Page 38 of Daring Wicked Love (Wicked Dade #2)

Three weeks in a hospital. Seven surgeries on my right arm. Four physiotherapy sessions. Two bad reactions to heavy pain medications. And, in between all that, an unhealthy amount of strawberry Jell-O was consumed.

Finally, I was allowed to go home.

Except my hand still wasn’t right.

The nerve damage was worse than they expected, and although they tried to repair it with every new surgery, they couldn’t bring all the feeling back. The best I could manage was a faint tingle now and then, like my hand was still trying to remember what it was supposed to be.

The hospital physiotherapist said time heals more wounds than medicine did.

Which was easy for him to say, considering he wasn’t the one carrying a dead weight at the end of his arm.

I was normally an upbeat person, smiling through the dump-truck of shit in life because that’s how I learned to cope with the pain.

Finding positivity and brightness during the darkest moments of life was a challenge, but I refused to let the negativity in the world drag me into it, as it had when I was a teenager.

But standing outside the hospital, letting Frederic guide me into the car, I couldn’t hold on to that smile anymore.

Not when the doctor had not-so-quietly-whispered his concerns about my mental health in Frederic’s ear, and their growing worries that I continued to turn down therapy, as well as outright refusing the antidepressants they kept trying to push down my throat.

Not when I couldn’t even find the energy to pretend I was okay.

Okay, maybe the doctors weren’t talking complete rubbish about my mental state.

Then again, after three weeks lying in a hospital bed, with only the beeps of machines for company at night, it wasn’t surprising my head was a fiery trainwreck.

Frederic did his best to stay with me, bribing the nurses for any extra time, but there were still endless hours where it was just me trapped with my own worst enemy.

My mind.

That’s when it hit me.

The realization that without the feeling in my dominant hand, my life’s passion was gone.

How was I supposed to paint, to create my art now?

Without my art, I was only half a person.

I didn’t even want to think about the phone call I was going to have to make to Violet and cancel the once-in-a-lifetime contract with her. All those dreams, all those hopes of showing the world my paintings was slowly slipping from my numb reach, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

It’s why I refused to talk to the mental health team in the hospital. It’s why I sneered at the therapist who kept popping into my hospital room for ‘a small chat’, because how the fuck was I supposed to talk to them about it when I was barely able to accept it myself.

There was no fixing this. There was no magical cure. This was my life now.

“I have something to show you.” Frederic’s voice broke through my dark thoughts as we pulled into the driveway. “Something I think might help.”

I didn’t respond.

I was too drained emotionally and physically to utter a word. Instead, I waved him off from attempting to carry me like some fragile doll that he wanted to encase in bubble wrap, as I followed him into the converted garage.

Long gone were the boxes; my stuff was now permanent residents in the main house, taking up most of Frederic’s walk-in wardrobe.

Up the stairs into the living room, my feet stopped dead in their tracks as I surveyed the drastic changes to the space. It no longer resembled my former converted apartment, with the living room completely removed and replaced with a bright, open space.

The large church-styled window still remained, letting the low winter sun beam through the windows and highlight every one of the changes Frederic had created.

Every inch of the room screamed his effort, his care, his unwavering love for the woman I was certain I no longer was or could ever be again.

Because the woman he fell in love with wasn’t damaged goods. She had her whole fucking life laid out in front of her ready to seize it with both working hands.

“What do you think?” His brow scrunched, his fingers twisting his platinum ring. “Do you like it?”

Like it?

The man before me had created an entire art studio.

If I hadn’t felt so fucking empty, so ripped apart at the very seams that I was a breath away from shattering altogether, I would have kissed him until the air in our lungs ceased.

“I was thinking you could practice here, try to regain the strength back in your hand,” Frederic said. “My friend Noah is a physiotherapist and has offered to help in whatever way he can. One-on-one sessions right here. As many sessions as you need to help you build your confidence back.”

My mouth opened and closed.

How was it possible for one man to be this sweet? This caring? This very man, who only seven months ago, I referred to as the Ice Man .

Frederic Dade was the furthest thing from cold.

And yet I struggled to feel anything other than the sharp claws of anxiety, the unwelcome dread eating away at me and reminding me that even if I tried, the feeling in my hand might never come back.

Was it better to try and fail? To build myself up with such fucking false hope only to have it snatched away from me again when the ugly unforgiving reality of my situation didn’t go away?

Then what?

“You don’t like it.” Frederic’s voice cut through my spiraling. “I can change it back if you’d prefer.”

“It’s not that,” I said. “Trust me, what you’ve done here means a lot. More than a lot, it’s unbelievable.”

“Then what’s wrong?” He stepped toward me. “Talk to me, because whatever is going on in that beautiful head of yours is worrying me.”

“You’ve done all this, and it might not work.” I tried to keep my voice level. “No matter how much I practice or let physio’s poke and prod at me, it still might not be enough. After all, the hospital physio had zero success.”

Frederic reached for my practically dead hand, and for a second, I almost forgot that I couldn’t feel him.

My chest ached with that loss of never being able to feel him like before.

Hot tears pricked my eyes. “I don’t know who I am without my art, Fred.”

I fear I’m nothing without it.

I fear I’ve not just lost the feeling, but my entire entity too.

“We can figure that out together,” he said softly, “but I know, deep in my heart, that you’ll find a way, because no matter what, Orla, you are still an artist.”

An artist with a useless hand — it sounded like a punchline to a cruel joke.

“I think I need time. Time to accept that this part of my life is over, that I’ll never be the same again.”

