Chapter 9 - Asher
Iwoke the next morning feeling groggy, my brain fuzzy.
I’d slept terribly, of course, with the nurses in and out of the hospital room all night checking on me, taking vitals, and making sure I wasn’t dead.
My entire body hurt—head, neck, shoulder, torso, hip, everything.
A nurse whisked into the room, smiling brightly.
“You’re awake! Good.”
With my free hand, I rubbed my face. “Morning,” I muttered.
She bustled around me, doing whatever it was she needed to do, smiling cheerily the whole time. “You’re being discharged this morning. Do you have someone to come pick you up?”
I groaned and closed my eyes for a second before opening them again to look at her. “My friend Micah.”
“Good. Do you have Micah’s number? I’ll give him a call and let him know you’re almost ready to go home.”
I closed my eyes again, a headache on the horizon. “Sure, it’s in my phone.” I fumbled around and reached for my phone on the side table before passing it to her. “Micah Pollard.”
What felt like a few minutes passed—at least an hour on the clock—when a knock on the door woke me from a hazy sleep. “Ash?”
Carefully, I opened my eyes and struggled to sit up a little. “Hey.”
“Don’t hurt yourself. No need to get up just yet.” Beside him was the nurse, pushing a wheelchair.
“Time to go home,” the nurse singsonged.
She helped me into the wheelchair and pushed me out to Micah’s car. I was grateful it was a sedan, not a big-ass pickup truck, so I didn’t have to climb to get in. Once he was in, he passed my phone to me.
“Call your mom. She’s worried. They want to cancel their trip.”
“Oh God, their trip.” I groaned. “They can’t do that.”
“She was ready to come home last night, but I talked her off the ledge. Give her a call now before she books flights.”
I chuckled softly, pain shooting through my ribs as I did, before dialing my mom’s number. She answered immediately.
“Baby, are you okay? We’re coming home.”
“Hi Mom. I’m okay. Don’t cancel your trip.”
“Asher, be serious. Of course we’ll come home.”
“Mom, I am being serious. No need. I’m fine. I can take care of myself, and if I can’t, I’ve got friends here. Jackson can help.”
She hesitated. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Promise. This trip is your bucket-list trip. See Europe. Enjoy the cruise.”
“You’ll call if you need anything?”
“Mom. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay. I love you.”
“Love you too, Mom.” When we hung up, I glanced at Micah. He was grinning ear to ear. “What’s so funny?”
He shook his head. “I told them the same thing last night. I hope I didn’t overstep. After I told them you didn’t need them to come home, I started to worry that I was wrong and you would want them. Glad I didn’t miss the mark.”
“Thanks,” I murmured. “I appreciate it.”
It wasn’t long until we were back to my house and Micah was helping me hobble up the few front steps and inside.
The moment I got settled into my old, comfy recliner, I sighed, deeply relieved that the saga was over.
That would teach me to get confident on a ladder, that was for damn sure.
Or to ever get on a ladder again for that matter.
Micah brought me a blanket, the remote for the TV, and a glass of water before we said our goodbyes.
“Thanks, man. I owe you one.”
“Don’t worry about it. What are friends for?”
“Sure thing.”
With that, he was gone. My head still ached and I wasn’t due for another dose of ibuprofen for a few hours, so I reclined the chair, closed my eyes, and attempted to nap.
Sleep wasn’t forthcoming, unfortunately, so I figured I’d maybe take some acetaminophen to see if that helped with the pain, and maybe get a shower.
I gingerly stood up from my recliner and hobbled into the kitchen for the pills.
Gripping the bottle in my good hand, I tried to wrestle off the cap, but that didn’t work at all.
I switched hands, but the pain in my shoulder made it difficult to hold the bottle tightly enough.
Just as I was about to give up, my front door opened, and in walked Micah with a backpack slung over one shoulder and a duffel bag in one hand.
“Um…” I didn’t know what to say.
“I’m moving in.”
I blinked a couple of times before responding. “What?”
A slow grin formed on Micah’s face. “Look, I know you didn’t ask me to, and I know you probably don’t even want the help, but you’re going to need someone to take care of you.
