Page 50 of Tides That Bind

Riley says nothing.

I’m trying to be the bigger person and include him.

And still, he says nothing.

All of a sudden, I’m embarrassed. Maybe it’s a stupid idea. Nate loved to surf, but he loved other things too. Like service. Animals. Lucas and I can volunteer at an animal shelter instead, but instead of involving Riley in that, I’ll keep it to myself.

I certainly won’t tell him the reason I’m asking in the first place is Lucas is afraid of the water. I plan to keep everything to myself from now on, and I’m doing a pretty good job at it because we’re almost home and I haven’t said anything else.

“I don’t think me teaching you is a good idea, Harper.”

I still don’t say anything, not even when he pulls into the driveway and I get out of the car, unclipping Tides’s leash so he can roam the backyard. His paw crunches against something at the foot of the seat and I reach down, picking up a crumbled paper bag.

From the florist.

Folding it, I shut the door and hand it to Riley.

“I don’t think you buying me flowers because my husband can’t anymore is a good idea.”

I shut—alright,slam—the door and make my way to the porch.

“You never had an issue with it when he was deployed.”

I stop, turning slowly.

“That was you?”

Again, Riley says nothing. But his silence is enough of an answer for me.

I turn back, whistle for Tides and head into the house.

And this time, I lock the door behind me.

“Extend all your fingers.Yes, like that. As far as you can.”

The spaces between my fingers widen, making each digit look scrawnier the further it gets from its neighbor. My entire hand is borderline skeletal. But I guess that’s what happens when it becomes lame and immobile for two months.

The doctor turns my left hand over. “That pocket of swelling should go down in a few weeks.”

He’s referring to the balloon that is the knuckle below my index finger, the finger that is now more hardware than bone.

“Can’t bend it,” I grit out.

There’s some sort of disconnect no matter how hard I try, no matter how hard I focus, I can’t get past.

Still holding my hand, the doctor peers over the top of his glasses. “We talked about that.”

To be fair, the doctor did tell me when they placed the small, titanium rod between my second knuckle and tip of my right index finger, I might not have much use of it. But I’ve been told a lot of things before and proved people wrong. The reason I graduated from law school and went on to finally pass the bar is because I’m stubborn with a side of vengeance.

“So he’ll never be able to use his finger?” Finn asks from the chair against the wall.

Dr. Olson sighs. “From a medical standpoint, I’m relieved he stillhasa finger. That break was pretty bad.”

I roll my tongue around the inside of my mouth hating the conversation. Bad is relative. I would’ve let Nate break each and every finger and all my toes if it meant he came to the surface of the bay with me.

“Physical therapy might get you a little further than you are now. We gave you the referral at your last appointment,” Dr. Olson says. “Did you reach out to them?”

I shake my head.

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