23. Katie
23
KATIE
I don’t know how long we sit side by side, resting our heads together, on the hard plastic chairs of the waiting room. One of my hands is resting over the top of Dallas’s on his injured arm, the other one has slipped inside the sleeve of his shirt and is tucked against the soft skin of the inside of his bicep.
Usually this kind of wait time would frustrate me, but Dallas’s presence has me calm and grounded. I’m not even bouncing my foot in agitation because I don’t want to leave this moment.
Dallas readjusts his grip on my shirt, still wrapped around his injury, and lets out a hiss. The sound instantly has me on alert.
As much as I’m enjoying just sitting here with him, the man is injured and bleeding.
I push to my feet, reluctantly letting my fingers slide free of their position on his arm.
“Where are you going?” Dallas asks, his voice low and soft, just a question, not a demand.
“To find out how long it’ll be,” I say, peering down at him to check how he’s doing. He’s still far too pale for my liking.
He reaches up with his uninjured arm and wraps his fingers softly around my wrist, holding me in place. “Don’t, it takes as long as it takes. It’s not their fault it’s slow.” His fingers slide down and twist with mine.
I stare down at him. My heart is hammering in my chest and I don’t understand why. We’ve been more intimate than this.
“Stay with me,” Dallas whispers and I feel like the words mean more than just sitting down now.
My breath catches in my throat. I have no idea what to say, but I move to sit down again.
“Dean McLeod,” a woman’s voice calls from across the room.
Instead of me sitting, Dallas now stands. He sways a little and I reach out to steady him.
It’s alarming.
How much blood can a person lose? He hasn’t been bleeding that much since I got to him. My shirt’s sacrifice has been worth it to stop the bleeding. Maybe it’s the pain that’s making him unsteady on his feet.
“You alright there?” The woman’s voice asks, from right behind us. The relief of knowing there’s someone else here to take over is immense.
Dallas looks past me at the nurse, but his gaze immediately shoots to mine, his eyes wide.
I spin around, wanting to know what caused his reaction .
“Katie?” The nurse takes in my appearance: dirty jeans and sports bra, Dallas’s blood somehow streaked along my arm.
My chest tightens and my eyes immediately start to burn.
Clarissa Sheridan is standing in front of me.
Toby and Max’s mother.
The woman who could have been my mother-in-law.
The last time I saw her was when I came home for Toby’s funeral, but those few days were a blur of chaos, grief and heartbreak.
I don’t remember much of them, except that I barely spoke to anyone.
I couldn’t bring myself to speak to Clarissa. She has a way of making you want to talk, to open up and share everything and I didn’t want to slip and accidentally tell her what had really happened between Toby and I.
Clarissa is exactly how I remember her. Tall like Toby and Max, dark hair pulled back in a French braid, dark eyes like her sons’, except hers are traced with soft lines that I know are from smiling.
I struggle to suck down a breath, until I feel Dallas pressing his fingers into my back. He’s not pushing me forward, he’s simply lending his support.
“Clarissa,” I croak out.
I have no idea how she’s going to react to seeing me. It’s been years.
One son is dead, the other blames me for his death. I don’t know where Clarissa stands on that. I don’t know if she believes the same things as Max, if she feels the same way.
We were fairly close when I lived here before and she always seemed to approve of my relationship with Toby, but that was before we left, before he died.
“Oh, Katie. I’d heard you were back in town,” she says, then reaches forward and wraps her arms around me, pulling me in for a tight hug.
My arms automatically come around her and I find myself clinging on, tears welling despite me trying to push them down.
The relief that she doesn’t hate me too is overwhelming. I want to curl into her and let her hold me forever.
Eventually Clarissa releases her hold and steps back. She wipes at her cheek and it takes me a moment to process that she’s wiping away tears.
She clears her throat. “Alright, sorry Dallas, let’s get this arm looked at.” She reaches out and rubs my arm. “It’s good to see you, Katie. I hope you’re doing okay. Are you cold? Do you want me to find you something to wear?”
