63. Chapter 63
Chapter 63
David knocked on Paige’s door and waited, heart thumping, throat tight.
When she answered the door, her expression went from surprise to aggravation within seconds. Unfortunately, he didn’t see any sign she was even remotely happy to see him, which wasn’t surprising, but was rather disappointing.
And then, she started to close the door in his face.
Without thinking, he shoved his hand between the door and door frame to stop her, getting it partially slammed in the process. “Holy fuck!” he burst out, as pain ripped through him.
Horrified, Paige pulled the door back. “Oh, my God!”
He looked down at his injured extremity, which was turning red and starting to swell, but before he could answer, she was scolding him. “Why did you do that?”
“I—”
“What were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t really thinking. I was just trying to keep you from closing the door.”
“God dammit, David,” she sighed, sounding both angry and concerned as she took in the fiery redness and rapid swelling. “Let me look at it.”
When she reached out, as if to take his hand and examine it, he pulled it back. “It’s fine.”
“It obviously isn’t fine,” she disagreed. “It might even be broken … and if I broke your hand, I’m going to be even more pissed at you than I already am.”
“I doubt it’s broken,” he said, gingerly flexing his fingers and moving his hand around as if to prove it, because he didn’t want her to be more pissed at him. Thankfully, the palm and back of his hand had taken the brunt of the trauma, leaving his fingers unscathed, otherwise a few of them probably would’ve been broken. That didn’t mean all of his metacarpals were still intact, though (now that the shock was over, the pain was hitting him hard), but that was something he’d deal with at a later date. “See? It’s fine.”
“Yeah, I see,” she muttered, staring at his hand, clearly not happy with his choices this evening. Then, opening the door wide, she motioned him inside her apartment. “Let me get you some ice.”
Silently, he followed her into the kitchen, where she put some ice in a baggie and wrapped it in a towel, as a makeshift ice pack for him. “Thank you,” he said gratefully, taking it and applying it to his hand, which seemed to have doubled in size, including his fingers.
Paige also got him a glass of water and some Motrin, and after he’d taken them, she threw back a couple of her own.
“You have a headache?” he asked.
She gave him a look that said he was two IQ points above brain dead.
This really wasn’t going well.
He could tell she was fairly intoxicated and wondered how much more she’d had to drink after she’d hung up on him. It looked like a lot, and he told himself to not ask because she would likely put a knee in his balls … and he was in enough pain as it was.
“Let me guess … you were in the parking lot, waiting for me to get home?” she asked, her voice flat.
“I was, actually, but then Dolores saw me and invited me up to her place.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “You’ve been with Dolly?”
“Yes. I was hanging out with her while waiting for you.”
“You were hanging out with Dolly?”
“Yes. We watched part of a Rangers game.”
“You and Dolly watched … hockey?”
“Yes. And had a drink.”
“You and Dolly were … drinking?”
He nodded, feeling slightly light-headed as his endorphins dropped and the pain in his hand became even worse. “She has a really good selection of booze. Did you know that?”
“No, I … didn’t know that.” Paige cleared her throat, then murmured, “I’m having a hard time picturing the two of you as drinking buddies.”
“‘Buddies’ is a bit of a stretch, but we had a pretty good time. Well, up until the Rangers lost and cost her a hundred dollars.”
“What?”
“She lost a bet with someone.”
“Hmm. Okay,” she said, rubbing at her forehead.
David could see she was tired, and knew any chance of them having a decent conversation had been a pipe dream on his part. He also knew he’d made a mistake coming here, and was now sort of stuck. “Look, I know you’re not happy with me right now, and we’re obviously not going to talk like I’d hoped, but I had a good amount of bourbon not too long ago, and …” he trailed off for a moment. “I’d rather not drive home. Can I please crash here tonight?”
She seemed to be trying to figure out if he had some ulterior motive, but with a sigh (and another glance at his hand), she finally nodded. “I may want to kill you right now, but I don’t necessarily want you dead, so … you can sleep in the guest room.”
“Thank you.”
Paige turned off the lights, then headed down the hall, with David following, his eyes drinking in the sway of her hips, so when she stopped and abruptly turned around, he had to jerk his gaze up.
