Page 27 of Trig

“We’ll get it back,” I painfully lie.

“I can’t imagine what they put you through years ago,” she says, as she places her hand on my cheek.

I slide her hand off my face, kiss it, and place it in my lap. I’m about to tell her. Now or never.

“Nine—-”

“Fuck! This pain. Does Doc have any stronger pain meds?” She pulls her hand away and touches her stomach. Her face is confused as she runs her fingers over her lower belly. “What is that?”

“I was going to tell you. I have been trying to for a few minutes now.”

She squints her eyes at me. I look away, too pained to tell her now. She pulls her shirt up to examine her skin.

“Why the hell are there staples in me? This looks like a fucked-up c-section.”

She looks panicked and attempts to stand up. I stop her. “What is this?” she cries out.

“You had an infection and the doc had to do a hysterectomy to save your life,” I blurt out.

She first looks at me, shocked, and then she stares off into the corner of the room. I can see her eyes watering up but not one tear drops. The cold blank look on her face tells me she understands what that means. There will absolutely not be any more children in our future. I go to speak but she stops me.

“I think I need some rest now. Please leave the room.”

I’m a little hurt but I don’t dare show it. I want to console her but I do as she wishes.

“Yeah. Of course. I’ll be out there if you need me.”

“I just want Mya, please,” she mutters.

I respectfully nod and allow her this space as I stand and limp toward the door. I glance back at her once. She’s frozen there in that bed and I don’t know what else to do or say. As hard as it is, I just walk out of that room, leaving her to deal with her pain alone while I push down mine.

Chapter 6. Justice

It’s been almost eight weeks since the reckoning took place. The aftermath of it all felt like I was sweeping up a tornado mess with nothing more than a broken broom. I’ve ordered everyone in the doctor’s house to never discuss any of it in front of Nine. She’s depressed. She barely eats, and seems easily distracted, and rightfully so. She fake smiles in front of us just to save her pain for when she’s alone. I hear her sobbing in the bathroom quite often. She never lets me in, and when she comes out, I comfort her the best I can, and even then, my touch or words seem to have no effect these days. I’m patient with her sadness. Her anger. Her isolation. The doctor says her mental recovery is whenever she wants it to be. One month, six months, and sometimes never. He added that her body would take months to heal. He said she’d have some side effects from the surgery, such as heat flashes and mood swings. I scoff at that last comment. Ironically, Nine’s whole life has been one big-ass side effect, but then again, so has mine.

I too am sampling the bitter taste of depresso coffee. My leg is nowhere near where it needs to be. Doc says it’s a good six months as well before I’ll be able to walk right, if I ever do. I maintain this limp that makes me feel inadequate. Nothing will fuck up your ego and pride more than not being able to function how you used to. Not to mention the pain. I can’t even put pressure on it without grimacing. But complaining like a little bitch is not going to fix it. So instead, I just wash my depression down with a pain pill every so often.

“What the fuck, man? Are we doing this or not?” I whisper in frustration, as I stare at Gabriel.

“Patience. Just five more minutes.”

I roll my eyes and push my back against the couch.

“I don’t understand what we’re waiting for. It’s been weeks. I’ve sat around here like some tired grandpa on the couch, at your request. I’ve waited as long as I can for this leg to heal up. I can’t do this shit anymore. I want him dead.”

Just then we hear a knock at the door. I pull the gun out of my waistband. Gabriel jumps off the couch, peaks through the peephole, and then quickly opens the door. Three men walk in. Two tall and one short. They both eye me up and down and then turn their attention back to Gabriel. I don’t like the way they look so I’m ready to unload all my shit now.

“Do we got a problem, fellas?” I ask, gun pointed up.

They all remain silent.

“This is what we’ve been waiting for, Trig,” Gabriel says, as I stare at them, confused. “Let me introduce you. These are my late wife’s brothers. Names are not necessary. They’re more than willing to risk their lives if it means they get revenge for her death. They want to help us take down that whole fucking operation. No stone unturned. These men are all in. The only question they have is which one of us gets the honor of killing Carmen.”

“That would be me,” Nine’s voice sounds from behind me.

I put my gun away, stand up, and walk over to her.

“Fuck no! You’re staying here. Are you insane? You’re not ready for this.”

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