Chapter 6 Wes
SIX
WES
I stared at the sketch in my lap and grumbled.
Something was off. Drafting used to be the one place my brain went quiet, where lines and measurements snapped into place like they’d been waiting on me to notice them.
Now everything felt . . . crooked. Like I was trying to draw with the wrong hand.
Ever since my accident, I found even my favorite part of the job mentally taxing.
Now I couldn’t escape the questions swirling in my mind.
What if the homeowner suddenly loses a limb?
Is this accessible?
How will the shower accommodate someone with special needs?
Is that corner too tight for someone in a wheelchair?
I couldn’t stop redesigning every room in my head—widening hallways, lowering counters, shaving off inches that used to feel like nothing. I used to chase open-concept kitchens. Now I was chasing the version of a house that wouldn’t turn on you the second your body did.
Private residences weren’t required to accommodate physical differences. It was something I never gave much thought to until I became someone whose own home was a challenge. There were a million what-ifs and lately they stalled me every time I went to draft a concept.
Hell, I couldn’t even get my own bathroom to stop feeling like a damn obstacle course. The house I’d poured myself into before the accident had turned into a daily reminder of everything I hadn’t planned for.
I built houses other people were proud to come home to. Mine had turned into a place I endured.
With a huff, I tossed my notebook aside and dragged a hand down my face. My palms rasped against the days’ old stubble. I’m not sure how long I’d been parked on the couch, but my ass was numb. My leg throbbed in that familiar, furious way—pain where there wasn’t even a limb.
Phantom bullshit, my physical therapist called it. I called it a cosmic joke.
I lifted my shirt to sniff.
Oh, fuck.
I used to come home from twelve-hour days on-site and still have enough left in the tank to hit the gym and grab a beer.
Now the idea of dragging myself into a shower felt like summiting Everest. The fall from “guy who could handle anything” to “guy who can’t manage basic hygiene” had been fast and brutal.
I needed a shower and a shave, but every time I gathered the gumption, I easily talked myself out of it. For most people, they didn’t have to think about the dozens of steps it took to simply take care of yourself. For me, every task seemed daunting.
When my doorbell rang, I paused. The sound sliced through the quiet, sharp enough to make me flinch.
Nobody rang the bell anymore unless they wanted something—from me or for me.
It was midday, so Hayes should be at work, unless it was another casserole from the town’s unofficial pity committee.
I already had a freezer full of lasagnas from people who barely knew my last name but knew I was the guy who lost his leg.
The bell rang again, and I lost all hope of the visitor leaving on their own.
I walked toward the door and paused when I looked through the peephole and saw Clara Darling standing on my front porch.
Her blond hair fell in waves down her back, and her foot was tapping like she was nervous.
Sunlight caught in her hair, turning it almost white at the ends, and I forgot how to breathe.
Clara Darling did not belong on my sad excuse for a porch, not with her restless energy and that always-moving mouth.
She had always looked like trouble. Today she looked like trouble with a suitcase full of feelings I didn’t have the bandwidth for.
Intrigued, I opened the door.
“Hi, Wes.” Her smile bloomed and heat crawled up my neck. I hadn’t seen that smile up close since our run-in at the grocery store. Once again, it hit hard—right in the space between my ribs and all the shit I hadn’t dealt with.
She was also the only person in six months who’d had the balls to tease me about my leg and not immediately fall all over herself apologizing. I wasn’t sure if that made her brave or reckless.
I frowned. “Clara.”
Her eyes moved over me until her face twisted. “You look like shit.”
The worst part was she wasn’t wrong. If anything, she was being generous. I scrubbed a hand across the back of my neck, trying not to laugh. “Thanks?”
Flustered, she let out a nervous chuckle. “Sorry. That was rude. Can I come in?”
“Sure.” I stepped back to allow room for her to enter. “Come on in.”
“Thanks,” she said, and as she slid past, her perfume wafted with her. It smelled woody and feminine, like flowers wrapped in spice. It didn’t belong in my stale, takeout-and-muscle-rub air. It made the place feel smaller, like the walls had shifted closer just because she was present.
When Clara walked into my house, she spun in a slow circle, taking in the haphazard blanket crumpled on the couch and Chinese food containers scattered on the coffee table.
Embarrassment heated my skin.
“I wasn’t expecting company.” I tried to move quickly to pick up some of the mess, but I stumbled and had to recenter myself.
Heat scorched up my neck. I hated that she’d seen that—how awkward and slow I was now. Before, I could carry a sheet of drywall up a staircase without breaking a sweat. Now walking around my own damn coffee table required concentration.
Frustrated, I turned to her. “What do you need?” I meant for the words to come out bored, but they landed closer to defensive. I was so goddamn tired of being someone’s project. Their penance. Their proof they were a good person.
Clara’s shoulders straightened. “It’s not about what I need, but what you need.” Her face brightened as a hand went to her chest. “Me.”
Of course. The universe had a sick sense of humor. Out of all the people to show up and offer themselves as a solution, it had to be the one woman I was not allowed to want.
My brows scrunched. “You?”
She nodded. “Yes. Me.”
I let out an exasperated breath. “I’m not following. Why are you here?”
Clara’s gray-blue eyes narrowed as her finger swirled around my living room.