I shake my head. “I’m fine. Just look after him.” I gesture towards Dallas, who’s watched our whole interaction silently.
He must know Clarissa is Toby and Max’s mum. His reaction to seeing her tells me he does. Why else would he look at me like I was going to bolt right out of the hospital?
I almost did. If she hadn’t surprised me with that hug, I’d be long gone by now. I always assumed Max had convinced his parents of his side of the story, whatever it is, because Clarissa never reached out to me after the funeral. Any communication I had with them was through their lawyer when it came time to handle Toby’s possessions after his death.
But that hug … maybe she doesn’t hate me as much as I thought .
“Come on through,” Clarissa says to Dallas, heading for the examination rooms.
I watch her go, then turn to resume my position on the hard plastic waiting room chair. “I’ll wait for you here,” I say.
Dallas cradles his injured arm against his chest and reaches out his good hand. “Come with me,” he says, voice impossibly soft. “Please.”
“You don’t need me,” I say.
“You’d be surprised,” he says. He reaches out and slips his fingers back into mine. “Please,” he repeats and the plea in his tone has me following him soundlessly.
Dallas has his injury inspected, poked and prodded, cleaned out and stitched closed. I stay right by his side for the entire process, for much of it with his good hand in mine.
The doctor is certain there isn’t any major damage inside his arm, which is a huge relief. Tendon damage would mean surgery and Dallas wants none of that. When the doctor tells us all the injury needs is a thorough clean and stitches, Dallas wilts against me, muttering something along the lines of ‘thank fuck’.
Clarissa talks him through caring for the injury, when he needs to come back to have the stitches out, then releases us back into the world.
Aside from her initial show of emotion when she hugged me, Clarissa was entirely professional during our visit. She spoke to Dallas, but largely ignored my presence, except for a long moment when she took in the sight of our hands linked together.
She treated him with care and respect and wished him well with his recovery, saying she’d see him again in a week to check the wound.
I blink rapidly at the bright sunlight as we step outside.
“What time is it?” Dallas asks while I readjust to the outside world. Being in a hospital is such a weirdly disconcerting feeling, with no sense of time or place.
I check my phone. “One-thirty.”
He sighs. “By the time we get back to the Ridge, it’ll be time for me to come back in to get Sadie. What a waste of a day.” He scowls over his shoulder at the hospital like it’s personally wronged him.
“First of all, you’re not driving anywhere right now, let alone with Lady Sadie in the car. Did you see the painkillers they gave you?”
Dallas scowls at me this time. “My daughter needs picking up. What else do you suggest I do? Leave her at school?”
“No,” I say, folding my arms across my chest. “Stop being a jerk, it’s not my fault you hurt yourself. If you gave me a second I’d tell you that we can wait in town and head back after we pick her up.”
Dallas blinks at me. “Don’t you have things to do?”
I peer at him. “You’re the boss, you tell me.”
He cracks a small smile at that. “You’ve wasted a whole day babysitting me because of my own stupidity. I don’t want to waste more of your time. ”
“I get the afternoon off, what part of that doesn’t sound great to you?”
He laughs properly this time. “Okay. What did you have in mind for us to do with this time off?”
“Well, first we need to feed you, because you shouldn’t be on painkillers like that without decent food in you. And also, I’m hungry. Then we can do whatever, but I suggest hanging out at my place, because then I can have a nap. You can watch TV or whatever.”
“Do I get a nap too?” His gaze connects with mine and it causes my heart to do that weird hitching thing I’ve been feeling way too often around him. His eyes are dark and intent on mine.
I clear the block from my throat and shrug. “Sure, if you want.”
“Alright, sounds good,” he says, his voice rough and low.
Goosebumps skitter over my skin and I turn away, pulling the keys from my pocket.
