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Jude kicked off his shoes, then his jeans, and sat at the end of his bed. He removed his prosthesis and, with a wince, massaged the scarred stump under his knee. Sore muscles ached in protest as well as relief.
He’d been patched up on the field and then flown to Germany, where he spent a week convalescing from surgery. Then he was flown to San Antonio, where he spent three months in recovery. Constance and the girls had come to see him as often as possible, staying in temporary housing. With every visit, his wife had seemed brighter, happier, and once she’d even told him that she would love him no matter what, but deep in his heart, he hadn’t believed her. He was no longer the man she’d married. He was less. He wasn’t as strong or capable as he’d once been. Hell, he had to learn how to walk all over again.
Acid scalded his throat as he wondered how the flawless Ryanne would react to such an ugly sight.
He shook his head. What did her opinion matter? They’d kissed once, and they wouldn’t do so again.
No matter how desperately his body longed to possess hers.
A beep sounded from his phone, distracting him from his thoughts. He checked the screen, his tightening grip nearly cracking the plastic case when he spotted Ryanne’s name. If this was another invitation—
Wade: HELP ME!!! How fast can you get here??? I need you here five minutes ago. Belle is giving birth, and you probably can’t tell, but I’m freaking out!
He sent a hasty reply. I left the list for a reason. Follow it.
Wade: COME OVER RIGHT NOW JUDE LAURENT OR I SWEAR I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN AND—I DON’T KNOW WHAT! BUT IT WILL HURT. IT WILL HURT BAD.
Already on my way.
Wade: Thank you thank you thank you. Sorry not sorry that I threatened you. Still friends?
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