“You need someone to help with . . . all this. I need to get the hell out of my parents’ house.
I help you. You help me. We live happily ever after.
” Her eyes rolled as a pink blush stained her cheeks. “Temporarily, of course.”
I tried to process exactly what Clara was proposing but came up short. “You want to . . . move in with me?”
She nodded, eyes bright. “Yes. We’ll be roommates. I can help you with whatever you need. I’m a fantastic roommate.”
This insane plan had Hayes written all over it. I shook my head. “No. Absolutely not.”
There was no way in hell I was letting a walking sex dream move in with me. Not when she was Hayes’s little sister and I was barely holding my shit together as it was. I had no business thinking about her mouth when I could barely make it into my own shower.
Clara’s grin widened. “It’s happening.”
My arms folded. “No. It’s not.”
Clara popped one hand on her hip and lifted her shoulder. “Okay. I’ll let Hayes handle you. He was chomping at the bit over the idea of him rooming with you while I took over his house.”
A muscle jumped in my jaw. The image of Hayes moving his crap into my spare room, hovering and clamping me on the shoulder with that earnest, apologetic face, made my skin crawl. I loved the guy, but I didn’t want him watching me struggle to put on a sock.
My hackles rose. “Whoa. Wait a minute. What the hell are you talking about?”
Clara pressed her lips into a slim smile. “My overzealous brother is ready and eager to make amends . . . and that included being your live-in helper.”
Fucking Hayes and his Boy Scout honor code.
He was only trying to make up for the way things had gone down. For the fact that I’d only been on that dark, winding road because of him. Guilt sat between us like a third person in every room, and the last thing I needed was it sleeping down the hall.
“I do not need your brother, or anyone else for that matter, moving in with me. I’m fine.” The words tasted like a lie even as I said them. Fine men didn’t have take-out containers for decor and a permanent dent in their couch.
Clara’s brows rose as she dramatically looked over my disheveled house. “Clearly.” She blinked her eyes at me and scrunched her nose. “When’s the last time you showered, Wes? I can smell you from here.”
Humiliation pricked hot under my skin. It was one thing to know I’d let myself go. It was another to have Clara fucking Darling wrinkle her nose at me like I was something she’d stepped in.
“I just worked out,” I deflected. I adjusted my stance, ignoring the sparks of pain that shot down my leg. “This plan is actually insane.”
Clara shook her head. “It’s not that crazy. You don’t have family around to help you get all”—she waved a hand in front of me—“this figured out. I’m here to help, but I’ll stay out of your way. I promise.”
My molars ground together. I couldn’t believe I was even considering it, but if Clara was even half as stubborn as her brother, I had a hell of a fight on my hands. “What’s in it for you?”
Nobody did anything for free. Not for me, not anymore. There was always a string attached—pity, obligation, guilt. I searched her face for it, and all I saw was exhaustion and something that looked a lot like my own brand of lost.
Clara lit up like she’d been dying for me to ask.
She ticked off each item on her fingers.
“One, like I said, you’d be getting me out of my parents’ house.
Two, you’d be upping my cosmic karma points, since running out of a wedding was not my finest moment.
And three, you’d eat up the free time I’d otherwise be spending wallowing in self-pity.
” Her arms folded over her chest. “So really you’re doing me the favor here. ”
I’d heard whispers of her wedding-day drama as Hayes filled the silence between us and ranted about how small towns loved to gossip. Seeing her now—cheeks pink, chin tipped up like she dared me to agree with them—I realized how wrong they’d gotten her. She wasn’t unhinged. She was untethered.
Her logic made absolutely no sense, but I couldn’t quite muster the energy to come up with a rebuttal.
To be honest, the prospect of having someone who looked like her around while simultaneously getting Hayes off my ass was tempting.
Even in the months since my accident, daily tasks were a lot more complicated.
I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. “I think this is a terrible idea.”
Terrible ideas had never looked so appealing. A warm body in the house. Someone to nag me into showering. Someone who wasn’t paid to see me at my lowest.
“It’s me or another stranger moving in. Besides, I wouldn’t have to be here if you’d stop firing your helpers.” Clara’s simple logic annoyed the fuck out of me.
“They weren’t helpers,” I growled. “They were licensed nurses with experience aiding recent amputees. Everyday tasks get harder when you don’t have someone helping at home.” Hearing my physical therapist’s words in my own voice was jarring.
The hired nurses had also looked at me like I was their good deed for the year. I didn’t want to be anyone’s inspiration. I just wanted to be a guy who could make it through a shower without supervision.
“Then what was the problem?” she asked.
Exhausted, I sighed. “They were also little old ladies who shuffled around my house and tried to give me sponge baths.”
Clara’s eyes widened as they raked down my body.
Heat licked up the back of my neck.
Fantastic. Now I was picturing her hands on me instead of the nurse’s, which was a whole different problem.
“That’s not a requirement of the position.” I stumbled over the words, scrambling to get this strange conversation back on track.
Her lips pursed. “Shame.”
Before I could respond, she whipped her head around and walked back out the front door. Moments later, Clara dragged two huge suitcases plus a shoulder bag over the threshold. She muscled them inside and looked at me with a huff.
“So . . . are we doing this or what?”