Chapter 7
SEVEN
Landon’s loud voice cuts through the murmur of voices downstairs, until someone quiets him with a gruff shut the fuck up.
Bo and I decided to hole up in my room with some of the new books Jesse had picked up for us, because the vibe downstairs can get very intense when the men meet to discuss whatever current jobs they have.
For now, I prefer not to know when Noah has an assignment.
The only time Jesse’d accidentally told me he was out hunting down a child molester instead of running errands as I’d thought, I’d been a train wreck until he got home.
Now everyone knows to keep me out of the loop.
We’ve quickly gotten comfortable here, and Bo’s like a cat while I’ve been hiding in my room, curling up on the same bean bag while we devour the new releases and make lists of new ones we want Jesse to retrieve for us.
As far as my injury, Noah’s gone off the deep end, despite me explaining over and over that a sprained ankle is not the end of the world.
The doctor gave me crutches to get around, and I was fine using them.
But they’d suddenly gone missing, and all Noah would say is that he thought he’d seen them outside in the trash, before shrugging and picking me up to carry me through the house.
“The doctor said non-weight bearing. Please tell me how I’m not following his medical advice,” he sasses, swinging me up from the bed into his arms. “He’s a professional, Emma, and we need to do as he says.
” Then the world spins as he shifts, swinging me over his shoulder with a yelp, and smacking my sweater covered ass.
“He didn’t say how to carry you though.”
“That must be the doctor,” Bo sighs, rolling to his feet with a loud groan that makes me giggle. “We’re getting so old.”
“Shut up, you're only twenty-seven,” I counter, looking for my bookmark.
“Okay, you’re getting old.” He winks at me. “The dirty thirty looks very good on you though.”
I scoff as the door opens, and Noah leads Doc into my room.
“Hello, there,” he says, setting his bag at the end of my bed. “You look much better than the last time I saw you.”
I flush at the reminder that I’d been both heartbroken and in the middle of a mental crisis during our last meeting. “Um, thanks.”
“How’s the ankle feeling?”
“It’s fine. I’m ready to start trying to walk, if you think that’s okay.”
He looks startled at this. “Well, yes. I told Noah over the phone last week you should be fine to do small periods without your crutches.”
My eyes cut to Noah’s, narrowing, but he just matches my glare.
“Better safe than sorry,” he says, shrugging and leaving the room.
I huff, twisting my legs to the side so that my feet hit the floor. “I’ve really been fine.” At the first feel of pressure, a small throb echoes in my ankle. “It’s a little sore.”
“It probably will be. For some that fades within a few days, but if a bone bruise is also present it could take longer. You’re fine to use the crutches along with walking to keep some of the pressure off, if…
” He trails off, looking around the room.
“Well, wherever they are. Obviously I can’t take you to my office for physical therapy, but Noah assures me he’s organizing it. ”
I purse my lips at that. Noah’s turned out to be surprisingly overprotective, and I‘m sure I’ll hate whatever restrictions he comes up with to help me ‘heal’. “Awesome.”
A smile quirks the doctor’s mouth, and I wonder how long he’s known Noah for. “Well, let's have you go up and down the hallway a few times just to make sure we’re good.”
I do a few rounds to appease him, until it grows too uncomfortable. Helping guide me back to bed, Bo places a pillow under my ankle.
Ruffling through his medical bag, the doctor leaves a small trial size bottle on my nightstand. “I’ll leave this just in case. They’re mild, but they will take the edge off. Call if you need anything, okay?”
I nod and he opens the door, waving down the hall to let Landon know he’s ready to go.
My mouth falls open when I see Landon step in behind him and start tying a blindfold around his eyes.
He notes my shocked face and winks. “We’ll take no chances on a second safe-house.
” He leads him away and I turn to see Bo’s equally shocked expression.
“This place is fucked,” he says simply. “But I guess it’s smart, if it means we aren’t going to get locked in our rooms again like kennel dogs.”
A peal of shocked laughter escapes me, and somehow becomes contagious, until both of us are clutching stitches in our sides from a giggling fit. It’s just like old times, laughing on my couch at home when we would have the house to ourselves for the weeks that Eric was away on business.
We can still laugh, even when everything has gone to hell. Our way of giving the middle finger to the world.
Bo and I? We still have each other. And that’s one thing Bundy could never change.