41. Chapter Forty-One
Chapter forty-one
Nash
The couch has become my new bed because laying flat hurts too much.
It’s much easier to lean against the arm rest with some pillows and sit up at an angle.
Problem is, I wake up stiff, and I was told not to shower.
Not until today. I get off the couch, go into the bathroom, and put the water as hot as it’ll go.
The room quickly fills with steam, and I carefully shove my pants down with one hand and my foot, because using my left arm still hurts too fucking much.
I make sure the bandage is taped down well so the water doesn’t soak through, and then I get in, groaning when the hot water hits my skin.
It’s too hot, but this kind of pain is welcome because it’ll soon ease my muscles and aches.
My whole fucking body hurts. A type of pain I’ve never felt before.
I wash up carefully, then just stand under the water and steam, hoping it’ll relieve some of the tension in my neck and shoulders, though I have a feeling that some of this pain will never go away. Not now.
When the water starts to cool, I get out. Dry off and put pants back on, then change the bandage.
The wound looks better than it feels. Which is a good thing. If it heals well, I shouldn’t have a problem going back to work—or need any restrictions.
The only upside of this is that Jason Mercer is in custody, and he is going to jail.
I’d like to see him in there on all counts, but I still can’t be sure there is enough evidence for Ryan Kinsley’s murder.
Lilianna still isn’t sure she wants to testify because she doesn’t want her husband to find out.
It’s a problem I can’t worry about right now. At least Mercer is off the street.
I go into the kitchen to make breakfast. I take the last two eggs from the carton and the shredded cheddar cheese that’s two days past its expiration date.
It’s not moldy, so it should be fine. I start coffee, trying to be conscious of my arm, but every now and then I move it the wrong way, try to grab something, and it hurts like a bitch.
I’m not supposed to drive until I’m cleared by the doctor, but how the fuck do they expect me to get there? My appointment is in two days, and I’m driving myself there, whether they like it or not. I’ll live.
For now, I eat my cheese omelet, then go back to my spot on the couch and put in a grocery order since I just don’t feel like going shopping like this. Putting on a shirt is too much work. A button up is easier to get on, but the buttons… don’t even get me started.
My phone rings more than it ever has before with Gendreau and Weber checking on me multiple times a day.
Even Daniels checks in on me from time to time, tells me he can’t wait to have me back in the office.
I think he’s looking good with how far we got on that case, and he wants me back so I can close more of them. Of course, that’s my goal, too.
Trials and cases take forever, and I’ll be counting down the days until I face Jason Mercer in court. That fucker is going down, and I can’t wait to see it.
But honestly, I am kind of sick of hearing about it all.
I want a moment to breathe and not have all this shit thrown in my face.
I know everyone is doing it to keep me busy, because I am going crazy sitting in the house alone, but it’s not what I want right now.
It’s not helping the way it usually does.
I end up falling asleep, and when I wake up, it’s late afternoon. My grocery order should be here soon, so I get up and make more coffee. Not that it does much for me these days. I’m so off my sleep schedule that I feel tired all the time.
My phone rings, and I groan, not wanting to deal with anyone, but when I see it’s Jericho, I pick it up.
“How’s the shoulder?”
“Fine,” I say.
“Is that code for hurts like a bitch?”
“Something like that.”
“Oh, you’re grumpy today,” he says with a chuckle.
“What do you want, Jericho?”
“Just wanted to see if you made up with your boyfriend yet.”
In a painkiller state, I spilled my guts to Jericho about Carter.
Of course he listened. He didn’t judge. And he gave me advice.
Not that I remember what it was after I woke up.
Didn’t even realize the conversation actually happened until he brought it up the next day to see if it was real or I just made Carter up during a crazy surgery dream or too many pain pills.
“He’s real,” I’d said.
So fucking real.
“No, I haven’t, because there’s nothing to make up. I’m respecting his wishes and keeping my distance.”
“What you’re doing is being an idiot.”
“Jericho,” someone hisses in the background. “Don’t talk to your brother that way.”
“Hi, Miles,” I say.
“Nash says hi.”
“Oh, hi, Nash,” Miles responds from the background. “Sorry Jericho is being a jerk.”
“What else is new?”
“I am not being a jerk. I’m trying to get you back with Carter.”
“I don’t need you to get me back with anyone. Carter will come back to me when he wants to. If he wants to.”
“You are so dumb.”
“I’m sorry, but you want me to take relationship advice from you? Someone who stayed married to the same prick for fourteen years just because?”
“Now that’s just rude,” Jericho says.
“Oh fucking well. Cry about it.”
Jericho sighs. “You’re upset. You’re hurting, and I don’t just mean from the bullet. That’s okay. But Carter may never change his mind if he thinks you don’t care about him.”
“He knows I care.”
“But does he know you care enough that you’re hurting yourself just to make him happy?”
I don’t know. Maybe.
I’d like to think not.
I’d like to think that if Carter knew how much this was hurting me, he wouldn’t do it. At the same time, I don’t want him doing something just for me. Because it’s not only about me. It’s about us. Both of us.
“If this isn’t what he wants, I can’t make him want it.”
“But he does want it!”
“You don’t even know him, Jericho,” I huff.
“It’s common sense.”
“Something you have none of, so don’t talk on the matter.”
“Fucking hell, you are stubborn. Just like—”
“Don’t say it.” I close my eyes and take a breath.
“Sorry,” he says quietly. “Sorry, I just meant…”
“I know what you meant.”
There was a time when our parents got along.
When my father wasn’t a piece of shit. It was a very short time.
Before Hollis. I doubt Jericho remembers any of it, but I do.
My mother always made jokes about our father being stubborn, though.
Said she was screwed with a house full of boys just like him.
Only we’re not like him. None of us are. Because we would never, ever hurt the person we love.
So why the hell am I sitting here allowing Carter to be hurt?
I don’t know. Maybe I’ve turned into a coward.
“I have to go,” I say.
“Take care of yourself. Take it easy. Call me tomorrow.”
“Yeah, sure. Bye.”
I end the call and stare at my cell, wondering if I should call Carter or not.