“You don’t know that,” he said. “We have all the time in the world. Noah said he will work with you, and you can come here whenever you wish…”

Using my good hand, I pressed the tips of my fingers to his lips, silencing him.

“What you’ve done for me means the world, and I will never be able to thank you enough.

” I exhaled unsteadily. “But I’ve just lost a part of my life, a dream that I’ve held onto since I was a girl in foster care.

Art saved me, Frederic, do you understand?

It’s not just something I wanted . It is who I am, right down to my very core.

Art pulled me out of the depths of my trauma.

And now… Now I can’t imagine my life without it.

I can’t even think about never holding a brush again, never putting my thoughts on a canvas. ”

Tears slid down my cheeks.

“It’s... It’s so much to accept, so much to process. I don’t know how to breathe with that kind of weight on my chest. And the one thing I did when I was this scared is no longer an option for me. It’s like I’m drowning and I can’t see the surface.”

“Do you want me to book you in to see Dr. Moorehead?” he asked. “He’s one of the best in his field.”

“It won’t do me any good.”

“I know you didn’t want to talk to the hospital’s shrink, but I seriously think Dr. Moorehead can help…”

“I don’t want a fucking therapist right now!”

“Talking to a professional will help. It helped me, I know it can help you too.”

“Frederic, it took you years to come to the decision to go to therapy,” I snapped. “What’s happened to me is still too fresh, too raw for me to comprehend. I don’t need a shrink telling me what I am not ready to hear.”

“Then tell me how to help you.”

Old habits of wanting to run away, to isolate myself, tried to take hold.

My heart battled for control over my head, fighting tirelessly through the darkness shrouding my mind, not to walk away from the only man I ever truly loved.

“Is the bedroom still here?”

He nodded stiffly.

Fuck, was I really going to do this?

Yes. Run.

No. Stop.

“Everything was falling into place. You, Pen, and the chance of my lifetime working with Violet. It’s all I ever wanted.

And now? Now it feels like I’ve lost it all.

” Avoiding his gaze, not wanting to see the pity I knew would be there, I stared down at my limp hand in his.

“What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

“You’re scared, I get that.” His voice remained low. “But with time, it’ll get better.”

“But what if it doesn’t?!” I yelled, the words bursting out of me like a poorly built dam breaking. “Aren’t you even listening to me? To the doctors? There’s an eighty percent chance that I’ll never get it back. Eighty-fucking-percent, Frederic!”

“But there’s still a chance, Orla.”

“You’re still not listening!” My voice cracked. “That eighty percent isn’t just a number. It’s everything. It’s my future. It’s my life. It’s everything I’ve worked for…and it’s all gone. Snuffed out in a blink of an eye.”

His jaw clicked into place.

“And I know you just want to help, Fred, I get that, and I adore you for it,” I continued. “But I think this is something I need to figure out myself. Because having you hover over me, ready to catch me when I shatter like some porcelain doll, it’s too much….”

“Orla, let me help you.”

“I don’t want… No, I refuse to be your burden.”

His gaze turned glassy. “You really believe you’d be a burden to me?”

“You’ve fought so hard to have the life you deserve, me like this in the middle of that? I won’t do it,” I said thickly. “So…I don’t want to go back into the house. I want to stay here in my old bedroom, by myself.”

His whole body turned harder than granite as he repeated, “You want to stay here. Alone.”

“Not so long ago, you asked me to give you time. Time to learn how to heal, time to shed all the hurt and pain, and now I need the same from you.” I leaned up and kissed the corner of his mouth.

“I need to process all this heavy shit, Frederic. I need to figure out who I am now. And I think... I think you need time without me, too. Everything between us moved so fast, and I’m. .. Shitting hell, I’m terrified.”

Pain flashed across his sharp face.

My throat ached as I fought back a surge of bile. “I’m scared that the part of myself I’ve lost, that part that was me , won’t be enough for you anymore.”

“Orla, I need you to stop and listen to me…”

“No, Frederic, please,” I pleaded. “I’m not in a good place right now.

I’m falling apart, and I sure as shit don’t want Penelope to see me like this.

That’s not fair to her, and you know she will want to help me in her own way, and I just can’t…

” I swallowed the bitter taste of vomit that broke past my throat into my mouth.

“Having me around like this, she’d worry.

And you and I both know that’s not fair to her. It’s not fair to any of us.”

He knew I was right.

Penelope had already lost so much with her own mother, who was now making excuses not to be part of her life. I couldn’t inflict my own shit onto her, not when she was so receptive, so aware of everything around her, much like her father.

I knew I would never be able to hide my pain from her.

From either of them.

“For Penelope’s sake, you know it’s for the best,” I said.

The unwilling acceptance in his blue gaze told me enough, but it didn’t make it any easier.

“You’ve fought so hard to get your life together, Frederic, and Penelope needs you now. She needs the stable and happy home that you and her both deserve. So, let me stay here for a couple days till I get my own shitting head sorted.”

His Adams-apple bobbed. “This feels awfully like you are saying goodbye.”

“Look at me.” I waited until he met my gaze. “I’ll be right here. I’m not going anywhere. I just need some space to figure this all out, to learn to accept who I am now without having to worry about upsetting Penelope…without having you looking at me like I’m seconds away from fracturing.”

“Orla…”

“Please, Frederic. Please give me the courtesy I gave you, just give me a little time.”

He slowly let go of my hand, his fingers slipping through mine like sand.

His barely audible ‘ I love you’ echoed through my spinning mind as I walked away from him toward the bedroom.

Just like history repeating itself, I reverted straight back to my dark teenage ways in foster care as I closed the bedroom door and hid myself away.