“If you hadn’t had that talk with your mom, how long would you have kept … pretending?” she asked.
“To be honest, I wouldn’t have been able to do it for much longer, because it was killing me. Keeping my distance from you was awful, and felt so wrong … because it was wrong.” He took a deep breath. “I know I fucked up and I hurt you, and I’m sorry. I wish I’d done things much differently, but I didn’t, and because I was stupid, we’ve lost some ground. But, in my defense, my stupidity stemmed from my fear of failing as a parent, and the possibility of that was killing me, too.”
He was playing the concerned parent card, and … it was kind of working.
“But it’s ground we’ll make up. That I’ll make up,” he quickly amended. “Because you obviously have nothing to make up.”
They stared at one another, the five feet separating them feeling like a hundred.
“I’m sorry about your hand,” she finally said.
“It’s okay,” David told her, making sure the ice pack blocked most of her view, not wanting her to see the state his hand was currently in, because she would likely freak out and feel even worse, which he didn’t want. “Anyway, it was my fault. I should’ve stuck my foot in the door, instead.”
She shook her head at his attempt at a joke. “Continue to ice it for a while, and keep it elevated,” she told him. “That should help with the swelling.”
“I will.” He opened the guest bedroom door, then said over his shoulder, “Good night.”
“Good night.”
Once inside the guest room, he got ready for bed, which consisted of only kicking his shoes off—there was no way in hell he was going to struggle to get undressed with one working hand. Once under the covers, he elevated his injured limb and laid the ice pack on it.
Then he got his phone and texted Evan again. It was slow going, typing with one thumb.
DAVID: I know you’re busy, but can I ask you something?
Less than a minute later, Evan replied back.
DICK: I’m really not that busy … but if what you’re going to ask me has anything to do with helping you move something, the answer is HELL FUCKING NO.
DAVID: It doesn’t.
DICK: Okay. Feel free to ask me whatever it is, then.
DAVID: What do you do when you make a woman mad? I need a few pointers, and I figure you’ve probably had plenty of experience with mad women.
DICK: That was mean. But … not entirely inaccurate.
DICK: It depends on the woman. If it’s my sister, I let her get over it on her own because it’s usually her fault, anyway. If it’s my mom, I’ll apologize and maybe take her to dinner, depending on how mad she is.
DAVID: What if it’s a woman you’re going out with?
DICK: Then I usually just move on to the next woman. Or man.
DAVID: I’m being serious.
DICK: Me, too.
DICK: So, I take it you’ve made a woman mad? Is it Cat Lady?
DAVID: Yes.
DICK: Well, what did you do whenever you made Ashley mad?
DAVID: I usually had sex with her.
DICK: So have sex with Cat Lady. Problem solved.
DAVID: I don’t think making amends with sex will work with her.
DICK: Why not?
DAVID: Because she’s not wired that way.
DICK: That’s too bad.
DICK: Cat Lady’s a complicated one, isn’t she?
DICK: Great taste in lingerie, though … so, totally worth it.
DAVID: Yes, I know.
DAVID: Now can you help me, or not?
DICK: Why don’t you tell me what you did to make her mad, so I’ll know what I’m dealing with?
DAVID: It’s too much to text. And I’m down to one hand, as it is.
DICK: What?
DICK: Hang on. I’ll have Lars cover me for a minute so I can call you.
A few minutes later, for the fourth time that night, David was relaying the story of what a dumb fuck he’d been during the past ten days, finishing with his coming to Paige’s apartment, getting his hand unintentionally slammed in a door, and sleeping in the guest room.
“Well,” Evan drawled when David was done, “I guess you won’t be jerking off for a while. ”
“Are you serious?”
“Sorry. Low hanging fruit.”
“No. I meant, after everything I told you, that’s your response?”
“Well, I’d like to add that compared to your life, mine seems pretty tame. Oh, and you should probably get your hand looked at by a doctor.”
“You’re not going to tell me I’m an asshole?”
“No. But I can understand why Cat Lady might think you are, so you’ll definitely need to make amends.”
David released an annoyed breath. “I know. That’s why I’m asking you for pointers on how to make them.”
“Right,” Evan said. “And if I think of any, I’ll let you know.”