Chapter 8
Warner
“Fuck me.” I fall back on the bed, holding my hand over my heart. “You scared the shit out of me, Delaney.”
She’s sitting up next to me, smiling like a solid handful of golden rules aren’t being broken. The audacity of this woman. “I’m just sitting here eating a bagel, not making a sound at all.”
“Yeah, that’s the problem.” I glare at her. I sit back up and slide my body until my back settles against the headboard. “Why are you eating a bagel in my bed?”
“Our bed.”
I take a deep breath before I lose my patience altogether. “Are those poppy seeds?”
“It’s an everything bagel. They’re Baker’s favorite.
Since I was getting one for him, I figured I’d make it a round.
Who doesn’t like everything on their bagel?
” She laughs at her own joke as she holds the bagel smothered in cream cheese up to her mouth, while I’m left wondering how she knows my doorman.
Before she takes a bite, she shoves it in front of my face. “Hungry?”
Shaking my head, I push her arm away. “I’m good. Anyway, eating in bed is against the rules.”
“Whose rules?”
“My rules,” I snap. “It’s like a cardinal sin. Everyone knows that.”
“Guess I missed that day at Sunday school. I’m surprised you were allowed in church. I thought the holy cross was meant to keep the demons out?”
“I—” Fuck, I don’t even know what to say to that. My brain is lagging while hers is running at full speed. It’s still damn ballsy to eat food in someone’s bed like they won’t care.
Wearing my T-shirt like it’s hers, a smear of cream cheese adorns the shoulder. Don’t react, Landers. It will come out in the wash. Don’t sweat the small stuff. “I got you coffee,” she says, distracting me. Pointing at the nightstand beside me, she grins. “No sweetness added, like your soul.”
“Real funny.”
Shrugging, she says, “I thought so.”
Unaffected by my fake laughter, she takes another bite that is too big for her mouth.
She’s going to end up choking. Am I really the one chosen to supervise this criminal activity?
“No one is going to steal that from you, you know? You don’t have to finish it in four bites. You are allowed to enjoy your food.”
“Not at my house.” She tosses her head against the headboard and laughs. “If you don’t clean your plate in eight seconds flat, my brothers will clean it for you.”
“Why?”
Surprise widens her eyes. “Do you not have siblings?”
“Do I really need to answer that?”
“You just did.” She sets the bagel on the bare wood of the nightstand. No napkin. No plate. She just sets it down like it won’t leave a permanent mark.
I turn, setting my feet on the floor. With my head beginning to pound and my arm already aching and itchy from the cast, I start to wonder what I did to deserve this. Not the accident. Delaney.
“I need to pick up my prescription.”
“Already did. It’s next to the coffee getting cold.”
I look up to see the paper coffee cup on the nightstand with no coaster in sight. Not how I would do things, but this isn’t a battle I have the energy for. Next to it is a prescription bottle.
Crawling across the bed, she drapes her legs over the side next to me, but her feet don’t touch the floor.
I don’t know why that makes me want to smile.
I kill that thought to make sure I don’t.
“It’s for pain and says to take up to twice a day when necessary.
They said they expect that to last if you’re having any.
So moderation is key, and make sure to have food on your stomach.
” She swirls her hand in presentation in front of me, looking pleased as punch. “Hence, the bagel.”
My blood pressure lowers under the gesture. She’s a total stranger to the part of my brain that’s working, but she’s caring for me like she’s more. A lot more. It’s not something she has to do. She’s here in the trenches with me, helping me recover. “Thanks. You didn’t have to go out of your way.”
“I was going out anyway. I’m just returning the favor. Coffee and a bagel are the least I can do.” Dropping to her feet, she plucks the fabric at her thigh. “Thanks for the clothes. This was thoughtful of you, Warner.”
“It was nothing.” I try to harden my jaw, but it's no use. “It was just a quick email last night before my shower. It’s not like I worked miracles.”
“I don’t know. It might be. All you had to do was snap your fingers, and clothes arrived at your door before seven in the morning.
Sounds like a miracle to me.” She rubs her hands down the sides of her legs, sending poppy, sesame, and whatever else kind of seeds on that bagel spiraling to the floor.
I must have died in the accident. That’s the only thing that explains the hell I’m living in.
She says, “Small confession. I’ve never had sneakers that cost that much in my life. It’s like walking in heaven.”
“Of course it’s heaven for you. As for me .
. .” I sigh. “Never mind. Taking another shower would be too much of a hassle even if it would lessen the tension she causes in my muscles. I get up and head to the closet, but then I stop and detour out of the bedroom. I’m in no mood to see the catastrophe of what used to bring me peace.
I can hear her quickened footsteps behind me. “What can I do to make you feel better?”
“Nothing. I need to work to take my mind off . . .” I hit her with a glare when she enters my periphery. “Off you.”
