go more, but I’d shied away, unsure of what we were or what we were doing.

“The last two decades of my life have been about Shirley,” he mumbled. “I never wanted to fall in love and then I did. With you. All I wanted was to forget her and everything she reminded me of, but now she’s front and center in my life again, and I hate it.”

“She doesn’t have to be, Jake.” I brought a shaky hand down to the top of his head and smoothed over his buzz cut. He’d cut his long layers when summer came and he was busy, not only with his businesses but with me. The burden.

“So what? She found me and did a good deed. I’m happy and alive. I wasn’t at first, but now I am. It doesn’t mean I forgive her for past wrongdoings or want to be best friends with her, Jake. I’m just reminded she’s human like my dad, or the guys who got to him. I’m reminded to be better. Teach my kids better. That we have the power as people to do good.”