Chapter 48
FORTY-EIGHT
AUSTIN
I’ve tried to avoid looking at myself in the mirror as much as possible this past week. It’s not that the sight of my injuries triggers me necessarily, but it’s definitely not how I prefer to look, and makeup only covers so much.
Luckily, the bruising is starting to fade more yellow and green than black and blue.
Also lucky—my stitches are ready to come out.
Hence me sitting with my legs crossed in Maddox Whittaker’s bathroom sink, getting up close and personal with my face in his mirror as I carefully slip my eyelash scissors underneath another stitch.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Maddox booms, causing me to jerk. I hiss in pain, a tiny dot of blood welling up by the edge of the stitch as I pull one side of it out.
“Thanks a lot. Can you hand me a piece of toilet paper?”
He rushes over to the wall, pulling far more tissue than required off the roll. He pulls my head back against his chest and watches himself in the mirror as he holds the tissue against the pinprick of blood.
“You’re being dramatic,” I tell him, batting his hand away. Sure enough, when the tissue falls away, the blood is gone and it doesn’t come back. I pull the other side of the stitch I just cut out and resume my earlier position.
“Austin, stop it!” Maddox says again, tugging my arm back.
“Ow!” I grit my teeth, knowing he’s gonna shit a brick for this too.
He sucks in a quick breath, letting go once he realizes which arm he pulled. “I’m sorry. Where’s your sling?”
I jerk my head toward the toilet, where the sling sits on the lid. “Now if you’ll leave me be, I’m saving myself like, a hundred bucks or more right now.”
Again, before I can slip the scissors under the next stitch, Maddox is protesting. “Aus, you have an appointment for this tomorrow. I really think you should just let the doctor remove them so he can make sure everything’s okay.”
“Everything is okay, Rancher. Look for yourself.” I turn my head towards him so he can see that I’ve already removed half the stitches and all that’s left behind is a red scar, not an open wound.
“They were ready to be removed or I wouldn’t have done it.
Believe me when I tell you this isn’t my first rodeo. ”
That pisses him off enough to shut him up, thankfully. Instead of continuing to nag at me, he leans against the wall angrily, crossing his arms over his chest to watch me finish.
“See? All done. Can you hand me my sling?” I ask, unfolding myself from the sink.
He comes up behind me quickly, like he’s scared I’ll tip over and fall out or something, sliding one of his arms under my knees and the other around my back to lift me.
He uses his foot to knock my sling to the floor and sits me on the toilet lid.
“If I wanted it on the floor, I would’ve just dropped it there myself.”
“Shut up,” he grumbles, picking it up and helping me into it. I sigh but decide to pick my battles. If carrying me around and helping me into my sling makes up for not being able to talk me out of taking out my own stitches in his mind, I can bear it.
“What’re you doing back so early?” I’d specifically timed my little House M.D. endeavor based on his schedule the past few days.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t very reliable. He still came back to check on me several times a day and I was still going stir-crazy.
“Had to run by the house for something Mama needed. Figured I might as well stop in for an early lunch while I was at it, so I don’t have to stop again later,” he says, heading back through his bedroom.
I follow, pretending my shoulder isn’t grateful that the sling is back on. My bare feet slap against the cold, wooden floors and when we get to the kitchen, he glares down at them. We’ve already had the sock argument.
It’s May.
I don’t need socks.
“Why not just eat at the house?” I ask him, leaning back against the counter.
I’d very much like to hop my ass up there and pop a squat on it, but over the last week, I’ve learned there are a ton of things I want to do but can’t in my current condition and it just pisses me off more and more with each new discovery.
Maddox grunts instead of replying. He and I both know damn well why he didn’t eat with his brother and the ranch hands: a redhead with fantastic tits and a pussy that makes even the strongest man beg.
“If you’d spend time at the Big House with Mama like she offered, I wouldn’t have to come back here for lunch,” he says, tossing a tub of deli meat and a Kraft single on the counter.
Guess he decided against the leftover macaroni and cheese I left in there from when I ate breakfast earlier. Fair enough. I didn’t really want it either.
“I went over there the day before yesterday.” At least I think it was the day before yesterday. Days are starting to blend together. “It was awkward.”
Between the fact that I was there because I was shacking up with her son instead of just visiting her daughter like usual, my injuries and the unspoken pressure of hanging out with my… situationship’s mother in the first place, there were so many elephants in the room, she and I had barely fit.
Maddox doesn’t argue, spreading mayonnaise on his bread.
His lack of reaction makes me defensive for some ungodly reason.
“She wouldn’t let me help her with anything!
Every time I tried to lift a finger to help with lunch or even let Rainy in from outside, she hemmed and hawed until I sat back down. ”
I know Maddox is protective of his mama and the last thing I’d ever want to do is make him feel like I was trying to get him to take sides when there weren't any sides to take, but hanging out at the Big House was just… out of the question.
“If you’d let me go back to work, I could contribute without having to spend afternoons at your mama’s.”
He sighs, twisting the lid back on the jar of mayonnaise and slipping the butter knife in his mouth to lick off the excess.
I grimace, taking the jar from him and pushing off the counter to put it away.
“I wasn’t asking you to contribute, Tex.
I was giving you something to do so you wouldn’t get cabin fever. ”
I nod, shutting the fridge behind me. “Fully support me not getting cabin fever and I’m really glad you brought it up because I have a solution of my own.” I pause for effect and he sighs, knowing what’s coming. “Let me go back to work.”
“You say it like I’m some overbearing husband who’s keeping you trapped here barefoot and pregnant.”
“Can’t get pregnant and you nag at me when I’m barefoot, but you’re definitely keeping me trapped here.”
Maddox slaps his sandwich together and I put away the tub of deli meat, grabbing a bottle of water and a can of pop. I slide the water to him as he rounds the edge of the breakfast bar and takes a seat. Damn near half of his sandwich is gone in one bite.
“I talked to Dale the other night when I picked you up,” he says after he manages to swallow the huge chunk of food.
“Did you? Thought the two of you were braiding each other’s pubes or something for as long as you were back there.”
He chokes, water dribbling down his chin as he sets the bottle down and he wipes it away with the bottom of his shirt. The bar top hides his stomach from me and I wonder how Maddox would feel about a kitchen remodel.
“How do you come up with this shit?”
“Lots of time to think when you’re trapped in a cabin against your will. What was your point? About Dale?”
“He told me he’s tried giving you Quitter’s a couple of times and you turned him down.”
I’m already groaning halfway through his sentence because I can practically see how this is going to play out as clear as if I was Raven Baxter herself. “Let me guess: Dale asked you to convince me?”
He tilts his head side to side, chewing a bit quicker, refusing to talk with his mouth full as though his mama’s gonna pop up out of nowhere and smack him upside the head for it. “Sort of,” he settles on and I can’t believe I had to wait half a minute for that.
“Right. Let’s save both of us some time then and just get to the end of the argument. I’m leaving Cedar Creek. I don’t have any use for a bar located in Cedar Creek.”
Really wish I could cross my arms right now.
He pops the last bit of his sandwich in his mouth and chugs the rest of his bottle of water immediately afterward, standing from his stool and tossing his paper towel. I stay stuck in fight mode for an argument he doesn’t even seem to be taking part in.
“I’ve gotta go back. We’ll finish this conversation tonight,” he says, pressing a kiss to my lips and turning away to leave. I grab his jaw and twist him back around, brushing the crumbs from his mustache before giving him another, firmer kiss. It’s unnecessarily domestic.
He grins when we part, probably thinking the same thing, but whereas I’m an anxious mess over it, he’s pleased as punch. “Thank you, baby. I’ll see you tonight.”