The words cause her to physically jerk away from me. I’m instantly struck with regret. “Delaney—”
“No,” she says, raising her hands in front of her. “I think you need some time alone.” Grabbing her purse from the island, she picks up the sneakers and walks around the corner to the hall in her sock-covered feet.
“Delaney, wait.” I rush to the hall and stand there as she slips on the sneakers, leaving the laces untied. “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay.” Keeping her eyes on the task, she replies, “Couples fight. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“We’re not a couple.” Her eyes find mine as she stands back up.
Wrapping the strap of her bag over her head, she sighs, letting the disappointment penetrate her eyes.
Seeing the pain that would only be revealed if we meant something to each other has me believing we were real or are.
Fuck. I drag my hands over my head and rest them on top. “I’m sorry.”
She nods once, her eyes leaving mine as she turns away from me and opens the door.
There’s no snarky comeback or detail of our life I can’t remember thrown out like it happened yesterday.
There’s nothing, not her blue eyes or sharp tongue.
Not even a goodbye when she leaves, closing the door behind her.
This is best. If we’re a couple, we were separated for good reason, and I feel privy to what that might be now. If we aren’t together, it’s good that she’s gone.
I stare at the door longer than I should for someone who’s certain in his stance.
Aren’t all fools? I leave the bolts unlocked and return to the island.
But I can’t stop myself from stealing one more glance as if she’ll walk through that door like she never left.
When she doesn’t, I double down on regret.
She didn’t deserve my reaction or my anger. I fucked up.
What am I doing? I wanted her gone, and now she is. Why do I feel like shit, then?
I look back once more, as if the situation has taken a new turn.
It hasn’t, and rationally, I recognize that’s for the best. That I even doubted that for a second sends me reeling.
Get your head out of her ass, Landers. Work.
That’s what I need. I should lower my head and get the job done.
I can only imagine how many emails have piled up.
Strange that Jocelyn hasn’t tried to contact me.
I look for the new phone so I can set it up with my contacts, add the email apps, make some calls, and get back on track, but there’s nothing here except the cable used to charge it.
I bend to look at the end as if I’ll find it on the floor.
When I stand, I search the countertop and scan the living room. “Okay, this makes no sense.”
Returning to the bedroom, I peek in to see if it’s on the nightstand, but all that’s there is the coffee that apparently matches my soul and a bagel ruining the surface.
I turn back, then go inside and grab the bagel.
How can anyone live in these conditions?
Messy everywhere, a graveyard of seeds sticking to my feet, and I can’t even look in the direction of the closet without getting angry when the images of clothes piled on the floor return.
I should be elated that she's gone. Instead, I’m wondering how I’m going to take a shower without her assistance.
A woman helped me once, and now I can’t manage my own life.
This is asinine. I’m a grown man. I can take a shower without anyone’s help.
I’ve done it most of my life. When did I become helpless? I’m not.
Just to prove a point, I struggle for twenty minutes to wrap this cast in a trash bag so I can take a shower, letting the water pummel the top of my head. With my eyes closed, my hair flattens to my forehead as the water runs down my face and body.
Shuffling through an extensive list of things to do, Delaney interjects herself right between follow-up emails and getting some suits altered to accommodate this cast. Why does it feel like she’s pulling the wool over my eyes and loving every minute?
How can I remember so much of my life, basically all of it except hours involving the accident, but have no recollection of my wife? Staggeringly impossible.
I finish up, slip on some clothes, and then remember to take my meds. I lift the lid off the coffee just to see if she did match it to my soul. I shouldn’t grin, but I do. I even chuckle. Whether she’s my wife or someone putting in a lot of effort, Delaney really is something else.
The apartment is too quiet, which is the opposite of what I typically prefer. I’ll blame the concussion for turning on background music, and I move down the hall to my office. I don’t have a phone, but I have my computer.
Sitting down at the desk, the monitor lights up for me. I scroll through the messages, some popping out more than others. Jocelyn and Jimmy specifically. I click one to read a panicked message from my assistant. “Unlike you.” Scanning further, I mumble, “Are you okay?”
I reply that I appreciate her concern. I was in an accident, but I’ll be in the office on Monday and can explain in more detail then. I click on Jimmy’s next. I reply the same, and that I’ll contact him from the office tomorrow.
Glad to hear someone was concerned about my absence.
The other emails compete with images of Delaney popping into my head to fight for my attention. She’s winning, which I’m positive would thrill her. Me? Not so much.
I probably should have read the directions on the pill containers. It’s too late now as drowsiness takes hold of me. My eyelids grow heavy, so I stumble into the bedroom and crash onto the bed.
As I lie there, sleep is about to drag me under, and all I can think about is I bet she knew this would happen. She’d be thrilled to knock me out. But more importantly, is she coming back?