Chapter 36
For the first time since getting home, the apartment is finally quiet. I give myself a few moments to just be. Lily and Oren are both sleeping, so I have the couch to myself. I lie back, taking in the calm. Even with the chaos long gone now, my thoughts still spin. The longer I lie here, unmoving, the bigger my freakout gets.
What do I even feed a hockey player? An injured hockey player, at that. What’s someone supposed to eat post surgery? I quickly pull out my phone, googling like a maniac:
What to feed someone with a concussion?
What to feed someone post-op?
Best recovery meals for athletes?
I really should have done more research… Then it hits me, I have no idea if Oren has any food allergies, or what he likes to eat, or what he doesn’t. My anxious brain makes me spiral. What if I give him something that poisons him? What if he hates my cooking? I’m totally underprepared for this. I groan and throw my phone down, marching into the kitchen.
“Chicken noodle soup,” I mutter to myself. “That’s good for shit, right?”
I start digging through the fridge and pantry, looking for anything I can use to make soup. Thankfully, I find everything I need to make a decent batch. I focus on the chopping of carrots and celery, telling myself that these onions will not make me cry and focus on the broth coming to boil, all while trying to calm myself down. Soup’s easy. Who doesn’t love soup? It’s comforting. The universal soup of healing won’t poison him.
As I’m switching the pot to simmer, I hear the telltale thud of crutches hitting furniture, followed by a soft cry from Lily’s room, the universal sign that Oren is awake now.
“Great,” I mumble to myself. "Real life starts now."
I watch from the stove as Oren hobbles into the room, looking a little better than yesterday but still painfully rundown. He winces as one crutch knocks into the couch, sending a ripple of noise through the apartment. Lily’s soft crying from the other room turns into a full-blown wail.
“Just…sit down,” I instruct him, jogging past to grab Lily. “I’ll get her.”
I pull Lily from her crib and carry her to Oren, placing her in his lap. “There, now you can calm her down and entertain her. But no more banging your crutches around, please.”
He chuckles softly, kissing Lily’s curls. “Sorry, Lily Goose. Didn’t mean to scare you. Your dad doesn’t know how to walk anymore.”
I watch them for a second. I love watching Oren and Lily together, their bond growing, but it’s now giving me a feeling of uncomfortable warmth that doesn’t belong in this situation. I can’t let the affection that I see coming from Oren cloud my feelings. That affection isn’t for me, so I don’t linger. I distract myself around the kitchen, keeping a wide safe distance. Those two will get along, just without me for a bit.
Eventually, Lily starts fussing again, smacking her lips. “Looks like someone’s hungry,” Oren jokes, glancing over at me. “Speaking of which…whatcha got over there?”
I laugh, scooping Lily up and putting her in the high chair. Once she is settled, I serve up a little soup for everyone. Oren insists on making sure Lily eats more than a few noodles in between spoonfuls for himself, and I take it all in. How well we have blended so far, regardless of the injury. Which only reminds me of what I don’t know.
Without thinking, I blurt out, “Are you allergic to anything?”
Oren looks up, confused, and definitely amused. “No, why?”
“I don’t know!” I throw my hands up. “I started freaking out earlier. I have no idea what you’re supposed to eat. I just…I don’t know, I was worried I’d poison you by accident or something. What am I supposed to feed you?!”
Oren grins, setting down his spoon. “Well, Dr. Lyons might have other meal plans in mind, but I like sex, beer, and chicken wings.”
“Oren!” I gasp, blushing furiously.
He laughs, thoroughly entertaining himself. “I’m kidding, kinda. Mostly, I eat a lot of protein, veggies, and rice or pasta. I’m pretty basic. You don’t have to stress about it. I can order groceries.”
His casual tone relaxes me a bit. "Okay. Good to know.”
The rest of the evening flies. Once I’m done putting Lily to bed, I join Oren in the living room. As the sense of relaxation settles over me, I finally remember the news I’d been so excited to share. “Oh, by the way, I’m on leave for the next three months.”
Oren’s smile falters. “What do you mean?”
I explain about how I saved up all of my PTO, vacation, sick time, everything when I found out that I was pregnant and took unpaid leave after having Lily. Then went back to work 12 weeks later once Heidi could start. Technically never using any of my paid maternity leave, which leaves me with almost six months of paid time off. According to Steve, it doesn’t matter how or when I’m using it.
His expression shifts angrily, his jaw tightening. “What the fuck, Rachel?!”
“I’m not telling you this to make you mad,” I add quickly, not really understanding why he is upset.
“I can’t believe you were putting yourself through all of that, going 3 months without a paycheck. All of it was such a better option than telling me the truth.” Oren hisses.
“Oh, Oren. I didn’t want to dredge this back up, honest.” I say gently. Damn, I didn't think about how being so open would make him feel.
“It’s not that,” he says, shaking his head. “It just isn’t fair you had to do any of it. If I’d known…things would’ve been different.”
The guilt in his voice cuts through to my core, but I have to brush it aside. It’s nothing we can change. “It’s done now. It doesn’t matter now.” I say.
“Well, I still hate it.” Oren peels himself off the couch, hobbling his way into the bathroom. He struggles the whole time, pride or maybe anger, holding him back.
I follow along behind him, trying to convince him to let me help him. He just brushes me off, grumbling, “I can handle it.” He stops just inside the bathroom and closes the door, trying to escape me. I roll my eyes but step back, letting him have his pride for now.
"Fine, be a stubborn jackass," I say, crossing my arms and yelling through the door.
I leave him to his own devices, but wait outside the bathroom. I hear him fumbling with his crutches, the water turning on, then, a loud thud, followed by an all-too-familiar string of swears.
