Chapter 10
10
Declan
T his was supposed to be a favor for her, not me burdening her during the storm. She basically had to carry me from the truck, so it’s clear I’m stuck here for the time being.
I grit my teeth against the sharp pain in my ankle, which pulses with every slight movement. I know it’s bad, probably severely sprained or worse, but I’ll have to deal with it later. For now, I need to focus on not being a burden.
My eyes flick back to the door as she reappears, the duffel bag clutched in her gloved hands. Snow clings to her coat, and her boots leave wet tracks across the floor as she steps inside. She’s shivering, her cheeks red from the cold, but she sets the bag beside me.
“Here,” she says through gritted teeth, probably to keep them from chattering. “Change into something dry.”
“Thanks,” I say, my voice quieter than I intended, and I’m unsure if she hears me as she stalks toward a room I can’t see. Her bedroom, I assume, or a bathroom.
Once the door clicks shut, I let out a long breath and open the duffel bag. My fingers are stiff from the cold, but I manage to pull out a clean sweatshirt. I make quick work of changing out of the wet one and tug it on. The shirt smells faintly of cedar, a reminder of my cabin up the road, which I realize I probably won’t see for the next couple of days, thanks to this storm.
How could I be so stupid? I shouldn’t have spent so much time on those damn window shutters, but I didn’t want her to be unprotected during the storm.
I’m halfway through folding my discarded shirt when I hear the door open, and Jade steps back out. She’s changed into thick pajamas, fleece, maybe, with a loose top that falls just below her hips. The outfit is as modest as it gets, not an inch of skin showing, and it hides any shape she may have. Yet somehow, it doesn’t matter. My eyes betray me, drifting to the curve of her waist, the way the fabric clings to her hips. I catch myself and look away, but the image is already burned into my mind.
“Feeling any better?” she asks, crossing over to me. She sits down beside me and gives me a once-over. “You look less frozen, at least.”
I nod, clearing my throat. “Thanks to you. I’d probably still be out there freezing to death in my truck if you hadn’t pulled me out.”
She waves off the comment, but there’s a faint blush on her cheeks that I doubt has anything to do with the cold.
“Or you might have frozen to death walking to your cabin if I hadn’t insisted you stay,” she teases, just as a sharp pain shoots through my ankle.
My eyes slam shut and I hiss from the unexpected jolt. When I open my eyes, she’s looking down at my leg, frowning.
“Do you need more time to change?” she asks, her voice tinged with embarrassment. “I didn’t even think, it’s not like you have a door you can shut. I can go back to my room and you can shout when you’re done.”
“Oh, no, that’s okay,” I respond in a rush, not particularly wanting her to leave. “As much as my ankle is hurting right now, I think the pants will have to stay on for a little longer. I need to mentally work up to it.”
“I could help you change,” she offers hesitantly, the red on her cheeks deepening. “Sorry, that was a stupid idea. You’re a grown man. You can obviously change your own pants.”
I can’t help but laugh, because truthfully, I’m not sure that I can right now. Not without a significant amount of effort anyway. I can’t even shift my foot without the pain radiating through my whole leg.
“Yeah, I’ve got it,” I say quickly. The last thing I want is to make this more awkward for her. Or for me. “You’ve already done enough.”
“Okay, but I think you should try to change as soon as you can. The last thing you need is to get a cold from wet clothes.”
Her tone is so earnest and a bit demanding, and I suddenly feel like I’m being chastised by my mom, God rest her soul.
“You’re right,” I concede. I try to stand, but that’s immediately proven to be a bad idea. A throb in my ankle as I shift slightly shuts me up.
“Just let me help you,” she says, her tone taking on the same level of frustration she had when she was talking with the 9-1-1 operator. “You clearly need help. Stop being such a baby about it.”
“Fine,” I mutter, leaning back in the chair. “But you don’t have to if—”
“Relax,” she says gently, cutting me off. “It’s not a big deal. I used to help my bedridden abuela change all the time as a kid.”
I nod and unbutton my jeans, pulling them down as far as I can without moving my foot. I try to pull either leg out of the pants, but it’s impossible to do without aggravating my foot. She watches me struggle for a moment, then fixes me with a look that finally makes me stop moving.
