Page 3 of Anything But Convenient

“Poor Takeshi.”

“This must be devastating.”

“We have to help him.”

So on and so forth. They’d encouraged me to go to therapy, to let out my emotions now that I no longer had a voice to use. Itwas as if they thought my new limitations changed who I was to my core.

I didn’t talk about feelings.

I rarely spoke at all. Only when I felt there was a need to speak up did I do so.

And I didn’t want to see a therapist.

There was nothing they could do for me anyway. Not unless they had a time machine to make me go back and kill that fuck Bradford Yancey Jr. the second he stepped out from behind Detective Mills.

Thinking of that day only led to more frustration on my end. It was best to squash it while I could.

“I’m sorry,” Fabian said gently, his tone softer. “It’s hard to remember what's a trigger and all that. These last couple of months have been challenging on us all.”

Oh, cry me a fucking river.

I wanted to scream the words at him. To yell and cry out until my breath emptied from my lungs.

But I couldn’t.

Not because Fabian was a usually nice guy who wound up in a shitty situation — aka taking care of my recovery.

No, I couldn’t yell because I was physically unable to.

The bullet Brad sent my way would have been lethal had we been just about anywhere else. Luckily, there were certified EMTs on site at the police station who went to work triaging me that fateful day.

Their hard work saved my life.

Unfortunately, nothing could save my vocal cords. I’ve been told more than once that I’m lucky I can eat and drink on my own without a feeding tube at this point.

Coming back to the present moment, I waved away Fabian’s apologies as I pushed up on the bed. It was still a struggleto move around now, even after surgery, recovery, and some physical therapy under my belt.

According to the specialists Tank brought in, I’d likely feel some type of weakness for a while longer. There is no set pace for an injury like mine. Typically, people didn’t survive it, which meant no studies were done to give us a guidepost.

Fabian handed me the dry erase board we used to communicate. I scribbled on it,Breakfast?

“We can make that happen. I’m sure Cohen grabbed something after swinging by Sinclair’s this morning. He’d never forget to get you something.”

Now.

He’d never forget to get me somethingnow.

It was another new truth I refused to point out. Post injury, the team had gone above and beyond to ensure I was cared for. Tank and his doctors, Cohen and his food, Memphis and his research. Each of them brought something to the table in hopes I wouldn’t notice the sad looks they shot my way or the ease with which they kept me out of work conversation.

“Take it easy,” Tank had told me when I was first admitted to the hospital.

Ronan had agreed with him, his unofficial job as Tank’s right-hand man giving him more authority than the rest of us. “Yeah, Takeshi. Do as the boss says. We’re at a bit of a dead end right now anyway. We’ll clue you in when we know more.”

As the days turned into weeks, I realized they wouldn’t be sharing anything else with me. Surely they’d found out some scrap of new information in the time since I’d been recovering.

Memphis was a technical genius. He was lucky Tank came across him when he did, or he’d be bored out of his mind tucked away in some bunker working for one of the various alphabet government agencies.

If he didn’t keep himself in line, it was still a possibility. Agent Stabler, our FBI contact, always seemed intrigued by what Memphis could gather through his computer hacking. Any indication from him that he’d leave Tank, and I have no doubt Stabler would steal him away.

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