Your concussion is no joke, and on top of that, your shoulder and ribs are going to take time to heal.
I can’t be here all the time, obviously, because of work, but I want to help as much as possible.
You’re going to need it. I don’t want you suffering here alone. ”
I started to protest, but I didn’t have it in me. I nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah. Okay. Move on in. There’s a guest bedroom at the end of the hall where you can put your things.”
“You’re sure?”
“I couldn’t open this bottle and I can’t imagine trying to shower or cook like this. And this is just the first day. I’ll probably feel worse before I feel better. I think you’re right. I need some help. Welcome home, roomie.”
I woke the next morning to sounds coming out of my kitchen.
Confused and groggy, I tried to get out of bed to investigate, but as soon as I moved, my entire body reminded me why that was a bad idea.
The pain was worse than it had been the day before and I whined and settled back down.
I knew that wouldn’t last though—I needed to pee.
I took a deep breath and tried to steel myself to get up, bracing for the pain. Unfortunately, the scent of bacon cooking wafted through the house, which normally would’ve been tantalizing, but instead made a wave of nausea roil through me.
I stayed quiet for a minute or two, letting my stomach settle before calling out. “Micah?”
“Just a sec,” he called back. A few seconds later, he stepped into the room, dressed for the day in khakis and a polo shirt. “You’re awake.” He gave me a bright smile.
I nodded and regretted it immediately. My head hurt just as much as the rest of my body. “Yeah,” I croaked. “Would you be able to help me?”
He stepped closer. “Of course. What’s up?”
Heat flushed through my face, embarrassed at the request I was about to make. “Bathroom?”
He didn’t bat an eye, just nodded and came to stand at my side. After a couple of false starts, we managed to get me to my feet. I limped down the hallway with Micah’s arm around my back and my good arm across his shoulder, as I leaned heavily on him for support.
We made it to the bathroom and he stopped in the doorway. “Here you go.”
I nodded and swallowed hard, already anxious about the pain. With the door shut behind me, I managed to back myself against the counter to shimmy off my pajama pants. From there, it was just a little side shuffle to the toilet so I could take care of business.
Luckily, I was able to get my pants back up without too much drama. The last thing I wanted to do was ask Micah to help me pull up my pants and boxer-briefs. Absolutely not. I even managed to wash my hands—well, hand—on my own before I called out to Micah to help me back to bed.
Being next to him as we slowly made our way to the bedroom again warmed something in me. I could feel his body heat and as we moved down the hallway, he murmured encouragement at every step.
“Good job. Easy, take it slow. Almost there. Good.”
There was something about the soft tone of his voice that made my throat tighten. It also made my boxer-briefs tighten and my skin burn. I grunted, part frustration, part stubbornness, and—relieved that we'd reached the bedroom—practically threw myself on the bed to get away from his touch.
“Thanks,” I muttered as he helped me settle back into bed.
“Can I get you anything else? Painkillers?”
I nodded, grateful for the suggestion that meant I didn't have to ask.
“Be right back.” He hurried out of the room.
A few moments later, he was back with both hands full, including a plate of food in one and—was that my glass beer stein filled with water?
He handed me the stein first and then pulled a bottle of pills from his pocket, removing two pills from the bottle and handing them over. “Here. Take these.”
I put the stein on my bedside table. “Yes sir,” I muttered, downing them quickly with a sip of water.
When I looked back at Micah, his face was slightly pinker than usual, especially his cheeks.
That's weird, I thought, wondering what had caused the blush.
With the pills taken, he passed me the plate next.
“What's this?” I frowned at the plate, which contained toast, bacon, and two over-medium eggs.
He shrugged casually, as if this was something he did all the time. “I made breakfast.”
“For me?”
Micah chuckled and nodded. “For both of us. Mine is still in the kitchen.”
“But why?”
Another soft laugh. “You can't exist on just protein bars and sports drinks. You need real sustenance.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled. I was genuinely touched. Besides Jackson, I couldn't think of anyone in my life who'd be so helpful and caring while I healed. But it was just the first day. Micah would probably get sick of me soon, and then he’d be gone.