Page 79 of Manors & Mischief

Continuing, the doctor says, “Since you’ve gone through this before, you know the deal. Surgery. You’ll have to be off your feet for some time. Your movement will be restricted.”

While the doctor talks, I take a deep breath knowing that Devon is going to need me more than ever now. He won’t be able to work on the manor, which isn’t a concern right now. My worry is for him. It’s how he’s going to move past this and be able to do things in his everyday life for the bit of time he’ll be laid up.

Devon just nods, so the doctor ends with, “I’m sorry it’s such bad news. I can get you in touch with a local orthopedic surgeon. I know you had your last surgery done in Buffalo. It’s up to you.”

Devon doesn’t say anything. He takes so long to answer that I peer over and find him grinding his teeth together. He doesn’t look like he has any intention of answering whatsoever.

Mrs. Lachey speaks up. “We’ll get back to you on that, but I do think it would be easier to have it done locally, Dr. Shaz, so if you could refer us to a few people, that would be fantastic.”

After nodding, he says, “We should have you out of here shortly. You’ll need help once you get home.”

“I can help,” I say quickly.

The doctor gives me a smile, and I thank him. He leaves the room, whistling as he does. Devon still hasn’t said anything. His demeanor is scaring me. I’m close to asking Mrs. Lachey if there’s anything I should be doing when he finally speaks. “Mom, can you give us a minute?”

“Devon…”

“Mom.”

She turns toward me frowning. After coming around the bed, she reaches for me and pulls me into a hug. “Don’t take any of this personally, and please, don’t give up on him.”

The mayor lets me go before I have any time to process what she’s just said. A twisting feeling starts in my gut.

“Ember, you need to make sure you fight Nichols.”

“I was. I am,” I stammer out.

“You shouldn’t give up on your dream because people push back. It’s not right.”

I shake my head, smiling. “Yeah, we can do that.”

It takes him a moment to peer over at me, and when he does, he shakes his head. He goes to talk, but then he clears his throat like the words somehow get stuck in his mouth. “We’re not going to do anything,” he says. “I’m not who you need right now, so go off, fight Nichols. My mom will help you. Good luck on everything,” he tacks on the end as an afterthought.

I stand there mute for a moment. “What are you saying, Devon?”

He shrugs, then gestures at his leg. “I’m not who you need right now.”

“So, you think the only reason why I like you is because you fixed my house and built me a kids’ attraction?” When he doesn’t respond, I shake my head. “I don’t get it. You’re being weird right now. This was hard to hear and there are probably so many emotions going through you right now, but I can be there. I can do both. I can work on the manor and be there for you. If you want, you can move into the manor so I can keep a better eye on you.”

“Ember.”

The way his face sits steadily, almost emotionless, it makes my heart start to go cold. “I don’t get it.”

“I can’t help you. I can’t help the town. I’m worthless, Ember. It’ll be like before, and I’m not taking you down with me. Go live your life. Do everything you want to with the manor.”

“This is such an extreme reaction, and I would like to remind you that you aren’t just a…contractor to me,” I splutter out. “I just told the doctor I was your girlfriend for crying out loud. You’re only going to be laid up for a little while. Don’t be ridiculous.”

So many times recently—so many—when we’ve been wrapped up in each other’s arms, I’ve started to think about the future. I’ve loved the way we’ve fit together, how everything seemed to click into place for us once we stopped fighting it.

He’s an emotional guy, but even this is over-the-top. “It’s just your leg.”

Immediately, I know it was the wrong thing to say because his face morphs from impassiveness to anger. “Just my leg?”

“It’ll heal,” I correct my earlier words. “I’m not downplaying the severity, I’m just saying⁠—.”

“My body is my livelihood,” he grinds out. “I fix things. I help people. The surgery might not even work. Do you know only seventy percent of people make it back to pre-injury levels of use? Ask me how much that decreases with a second tear.”

“I’m sorry. I⁠—.”