She kneels beside me, her hands moving carefully as she helps untangle my jeans from my injured leg. She’s focused, her brow furrowed in concentration, but I can see the way she’s trying not to look, trying not to let her gaze linger anywhere near my crotch. It’s almost amusing in a way, but the humor is lost beneath the awkward tension hanging between us.
When my legs are both finally free, she grabs the sweatpants from the bag and helps me slide them on, her fingers brushing against my skin briefly. She pulls back quickly, her cheeks flushing, and I pretend not to notice. I scoot back down the chair the way I did before, managing to pull the pants over my hips.
The whole experience couldn’t have lasted more than a couple of minutes, but I feel breathless and exhausted. The air between us has inexplicably changed, becoming slightly more charged, but I’m willing to ignore it if she is.
“There,” she says, standing and brushing her hands against her thighs. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
I shake my head and give her a faint smile. “Definitely easier than catching pneumonia,” I joke.
She snorts, shaking her head as she grabs the first aid kit from the table. “Alright, let’s see what we can do about that ankle.”
I lean back in the chair as she kneels again, her hands moving with surprising confidence as she wraps the gauze around my ankle. Her touch is gentle but firm, and I can tell she’s trying to be careful. The firelight casts a soft glow over her face, highlighting the determined set of her jaw and the way her dark hair falls over her shoulders.
“There,” she says after a few minutes, sitting back on her heels. “It’s not perfect, but it should hold for now.”
“Thanks,” I say again, the word feeling inadequate. “You’re pretty good at this.”
She shrugs, standing and brushing her hands off.
“The 9-1-1 operator was surprisingly helpful,” she jokes. “And the rest is just a dash of common sense.”
“Well, you did a good job,” I say, and this time, she smiles. It’s a real smile, small but genuine.
We settle into a more comfortable silence after that, as she gets up and busies herself in the kitchen. A few minutes later, she comes back with two steaming mugs, and I look down to see the warm brown of hot chocolate. I wrap my hands gingerly around the mug and bring it to my lips, blowing slightly to cool it down enough to sip. The moment it hits my lips, I nearly moan. I don’t think I’ve had hot chocolate since I was a kid. It’s divine.
Jade’s back is to me, a small mercy. I’d be beyond embarrassed if she’d witnessed that. She’s across the room in the living room area, turning on the TV. It murmurs softly as she flips through the channels, probably looking for a weather report.
Once she’s found what she’s looking for, she sets the remote down on the coffee table and comes back to me, happily sipping her own mug.
“I hope this is okay,” she says apologetically. “I should have asked what you wanted, I didn’t even think.”
“You have to stop apologizing for being such a consummate host,” I say. “Seriously, this is perfect. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for how you’ve taken care of me today. It’s been a long time since anyone’s been so thoughtful.”
I swallow hard as Cassidy’s face flashes in my mind and I feel the familiar pang of guilt. It isn’t her fault she’s not here to take care of me. The responsibility of her death falls firmly on my shoulders.
As I watch Jade watch the weather report, another, unfamiliar pang of guilt washes over me. She’s a beautiful woman. Somehow, I’d managed to control my inappropriate thoughts when she was at eye-level with my boxers, but in the comfortable quiet of the room, I realize it’s more than just a physical attraction. I like being around her.
She groans and I’m snapped back to reality, tuning in to hear the weatherman confirm what we already know. The storm is getting worse. They’re advising everyone to stay indoors, warning of power outages and impassable roads. I glance at Jade, wondering if she’s worried, but she just sits there, watching the screen with a calm, thoughtful expression.
And then, just as the meteorologist is explaining the storm’s trajectory, the power cuts out.
The room plunges into darkness, save for the faint glow of the fire. The hum of the heater falls silent, leaving only the sound of the wind battering against the window shutters.
“ Mierda,” Jade whispers, probably not meaning for me to hear. “Just when I was wondering if this day could get worse.”
I can’t help but chuckle as I take a sip of my hot cocoa and think that this day has actually shaped up to be a lot more interesting than I’d expected.