Roommates Box Set #4-6

12. Alyssa

12

ALYSSA

Weekends were awesome at this house. Neither Spencer nor Raphael had to work, and they spent ample time with the twins. Saturday morning, Spencer took them hiking.

That left me with Raphael, who seemed determined that I at least try the crutches. That part of the weekend was slightly less awesome. But eventually, after much practice, I was able to stand up from the bed by holding onto the walker Nana had lent me as long as it was wedged against the nightstand. Then I’d use the crutches to take a few awkward steps forward without putting any weight on my bad leg.

Between my bruised ribs and sprained wrist, it hurt too much to even crutch my way out of the room, but even being able to make my way to the window on my own was an improvement. No more waiting for someone to arrive to raise or lower the blinds. Plus, I could look out the window and see trees, Flynn’s barn, and sometimes Flynn himself. I learned that he often went shirtless when working in the barn, and it made me wish my long-distance vision was better.

Saturday evening, Spencer deposited me on the living room sofa after dinner. The kids sat on either side of me as I read them a story. After that, the twins held an informal show and tell. Lucas showed me his favorite toys, including a closer look at that awesome block set Flynn had made him. And Charlotte introduced me to all her horse figurines.

Storytime happened again Sunday night, and I hoped the twins would want it to be a regular thing. It was fun, I was with good company, and it distracted me from my various aches and pains.

Throughout the whole weekend, I kept thinking about Flynn. I hated that he felt the need to sneak in here at night like a thief. Somehow, I couldn’t believe that it was just about me. After all, both Spencer and Raphael had indicated that this kind of standoffishness was unusual for him. This wasn’t my home, and it wasn’t my family, but still… it made me want to do something about it.

A month or two ago, my brother and his buddies had done something that hurt Kylie’s feelings. Eventually, I couldn’t stand seeing her pain, and I butted into my brother’s life. I told Mason straight up how much he was hurting her.

It wasn’t my place, it wasn’t my business, but I did it anyway, and I didn’t regret it. They’d needed a push, and I think it helped them get to the very good place they were in now.

Maybe that was how things were with Flynn. I didn’t know the whole story, but I knew something was wrong, and it made me want to act. And hey, if I was wrong? Well, people might be pissed, but it was like Raphael said. I kind of had a get out of jail free card for a while.

By Monday morning, I had my plan ready to go. Raphael helped me get in and out of the shower using Spencer’s shirt as a cover-up, since the dresses I’d ordered hadn’t come yet. Then he had to go teach a class.

“You sure you’ll be okay?” he asked, not for the first time.

“Yes, of course. I’ll probably just sleep while you’re gone,” I lied.

“If you get hungry, contact Nana. She can come over and get something for you.”

“Right. I’ll text Nana if I need something.”

He grinned. “Better call. She’s not very good at texting.”

“I’ll be fine. Go teach Tai Chi.”

“It’s kickboxing this morning. See you.”

I waited until the sound of his truck faded before I began the first part of my plan. It involved making very sure my phone was in my pocket. A person who could barely walk needed her phone by her side at all times—especially for what I was about to attempt.

First step—so to speak—was to get into a standing position. Thanks to Nana’s walker being permanently parked by the side of the bed, that wasn’t too hard for me anymore. But then I had to stand on one foot and balance while I switched to the crutches. I got one crutch into place and then pushed away the walker. Then I got the other crutch under my arm without wobbling too much. Mentally, I replayed Raphael’s instructions in my head. Hold the bad leg out a little in front of me so it wouldn’t touch the floor. Swing the crutches ahead. Lean forward and take a step with my good leg. And hope like hell I didn’t go crashing to the ground.

Somehow, I made it to the window without a spotter. Yes, it was only a few feet away, but I figured that it was the equivalent of a 5k for someone in my condition. Cool air flowed in through the screen. I’d asked Spencer to open it this morning before he went to work.

As always, the majestic greenery surrounding Flynn’s property took my breath away, but then I focused on the barn itself. Was he in there? Hopefully it wasn’t a day that he worked at the university clinic. Or maybe he sometimes made house calls? Or I guessed they would be barn calls, since he specialized in large animals.

After a few minutes, I heard the sound of someone in the barn. Good. Ten minutes later, I saw Flynn himself.

For a moment, the plan slipped my mind as he hoisted a bale of hay over his shoulder and carried it back in the barn. I couldn’t help watching the way the muscles on his broad back rippled. His biceps were amazing, too. I wished I could freeze time—and regain normal use of my legs—so that I could go over there and examine him while he was motionless.

As Flynn worked, I could hear him moving around the barn, and once, cussing like he had in the kitchen the other night. And if I could hear him, then he could hear me. That was the second part of my plan, but there was something I had to do first.