"OH, FUCKING HELL!"
I throw open the bathroom door, finding him slumped against the shower wall, still in his boxers, one crutch lying across the tile.
"Oren!" I exclaim, my hands moving wildly, trying to keep him from falling while also turning the water off. "What the hell were you thinking?"
He groans, looking annoyed and defeated, trying to keep himself from falling with one good leg. “I’m fine,” he mutters, though everything about the situation says otherwise.
“You’re not fine, and you’re not taking a shower without the chair. I didn’t just buy it for fun. And I’m helping you.”
Reluctantly, he concedes and grumbles something unintelligible under his breath as I grab him a towel.
"Okay," I say, trying to be practical about the situation. "Let me get the chair in there. Then help you in and out. Now you can take your time without having to stand on one leg like a damn flamingo."
He snorts, leaning against the counter while I turn the water back on. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. "Do you, uh, need help taking off your boxers?"
"Rachel, you’ve seen it all before. What’s another look?" He laughs, a devilish smirk on his face, even though I can tell he’s still in pain. "I’m not exactly ashamed of anything."
I blush, trying to keep my composure, despite the sudden rush of heat crawling up my neck and the tingling in my lady parts. "Yeah, well, I’m just trying to keep things professional here," I mutter, although I’m not quite sure if it's for my benefit or his.
Oren grins, pushes off the counter but starts to slip, then shifts his weight uncomfortably. "You can look or don’t. But you are going to have to pick me up off the ground soon. I could use a hand in whatever way you see fit."
Then he has the audacity to wink in my direction. Apparently, a near death shower incident is enough to turn his bad mood around. I swallow, determined not to let this become more awkward than it already is. I pull the boxers down his legs, my eyes tracking as his alert, not quite erect penis, bobs free of the fabric. I pull my glance from its current focus, but inevitably–against my will, even–my gaze moves over the rest of his body as I straighten back up. I help him down onto the chair, allowing myself to take in his muscles and the tattoos, soaking in how familiar the sight of him is. I have to force my brain to understand that I’m here to help him recover, nothing more. I will absolutely not acknowledge the sexual chemistry that seems to be brewing at an even faster pace between us.
Once he’s in the chair with the shower head and soap at his disposal and I’m safe on the other side of the shower door, I let out a relieved breath. "See?" I say, trying to sound casual. "Much better than killing yourself standing like a flamingo.”
"Yeah, thanks," he mutters.
I stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do next. I really wish there was full steam or an opaque shower curtain. Anything that my vision can’t penetrate through because right now, seeing every inch of his very naked, very wet body on display is a distraction. The problem is, looking at him is way easier than it should be. The water clings to his skin, highlighting every dip and curve of muscle. Each droplet brings my attention to another part of him, the details in the tattoos snaking across his chest and arms, like the skull that is hidden among feathers. It’s not good—well, it’s an amazing sight to behold, but it’s generally a terrible thing for my self-control. I shouldn’t be staring at him, thinking about getting him on his back and not back on his feet. Ah, hell…
"Okay," I finally say, “You look like you’re about to fall asleep.”
“Maybe.” His exhausted face still allows for a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “But I’d rather fall asleep with you watching me shower than anything else.”
Goddamn him. Even when injured, helpless, and stuck in a shower chair, he can still lay the charm on real thick. I keep my face neutral, but my heart is galloping— this is torture.
"So," I begin, trying to force my brain back on track, "Lily spilled coffee on me twice yesterday. I wore two different socks yesterday. Oh, I was in such a hurry this morning I forgot to put on underwear."
The exhaustion is replaced quickly by a hardened lust, “Yes, please keep telling me about your lack of panties, Rachel.”
I freeze, my heart skipping a beat. Well, that slipped out. “Oren,” I warn, but there is no bite.
Thankfully the steam’s gotten much thicker, so he is just a shadow behind the glass. “I mean, you can’t just throw something like that out there and expect me not to react. Keep going.”
I roll my eyes, knowing that he can’t see any more of me than I can of him, which is a good thing because he can’t know that my body automatically reacts to his teasing. I can’t show him how my thighs rub together, seeking something. “You’re impossible.”
“Maybe," he says, his voice dropping a little lower, "but you wouldn’t have it any other way."
I sigh, pushing myself off the counter. "Alright, time to get you out."
He blinks lazily at me after I open the shower door, letting the steam dissipate. Then, he smirks. "You wanna avert your eyes, or are we past that?"
I glare at him, though my body wants to do much more. "Even a busted knee won’t keep you down."
He lets out an exaggerated groan as I help him stand. Immediately once he is stable, I grab a towel, holding it up, blocking my eyeline. He laughs at me, but it does nothing to dull the sight of him. His wet, taut muscles and demeanor completely unbothered, all of it sends my already inappropriate thoughts racing all over again. He secures the towel around his waist and gives me a look. "You’re doing great, by the way," he teases.
“Shut up,” I mutter, hiding my embarrassment as I turn around, grabbing his clothes. "Let’s get you dressed before you cause any more trouble."
It takes a bit of effort. Him balancing on one leg, me trying to not cop a feel or get an eyeful of Oren’s dick, but eventually, he is dressed in some loose shorts and a t-shirt. He’s clearly tired, his eyelids drooping, but beneath it all, there is still a hunger.
He shoots me a lazy grin. "Thanks for the help, nurse Reese."
"Good night, Oren," I say, rolling my eyes again, trying to keep my tone light.
He hobbles out with his crutches, pausing once to shoot me one last lingering smile over his shoulder. Then he disappears into the bedroom without another word. I stand there for a moment, letting out a shaky breath. What the hell am I doing and how am I going to survive sleeping next to him for the next few months?