13. Cat-Cow in the Dark #2
Before she can react, I’ve spun us, flipping her onto her back. I cup my hand behind her head so it doesn’t hit the hardwood. Which means my knuckles take the brunt of the impact. And maybe pick up a few more splinters.
Josie makes an oomph , all traces of laughter disappearing as she blinks up at me.
I freeze, hovering over her, one hand under her head and my other circling her wrist. “Are you hurt?”
“Don’t think so,” she whispers.
We’re both breathing hard, like I’ve pinned her after an hour-long wrestling match, not flipped her like a pancake after a tickle attack.
It’s silly. Yet I can’t catch my breath. Pressed into the floor under the weight of her head, my knuckles throb. My other hand is still curled around her wrist.
When Josie came in, her hair was in a ponytail, but it’s loose now. A pink rubber band sits next to my thumb on the floor. Her hair is everywhere, wild and unfettered in a sweep of caramel. The urge to run my fingers through it hits me with a blast of heat.
Is my fever returning?
Nope. Not a fever.
I’m staring, pinning Josie in place as much with my gaze as with my hold on her. This is as close as we’ve ever been, and the weight of the moment hangs between us.
Even though Josie is very affectionate with her family, I’ve noticed her flinch or pull away from the touch of strangers or people she doesn’t know very well. Especially men. It’s one of the reasons I’ve rarely touched her over the years, keeping my distance, trying to respect her space.
That distance has been obliterated in the last few days.
But this ...it reminds me of our fight over the doctor’s notes. It’s playful, with a current of attraction running between us that’s different. New.
At least on her side.
Me? It’s been my best-kept secret for years.
Too late, I realize Josie still has one free hand. Her fingertips find my ticklish spot again, and I tense. But with a tiny smirk, she ghosts her fingers over my ribs. A threat. Or a tease.
“I wouldn’t do that,” I warn.
“Oh yeah? Or what?”
Or I just might kiss you.
The desire to do just that crashes over me in a wave. And before I lose the control I’ve built up with years of practice, I release Josie and push myself back into a seated position. Giving her—and myself—some much-needed space.
She sits up too, scooting back until we’re both seated on the floor, facing each other. The dim moonlight casts her skin in silver and shadow.
Beautiful.
“How are you feeling?” she asks in an even tone. Like I imagined the intensity of that moment. “Your fever didn’t come back, did it?”
“Do I feel feverish to you?”
She was just plastered to my body, but she reaches out, gently touching the back of her hand to my forehead before pulling away. “Nope. But I wasn’t asking because you felt hot. I was asking because you were...different. Like you were the other day. A little less...”
“Stubborn?”
She gives a little snort. “No. I was going to say less grumpy .”
“I’m not grumpy; I’m reserved .”
“Is that what we’re calling it these days?” She doesn’t give me time to answer. “Are you going to let me help you up now, or do I need to tickle you again?”
In answer, I stand in one swift motion, using only my uninjured leg to push myself up. Then I hold out a hand to Josie.
Am I showing off? Maybe a little.
Do I regret it? Nope.
Josie’s eyes widen slightly before she frowns at my outstretched hand. “Seriously?”
“You think I’m not able to help you up?”
“But your foot...” She trails off as I wiggle the appendage in question, which is hovering an inch above the hardwoods.
“I can stand on one foot and still help you up.”
To prove my point, I grasp her hand, wincing slightly as the splinters remind me of their presence in my palm. I tug her up, keeping my weight fully on the one leg, trying to ignore the pinpricks of pain in my hand.
Josie makes no move to step back, and without my crutches, I can’t.
I’m not sure I would move anyway.
“What’s wrong?” Josie asks, frowning.
“Nothing.”
“You winced.”
I drop her hand. I didn’t realize I was still holding it. The movement jostles however many little pieces of wood are jammed into my palm and a hiss escapes me.
“There!” Josie points at my face. “Is it your foot? Do you need more ibuprofen? Did you hurt your knees falling out of bed?”
“I didn’t fall out of bed. That’s not what happened.”
“Then what did happen? Wyatt, you have to talk to me or this isn’t going to work,” Josie says. “I’m supposed to be helping you.”
She is helping. She may not know it, and it may not be the kind of help she wants to provide, but Josie is helping.
For the first time since I got to my uncle’s empty cottage a month ago, seeing it filled with memories and emptied of most of his things, I’m not waking up with dread cloaking me like a thick fog.
I still haven’t said yes to the doctor, but today I did do the exercises and stretches he recommended. Just not where Josie could see.
And I thought about saying yes. I even pulled out the blueprints while Josie was walking this morning and thought about house plans and what I’ll do with this place.
Having Josie here has given me purpose, though I’m still unsure what my purpose is or what I want my next steps to be. It’s something to be thinking of next steps at all .
It’s a testament to who Josie is that she’s had such an impact on me just from existing in my space. Talking to me. Heckling and arguing with me.
Jacob was a genius for sending her.
An evil genius, but still.
I sigh, putting a slight amount of weight on my other heel so I can sit down on the edge of my bed. The pain shooting through the arch of my foot hurts, and I wonder if I’ll ever be able to walk without crutches. Without pain.
I wonder if I’ll ever get back on the ice.
“Tell me what hurts,” Josie demands, crossing her arms.
For the first time, I take in what she’s wearing—a matching T-shirt and sleep shorts in some kind of soft fabric. Blue with fluffy clouds and sunshine. A few dark storm clouds are mixed in, lightning bolts shooting out of them and crisscrossing the backdrop of blue.
So very Josie. Sweetness and light but with a fighting edge.
I jerk my eyes back up to hers, which are narrowed in on me. Like she’s trying to figure me out.
Can’t have that.
“My foot is fine. I actually fell trying not to put weight on it, so it’s okay,” I say finally. Then I clear my throat and hold out my hands. “But how much experience do you have with splinters?”
Josie grins, and I feel that smile reach all the way through me. “Splinters just so happen to be one of my strengths.”