Propping the crutches up against the wall, I stood facing the window. I held onto the sill like it was a bar in a ballet studio. Then, very carefully, I began to bend my good leg. As I crouched down, I slid my bad leg out to the side so that there’d be no pressure on the cast. Down I went, doing a sort of modified lunge. My bad leg pointed out to the side, and my good leg bent lower and lower. Finally, I was as low as I could get.

That part hadn’t been too hard, but this next part was likely to be. Keeping one hand on the windowsill for balance, I reached the other one down to the carpet beneath me. For a moment, I froze in that position, not wanting to risk injuring myself again. But then I leaned on my good hand and stretched my good leg out in front of me. My butt hit the floor in a fairly gentle, though not quite graceful, move.

I’d done it. I was seated with my legs stretched out in front of me. Now all that was left was the easy part. I leaned back until I was fully lying on the ground. Reaching out, I pulled the crutches toward me, placing one at an angle next to me and one across my abdomen.

Now for step three. I took a deep breath. “Help!”

I waited for a few seconds and then called out again. And again. Maybe Flynn was at the back of the barn? “Help!” I cried.

Three minutes later, I was ready to admit defeat. Flynn obviously didn’t hear me. I refused to believe that he had heard me and ignored it. No one related to kind-hearted Spencer could be that cold. Whatever the reason, my plan had failed. I was uncomfortable lying on the ground and was starting to get hoarse from the shouting.

Damn.

Gingerly, I sat back up and started the reverse of the procedure I’d used to get down. I pushed the crutches out of the way. I placed my hands on the ground, intending to lift my butt up and get my good foot underneath me.

It didn’t work.

I ran a hand across my bruised ribs and then tried again. This time, I reached up to grab onto the windowsill—and I couldn’t raise myself up enough.

Crap, everything was starting to hurt again. Maybe I should’ve waited a few more days to try this. It hadn’t even been a full week since the accident.

I tried one more time, this time with my hands on the windowsill and the edge of the bed.

Shit.

This wasn’t good. It was really, really, really not good. Not only had I failed to lure Flynn over here to get to the bottom of why he was being so aloof, but I’d also worn myself out. Suddenly, I longed to be in the bed above me—the bed I’d been so anxious to escape over the weekend.

Pulling out my phone, I weighed my options. Raphael would be at least another hour. Nana was probably home, but she couldn’t lift me. And Spencer was busy running a school. Still, he was the one I called.

“Are you all right?” he asked, not even bothering to say hello. I’d never called him while he was at work before, so he assumed the worst. He wasn’t all that far off.

“Yes, I am, but I fell, and I can’t get up.”

“Oh my god,” he said, and I felt guilty for making him worry. “Stay right there, I’ll send an ambulance.”

“No,” I said hurriedly, afraid he’d hang up and call one. “No, I’m okay, honestly. I just can’t get up.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’ve tried several times, and?—”

“No, I mean are you sure you don’t need an ambulance?”

“Yes, but I do need some help.”

“I understand. Flynn will be over in less than two minutes.”

“He will?”

“Yes,” Spencer said firmly. “Call me back as soon as you’re okay.”

“All right.” I barely remembered to thank him before hanging up. In retrospect, it was so simple. I could’ve stayed on the bed and just called Spencer and told him I’d fallen. Then when Flynn arrived, I could say that I’d managed to get up by myself. There had been no real need for painstakingly lowering myself down and shouting my head off.

Briefly, I wondered how much longer I could blame my dumb decisions on the pain medicine.

“Alyssa?” The back door slid shut, and I heard heavy footsteps approaching.

“In here, in Raphael’s room,” I called back. But that was stupid, too. He knew which room I was staying in—he was the one who’d done the bathroom remodel.

Then he was hovering over me, our positions nearly the same as they had been in the street last week. He’d pulled on a thin white undershirt that did very little to hide his muscles. They were the muscles of a man who could build decks and handle animals twice his size. I couldn’t stop staring at his massive biceps. I’d heard before that there was such a thing as a hand model. Flynn should be a bicep model.

“Are you hurt?” he asked gruffly as he looked down at me. Those deep chocolate eyes appeared to be staring right into my mind.

“I don’t think so, I just can’t get up.”

Flynn didn’t move. “Are you sure nothing’s broken?” Then he amended his statement. “Nothing new, I mean.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Regret filled me as I looked up at him. This had been a bad plan to begin with, and now it wasn’t even a ruse anymore. I really did need help.

