away yet.
“Hell,” Colby continued after a moment’s hesitation. “ You are beautiful in these clothes. I don’t want you to change your mind later and regret giving them away.”
“I won’t.” Why couldn’t people just respect his decisions? Get out more. Eat better. Those sweatpants make you look emaciated. Everyone had something to say on the matter. Even bloody strangers . “They don’t fit anymore.”
Colby’s gaze swept over him, heating Pip from the inside out. When he made eye contact, Colby’s raised eyebrow expressed his disbelief, but he didn’t argue.
Despite Colby’s silence—or maybe because of it—Pip felt the need to justify his statement.
“I’ve lost muscle tone”—Pip let his crutch take his weight and gestured at himself with his free hand—“everywhere. I’m too skinny, and the clothes just hang off me now. I can barely make it up the stairs, so I can’t see me getting that beautiful body back anytime soon.”
“I said you were beautiful. Not your body.”
“Wow, thanks!” Pip snapped. “Anyway, who wants to see a cripple parading around pretending to be a peacock?”
“You’re an idiot.”
For the first time, Colby responded with the same venom that Pip used when he got riled. Pip didn’t like it; he wanted the other Colby back, the laid-back man who would shrug Pip’s angry words aside or ignore them completely. Not this man who bounced his rage back at him.
Colby’s anger only went as far as his words, though. Where Pip might have thrown his crutch in a fit of fury, Colby deftly folded the shirts that had been layered on the dummy. He muttered angrily to himself while he worked.
“Cripple! Bah!”
Layers of tissue paper separated each garment as Colby placed them carefully in a packing crate by the bed. He folded the top flaps in and hoisted the box into his arms. Still, Colby muttered away to himself, Pip only catching the occasional word until Colby walked past him toward the stairs. His gaze flicked to the lower half of Pip’s body, and he clearly heard the words Colby let slip.
“Emotional crutch.”
By the time the implication of those words had registered, Colby had long since passed, and Pip could hear the easy gait of a man with the use of both of his legs. A man who took his perfect body for granted. What the hell!
Before he knew what he was doing, Pip launched the crutch across the room. It landed with a satisfying clatter on the floor.
How bloody dare he? How dare he cast aspersions on Pip’s invalid status and then walk away! He’d had to get rid of his beloved bug-eyed Sprite because he couldn’t change gear anymore, his gammy leg unable to apply the pressure needed to depress the clutch pedal. Now his cousin owned his precious cherry red Austin-Healy and probably thrashed the life from it on a daily basis.
With his crutch farther away than the doorframe, Pip dragged himself using the furniture, walls, and sheer willpower in the direction Colby had taken.
“Fuck you!” Pip shouted before he’d even reached the threshold. When he made it to the landing, he leaned his weight on the banister that looked out over the stairs, watching as Colby jogged back up the stairs, all loose limbs and easy breaths. “Fuck you and your perfect fucking unbroken body.”
As though Pip’s words had physically struck him, Colby came to an abrupt halt a couple of steps from the top. It had the effect of making them almost the same height. But he didn’t speak. Didn’t defend himself. He just waited, and Pip obliged.
“Permanent limp. The doctors’ words, not mine. Doctors, plural, because I refused to believe the first two.” Pip gripped the wooden rail in front of him, turning his knuckles white. “You don’t know anything about it. About me. Per-ma-nent.” He sounded out every syllable of the last word, surprised to find himself panting breathlessly when he’d finished.
“Tell me.” Colby’s voice held none of his previous
“Hell,” Colby continued after a moment’s hesitation. “ You are beautiful in these clothes. I don’t want you to change your mind later and regret giving them away.”
“I won’t.” Why couldn’t people just respect his decisions? Get out more. Eat better. Those sweatpants make you look emaciated. Everyone had something to say on the matter. Even bloody strangers . “They don’t fit anymore.”
Colby’s gaze swept over him, heating Pip from the inside out. When he made eye contact, Colby’s raised eyebrow expressed his disbelief, but he didn’t argue.
Despite Colby’s silence—or maybe because of it—Pip felt the need to justify his statement.
“I’ve lost muscle tone”—Pip let his crutch take his weight and gestured at himself with his free hand—“everywhere. I’m too skinny, and the clothes just hang off me now. I can barely make it up the stairs, so I can’t see me getting that beautiful body back anytime soon.”
“I said you were beautiful. Not your body.”
“Wow, thanks!” Pip snapped. “Anyway, who wants to see a cripple parading around pretending to be a peacock?”
“You’re an idiot.”
For the first time, Colby responded with the same venom that Pip used when he got riled. Pip didn’t like it; he wanted the other Colby back, the laid-back man who would shrug Pip’s angry words aside or ignore them completely. Not this man who bounced his rage back at him.
Colby’s anger only went as far as his words, though. Where Pip might have thrown his crutch in a fit of fury, Colby deftly folded the shirts that had been layered on the dummy. He muttered angrily to himself while he worked.
“Cripple! Bah!”
Layers of tissue paper separated each garment as Colby placed them carefully in a packing crate by the bed. He folded the top flaps in and hoisted the box into his arms. Still, Colby muttered away to himself, Pip only catching the occasional word until Colby walked past him toward the stairs. His gaze flicked to the lower half of Pip’s body, and he clearly heard the words Colby let slip.
“Emotional crutch.”
By the time the implication of those words had registered, Colby had long since passed, and Pip could hear the easy gait of a man with the use of both of his legs. A man who took his perfect body for granted. What the hell!
Before he knew what he was doing, Pip launched the crutch across the room. It landed with a satisfying clatter on the floor.
How bloody dare he? How dare he cast aspersions on Pip’s invalid status and then walk away! He’d had to get rid of his beloved bug-eyed Sprite because he couldn’t change gear anymore, his gammy leg unable to apply the pressure needed to depress the clutch pedal. Now his cousin owned his precious cherry red Austin-Healy and probably thrashed the life from it on a daily basis.
With his crutch farther away than the doorframe, Pip dragged himself using the furniture, walls, and sheer willpower in the direction Colby had taken.
“Fuck you!” Pip shouted before he’d even reached the threshold. When he made it to the landing, he leaned his weight on the banister that looked out over the stairs, watching as Colby jogged back up the stairs, all loose limbs and easy breaths. “Fuck you and your perfect fucking unbroken body.”
As though Pip’s words had physically struck him, Colby came to an abrupt halt a couple of steps from the top. It had the effect of making them almost the same height. But he didn’t speak. Didn’t defend himself. He just waited, and Pip obliged.
“Permanent limp. The doctors’ words, not mine. Doctors, plural, because I refused to believe the first two.” Pip gripped the wooden rail in front of him, turning his knuckles white. “You don’t know anything about it. About me. Per-ma-nent.” He sounded out every syllable of the last word, surprised to find himself panting breathlessly when he’d finished.
“Tell me.” Colby’s voice held none of his previous
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