Page 32 of His Reward
I made the mistake of catching sight of my reflection in the floor to ceiling mirror that hung on the back of the bathroom door as I reached for my loose, long-sleeved t-shirt. A quick, sharp burst of emotion speared through me. The right side of my body looked as fine and fit as ever, since they had me movingaround a lot and even working out in rehab. The left side of my body was an entirely different story.
My left arm and most of my left side were a mottled combination of red, raw skin that was still fighting to heal from a couple of grafts I’d had the week before and pale, bumpy scar tissue. The sight immediately brought memories of that dark morning, when fire had licked across my once-pretty body. I swallowed hard and looked at the mess that had been made of my flesh before pulling my shirt on over my head. That only hid my body, though, not my head.
I’d never really considered myself vain or particularly concerned with my appearance, although I’d been aware I was attractive. Father had always said that being attractive influenced the judges, whether they were willing to admit to it or not. It had helped to make me into a crowd favorite, I knew.
Well, those days of being the pretty omega were gone. The face that looked back at me from the mirror was almost the one I was used to, except for the fact that the left side, just past the apple of my cheek and the side of my eye, looked like it had melted. Parts of my cheek and jaw on that side were distorted and my mouth on that side was now pulled into a constant smirk, even if the fire hadn’t touched my lips.
The worst part of it was my left ear. It was pretty much gone. Everyone said I was lucky that only the outer areas of the ear were burned off and that the core structure, the part that made it possible for me to hear, was still intact. I had lost some hearing, but it could have been much worse. If you weren’t concerned with appearances.
If appearances mattered, then I was fucked. That entire side of my head looked gross. It wasn’t just my melted ear. Enough of my scalp in that area had been damaged that I would never grow hair around that side again.
“Oh, honey,” Mom said, stepping up behind me and taking my right hand. “It really isn’t that bad.”
“No, of course it’s not,” I said too tightly. I turned away from the mirror and smiled at her. “I’m used to it now.”
It was a big, fat lie. I hated the way I looked now. What I hated even more was the constant, underlying worry that Boston wouldn’t want anything to do with me, now that I was a freak.
“Do you want your compression bandages today?” Gemma asked from the other side of the room, where she looked about ready to leave. “I’ve put together a whole kit of them to send you home with.”
My heart skipped a few beats as the anxiety of leaving rehab buzzed through me. They’d done everything they could for me there. I would still have daily appointments so Gemma could torture me more, but I was supposed to go home today.
I wasn’t sure I was ready to face my condo and all the reminders of the life I couldn’t have anymore.
“Um, yeah,” I said, letting go of my mom’s hand and walking around to the other side of the bed. “If you think they’re helping.”
“They’re stopping the scars from forming in irregular patterns,” Gemma said, bringing the tight, restricting sleeves for my arm and my thigh over to the bed. “That will help with the flexibility you want.”
“Anything you can do to make certain Lucien is as flexible as he was before is good,” Mom said as I halfway removed my shirt so Gemma could slide the pressure bandage in place. I should have had her do it before I got dressed, but I hadn’t wanted to be naked in front of my mom. “My beautiful boy is going to stand on that podium at the Winter Games in three years,” she added with a proud smile.
I would have said something cute and given Mom all the credit for whatever recovery I might make, but Marco walked into the room as she spoke.
“Lucien?” he said, stopping and blinking at Mom. “He’s definitely not ever competing again, let alone winning any medals.”
There was a subtly gloating tone to his voice that made me want to punch him. More than usual.
“Lucien can do whatever he sets his mind to,” Mom defended me as Gemma helped me figure out how to pull on the pressure bandage for my thigh without taking my sweatpants off. “He’s determined to get right back on the horse after falling off, and I, for one, applaud his determination.”
“Oh, well, if Lucien wants to learn dressage and start competing in the Summer Games, then by all means,” Marco said with a sneer.
“If I did choose to change sports, I’d still be better than you,” I snapped. I couldn’t help it. Comments like that were beneath me, but Marco had been such a jerk to me, even through my recovery, that all I wanted to do was spit in his eye sometimes.
“You’re an idiot if you think you have any chance at all of competing on any level on the ice anymore,” Marco snorted, no problem fighting right back. He didn’t care how low he stooped either. “No one wants to watch a freak like you are now on the ice anyhow.”
I wanted to throw something back at him, but I was still too raw from seeing my reflection, and all I could do was grit my teeth and not show how effective that argument was at upsetting me.
“Boys,” Mom huffed, moving to stand between us. “You’re supposed to be brothers, not adversaries.”
“We’re both,” I said grumpily, standing once Gemma had my thigh bandage in place.
Gemma sent me a look like she was on my side, then said, “You’re good to go. I’ll let Dr. Barber know your family is here to take you home and we’ll get you out of here in a jiff.”
She was trying to throw something positive my way, but the anxiety I’d been trying to push away curled back on me.
“They’re letting you out of here?” Marco asked, a kernel of concern in his expression.
“I’m switching from inpatient to outpatient,” I said, walking the length of the room and back, which wasn’t much, to get the blood flowing in my limbs again. I tried not to limp as I moved, but some things couldn’t be helped.
“What about your alpha boyfriend?” Marco asked, crossing his arms. “Does he know you’re going home?”
