Substitute Marriage: Healing My Disabled Husband

Holm

d me, the mechanical lock clicking i

logs crackled in the fireplace, casting a dim red glow through a

ore through the dark corner to my left. A custom titan

e floor. The sharp edge of the stick blade grazed right past m

ng up, and grabbed the carbon-fiber shaft. I yanked the stick toward my c

stom heavy-duty wheelchair. Even seated, his broad shoulde

face. On his right cuff, a custom silver cufflink engraved with a soaring ea

thin lips curled up. Instead of letting go of the stick, his rough hand s

ologne washed over me as his deep,

Hollis raise a wildcat who

ping the needle tips

ur wedding gift for your leg

titanium stick clattered onto the marble floor, his long

ing like a country maid hides the fact that

stepped back, my gaze dropping to the lifeles

couple for the cameras, and I don't

chair over, sat down,

rs tapping a steady rhythm agains

My patience only lasts for peo

n to the NHL ice, and lift the Stanley Cup again. In exchange, you give me total

a spark popping in the hearth. Conl

sh sound full of fury. He leaned forward, the wheelchair tires

rts doctors in the league pronounced my motor neurons dead. You're a country substit

cause they can't cure yo

from my canvas bag and slid it a

ts are chewing on the bone, while below your ankles feels freezing

went tight, his hands gripping the edge of the

my medica

cle compensation in top athle

f his wheelchair, and pulled a thre

n minutes, I'll prove whether I'm qualified t

and falling hard. Red veins crept into the corners of his ey

I'll throw you off the third-floor balcony

ea

ough the thin fabric of his suit pants, I pressed my cool f

frame stiffened, his jaw cle

e between my index and middle fingers, and dro

ting guards echoed from the hallway outside, and the he