Trixies’s Gamble
Copyright© 2026 by Heel
Chapter 5
The crutches felt heavier than a horse.
Rough wood pressed into her palms, splinters biting as she tried to find purchase. Her splinted leg screamed with every tiny movement, the fabric rubbing raw against her skin. Sweat rolled down her back and neck, and her bare foot barely cleared the floor. Even the smallest shift sent searing pain shooting through her thigh.
She moved the crutches carefully, heart hammering. The world tilted violently.
A sob escaped her throat.
The crutches wobbled. The splint rattled against the bedframe. Her hands shook so badly she almost dropped one entirely.
“Easy there,” the deputy said from the doorway, leaning lazily against the wall. “Don’t want to hurt yourself more.”
Trixie’s face burned. She wanted to snarl, wanted to throw the crutches at him, wanted to scream until her lungs emptied. But she couldn’t. Not yet.
Her bare foot scraped the floor, making a sickening sound against the worn boards. Every nerve in it throbbed, every tiny motion a fresh agony. She forced herself to shift weight, then immediately stumbled forward, bracing herself with a gasp.
“Careful,” someone else murmured from the corner. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your new splint.”
The words felt like a knife. She closed her eyes, shaking, trembling, barely able to hold herself upright.
One step. Two steps. Each tiny movement was a war. The crutches dug into her palms, the splint rubbed her thigh raw, her calf burned, her toes flexed uselessly, trying to balance.
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