The odds of that happening were slim.
But I wanted her to try. It was stupid. I mean, I barely knew her, but the thought of her just… giving up? It destroyed me.
I quickly made a call — one I wasn't sure I was going to regret come morning.
She could never find out.
If she did, I'd be the one dead.
But maybe, even if it meant I died — it would be worth it. She'd been right before, when she said it was a two-twirl dress. She'd been gorgeous on her wedding day, and she deserved more than one twirl.
She deserved a hundred.
A thousand.
The least I could do was try to get her to that place where she could run without getting dizzy. Where she could twirl and truly experience life.
My fingers slid across the numbers on the screen.
"Yeah?" Tex barked into the phone. "How's our girl?"
"My girl's fine." I sighed. "Look, I need a favor."
"I'm not killing the doctors. They're the best money can buy and—"
"Not that kind of favor."
Tex paused. "This surprises me. Okay, you have my attention."
When I was done explaining, I was met with complete silence. I started to break out into a cold sweat.
"No promises," he finally croaked out. The line went dead.
****
Andi was discharged two days later. The doctors wanted to make sure she didn't have an infection. It turned out she'd just had a minor case of walking pneumonia. Though any sickness could potentially kill her — they'd given us the green light.
And she was back to her chipper ways.
Which included waking me up at dawn with her bat and pan.
And then singing at the top of her lungs while making eggs with extra ketchup… the ketchup she said represented blood, and, since I'd killed so many people, she wanted to remind me of my sins every day.
Her words. Not mine.
I continued holding her hand whenever she asked me to, and honestly, each time our fingers touched, it felt more and more like I was losing a part of myself.
I knew she was getting bored; you couldn't simply keep a girl like Andi cooped up in a house, but it terrified me that she would get sicker if we went somewhere, and as much as I hated to admit my own terror, well, there it was.
Finally after five days at home, something gave.
It happened when I was in the shower — because naturally Andi didn't do anything like a normal human being; her timing was always off, her ideas harebrained.
I was just putting shampoo in my hair when the door to the bathroom opened.
"Hey, sailor," Andi called.
"What the—" I dropped the shampoo onto my foot and turned. I wasn't in one of those showers, you know, the types that hid every part of you.
I lived in a freaking mansion. My shower was glass on every side and gave the impression that I was in a monsoon rather than a bathroom.
"Andi?" I licked my lips, not bothering to cover myself up. "Can this wait until I'm out of the shower."
"Nope." She heaved herself up onto the counter and smiled. "You're more vulnerable this way."
"No shit," I muttered then grabbed some body wash and continued trying to shower while her eyes drank me in.
"So…" She yawned.
I was slightly offended at her reaction. Could she at least stare wide-eyed and in absolute wonderment?
The woman did amazing things to my ego.
"I was thinking."
"That's unfortunate for me." I faced her again. "So? What were you thinking, Andi?"
"You like holding my hand."
I quickly turned back around lest she see the effect even thinking about holding her hand had on my body. "Yeah?" I croaked out. "So?"
"So, you like spending time with me even if you won't admit it."
"Get there faster, Andi."
"The list," Andi called out. "I think we should do some list-like activities. I wrote down all the honeymoon things I'd want to do if we were able to leave the country without going to prison."
I sighed. "Andi, we wouldn't go to prison."
"I would die in prison. I'm too pretty."
"And I'm what? The Hunchback of Notre Dame?"
I met her gaze again.
She tilted her head. A small smile formed across her lips. "You do have horrible posture."
"Do not," I argued, straightening my back.
"Do too." Her grin widened. "You'll probably be one of those crotchety old men that can't look past a woman's breasts because he can't lift his head. I can see it now. 'Bring me more pasta!'"
"Wait, what?" I turned off the shower. "Why am I yelling for pasta?"
She shrugged. "Just seems like something your grumpy ass would say."
"Your opinion of me needs work."
"Maybe you should be nicer, and my opinion would be higher."
"I bought you ice cream."
"After yelling at me." She tossed me a white fluffy towel then pointed at my side tattoo. "Hey, what's that?"
I slapped her hand away and turned so she couldn't see the markings then wrapped the towel around my waist. "Okay, so you want to… what? Have sex fifteen times?"