“Hey, princess,” Dallas says, reaching out and snagging my wrist. I twist back to face him and try to ignore the way he’s tracing his thumb across my pulse point, sending more shivers my way. “Thank you,” he says.
I shrug him off, trying to pretend I’m not affected by him in the slightest. The truth is, I am. Constantly. He’s always on my mind and I can’t seem to stop touching him.
I want his hands on me again, rough but gentle. I want his mouth on mine and his scent filling my nose. I want to feel him shiver as I trail my fingers across his skin. I want to relive every moment of our night together, and more .
But I shouldn’t want that. And we definitely shouldn’t go there again.
We climb into the ute and I drive to the centre of town. We grab filled rolls and danishes from Sugar, the best cafe in town, then head back to my place to eat them.
I let us into the house and immediately regret suggesting we come here.
So far, having Dallas in my house has only led to bad decisions and awkwardness.
It confuses the boundaries that are already so blurred they’re virtually non-existent. I don’t know where we stand anymore and bringing him here, into my own space, with no one else around to be a buffer is asking for trouble.
We eat in silence but the moment I swallow my last mouthful I know I have to deal with the fact Dallas is in my house … again.
“Do you want a shower?” I ask, my voice coming out hoarse.
Dallas shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good. I’ll just maybe have a sit on your couch.”
“You can lie down in the bedroom if you want,” I say and when he raises an eyebrow I can tell he’s thinking about my bed and the last time he was in it. “The spare room has a good bed,” I choke out. “I’m going to shower.”
I flee to the bathroom, wanting to shower off the sweat from this morning’s work, and the stench of hospital that’s still clinging to my skin. I only waited until after lunch because I was starting to think I’d pass out if I didn’t eat immediately.
I enjoy the heat of the water sliding down my body, easing away the tension of the morning and the anxiety over Dallas’s wellbeing.
But, I can’t stay in here for the next hour. I need to be able to be around Dallas—even in my house without a chaperone. We’re definitely friends at this point. I should be able to be near him, have a conversation with him.
I shut off the water, dry myself off, and pull on a pair of leggings and a worn t-shirt.
Towel drying my hair as I walk, I head towards my room at the front of the house. The door to the guest room is wide open, as usual. I assume Dallas hasn’t made it to lying down yet, until I glance in and stop in my tracks.
Dallas is stretched out on the bed, his injured arm resting on his chest, the white bandage a stark reminder of his injury.
He’s shed his shirt, which was filthy from his morning’s work and covered in his own blood. His jeans are also tossed on the floor beside the bed, but thankfully he’s covered his lower half with the throw that usually lies across the end of the bed.
I trace the lines of his torso with my eyes, admiring what I see. Smooth skin, hard muscle, a body perfectly shaped by physical work.
“Stop staring, princess,” he says, startling me. His eyes are still closed. I don’t know how he even knows I’m here, quite obviously perving on him.
“I — I didn’t know you were awake,” I mutter.
“Clearly,” he says, humour clear in his voice. “Come here.”
I take a few hesitant steps forward. “What do you need?”
His eyes crack open, the clear blue guileless and earnest. “You,” he whispers, reaching out and sliding his fingers into mine for what feels like the millionth time today. It’s happened so often it almost feels natural. The fireworks it sets off in my body is anything but though.
“Me?”
“Yeah, will you stay for a bit?” He drops my hand and runs his fingers through his hair, staring at the ceiling. He glances back at me, his expression the tiniest bit sheepish. “Please?”
“You know this is a terrible idea,” I murmur.
“Yeah, but what’s new where we’re concerned?” He lifts the side of his mouth into his cocky smile and the sight of it makes my stomach swoop. I don’t see a lot of that smile, he’s always too serious at work. “Don’t run away, princess. I’ll think you’re scared of me.”
I laugh at that one. “Yeah, right, cowboy. As if.” I toss my towel down beside his pile of clothes, and climb onto the bed with him.