Flynn stared me down for a moment longer, then stepped over the crutches to my side. Unlike Spencer and Raphael, who normally scooped me up like a baby, Flynn put his hands under my armpits and lifted me to my feet. Without waiting to see if I had my balance, he let go and bent to pick up the crutches. I grabbed onto the window ledge for support until he handed them to me.

I desperately needed to sit down, but I was still a few feet away from the bed. Awkwardly, I got the crutches into position and took a series of small steps. It seemed to take forever because I had to turn toward the bed, crutch my way over there, and then turn again so I could sit down. But I finally got there without falling for real. I shoved the crutches against the wall and gratefully sank down on the side of the bed. If Flynn hadn’t been there, I would’ve lain all the way down and been asleep in seconds.

But he was still here, his thick forearms folded across his broad chest. “Who taught you to use those?”

“Raphael.”

Flynn scowled.

“What?”

“Usually he’s a better teacher than that.”

Clearly, this guy was a grump. Still, he was Spencer’s brother and the twins’ uncle. I was determined to repair the relationship that seemed to have frayed in the past week. I smiled up at him. “Thank you for your help.”

“Welcome,” he grunted and turned away.

“Wait!” I said hastily. “Raphael’s making gumbo tonight, and the twins were really hoping you could join us for dinner.”

“I’m busy,” he said.

“Flynn?”

He stopped for the second time. “What now? Need a glass of water? Want me to read you a bedtime story and tuck you in?”

What the hell was wrong with this guy? He clearly wasn’t the same easy-going uncle who’d played with the kids in the park last week. “I wanted to thank you for the bench and the handrails in the shower.”

“Welcome.” It was like he was only allowed to say fifty words to me total and he didn’t want to use them all at once. But I continued on.

“Now I can get clean and wash my hair. It’s practically perfect, even though I’m usually a bath person.”

His gaze went to the open door of the bathroom. “Not much chance of that since you can’t submerge your cast.”

“I know,” I said with a sigh. “I was just daydreaming the other day of making a little ramp in there to keep my leg elevated.”

“A ramp?”

“Like a platform for my bad leg to keep it out of the water.”

He frowned. “You’d never be able to get in or out of there. If you could’ve pulled yourself up today, you would have.” His brown eyes returned to me as he scoffed. “I doubt your bath time fantasy includes a strange man lifting you naked out of the tub.”

I willed my cheeks not to heat as I tried to ignore that last part. Truth was, my daydreams and fantasies had gotten a bit more risqué than I was used to lately. But I wasn’t about to tell him that. “I was thinking about that handle thing they had dangling over my bed at the hospital. I could use something like that to lower myself down and get back up again.”

For the first time, he looked almost interested in what I was saying. “It would have to support your weight, though,” he muttered. “It would need to be anchored in an overhead beam, and I don’t think there is one in the right spot in the shower.”

Now he was talking my language. “But there could be two cross beams installed, and the weight could be distributed between them.” At the blank look in his eyes, my enthusiasm faded. “I wish I had my sketchbook. Then I could show you what I mean—not that I expect you to alter the bathroom further. It was just something I was thinking about. When I don’t know how to do something, I like trying to figure it out.”

“Me too,” he said under his breath, almost to himself. “You draw?”

“Sketch.”

“What's the difference?”

I shrugged. “Drawing is for capturing the essence of beautiful things. Sketching, for me, is about solidifying my thoughts. A way to share the ideas in my head with other people. Like blueprints or floor plans.”

He nodded but seemed lost in thought. Abruptly, he turned on his heel and walked out the room. But then, as he was passing through the doorway, he stopped yet again. “ Do you need a glass of water or anything?”

“No, I’m good. But thanks.”

“You keep saying that,” he muttered cryptically, and then he left.

After all the starts and stops, I was unsure he was really going until I heard the door to the deck open and close again. Then I sank back into bed with a sigh.

That hadn’t gone well at all. I hadn’t convinced him to come to dinner. I hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to him about spending more time over here. I’d only been able to mention the twins once, and they were my secret weapon to lure him back here.

Plus, I’d exhausted myself yet again. Frankly, I was getting pretty damn tired of being tired, but there was nothing I could do about it.

My mood was still sour after a nap, and it didn’t help when I looked at the empty spot at the end of the table at dinner. Reading to the kids at night was fun, but I was still disgruntled when I went to bed. I was also sick and tired of sleeping on my back with my bad leg raised. Just once, I would’ve loved to sleep on my side.

My bad mood had finally abated by the next morning, especially when I sat up and noticed something on top of the quilt on the other side of the bed. I wiped my eyes and then looked closer, wondering what it was.

I reached over and picked up a brand-new sketch pad. There was even a pack of charcoal pencils to go with it. A smile broke out on my face. Maybe my plan to get Flynn to come over here hadn’t failed completely.