Chapter 4
It seems that Sloane Callahan has not only grown up, but she’s grown a pair too.
I never thought I’d see the day where she would raise her voice or even sound so stern.
I didn’t think it was possible, and I didn’t know if I should laugh or bite back.
She was the most docile little thing growing up.
Sure, she’d put up a stink to follow us around all the time, even spent a good amount of time at my house with my mom or my sisters before Ronan and I moved away for school, but she was never loud, never pushy, just always there, like a wallflower.
About seven years ago though, she somewhat dropped off the face of the earth.
She stopped texting me, was never available for supper when I was in town with her brother.
Just poof, disappeared, and Ronan never tried to get us in the same room anymore.
I doubt he even knows why she’s been avoiding me, now that I actually take a minute to think about it.
Damn, did she put me in my place. First about the plants and music, then about the shit attitude I gave her after breaking her plate.
I should apologize for that. For that and for the semi hard-on I got from her rolling her eyes at me.
Who knew I had a kick for sassy little things with big, doe, brown eyes and shapely legs that seem to go on for miles?
I haven’t even been here a day, but I already don’t want to leave.
I shake my head in an attempt to get the thoughts of my best friend’s little sister’s legs wrapped around my waist out of it.
I try to stand from my bed to go shower, but pain shoots up my left leg and all thoughts I had of Sloane’s legs, or any woman’s legs for that matter, wrapped around my waist completely disappears. I sit back down on my bed, clenching my teeth at the pain.
“Fuck.” I can’t wait for this to be over.
To get back to my life. They said I shouldn’t be feeling this much pain at this point.
They said I should be walking on my own without a cane or anything by the spring.
That’s a little more than three months away, yet I can’t even put a quarter of my weight, much less my full weight, on my damn leg without wanting to pass out from the pain.
Not to mention, the boot is still a pain in the ass.
With the pain dulling to the regular constant throb, I decide to try to make my way to the bathroom again.
I can’t not shower. I didn’t shower yesterday or this morning, and with the night sweats I get due to the accident, I can’t skip another day.
It’s just such a chore to shower. I’m afraid I’m going to slip and smack my head, or not be able to get back up.
Taking a deep breath, I grab my crutches, careful this time not to put too much, if any, of my weight on my left leg, and stumble my way to the bathroom across the hall.
Like every other part of the house, I see that Sloane has painted this room an unconventional color.
Somehow, the light purple in here matches the light blue of my room, the pink of the living room, and the green of the kitchen cabinets.
I can’t say I like it, but I can’t say I hate it.
Looking around in the bathroom to figure out how I’m going to safely get this done, I see that Sloane took care of me even with all my comments.
I guess she’s not taking it personally—she must remember that I’ve always been an ass, even all these years later.
Though I’ve always tried to be nicer to her than anyone else.
She put a clean towel out on the counter, and my shower chair in the corner of her large shower.
She even moved all her soap bottles. The only bottle in the shower is my three-in-one.
And just like that, she makes me feel like a total asshole for snapping at her in the kitchen.
She was only making sure I hadn’t hurt myself, and yet I acted like a complete dick.
I didn’t want to, especially not to her.
She’s letting me live here, invade her space. She set up her shower for me.
I really need to change my attitude with her.
It doesn’t help that, for some reason, just having her in the same room as me, or even hearing her in the next room, makes me want to wrap her long black ponytail in my fist.
Once again, I couldn’t sleep. I was hoping the change of scenery would mean I was going to sleep through the night from here on out, but no such luck, which means I’m even more short fused when I see Sloane in the kitchen with her little ball of fur in her arms. To say I insulted her and Gigi—her wiener dog—would be an understatement.
Apparently, calling the little brown thing a mutt was a big no-no—she didn’t even want to leave me alone with the damn dog.
It’s not my fault my night was filled with nightmares of that drunk asshole who decided to hit me with his SUV while I was on my daily morning run.
I'm on edge. My frustration with myself, for not being to sleep, to walk, to just be, all came out on her. I desperately need sleep. One, good night’s sleep, that’s it.
Then I’ll be a brand new man and won’t bite her head off every time she says something to me. Is that too much to ask for?
My plan was to apologize for my bad attitude yesterday, and thank her for letting me live here.
Especially considering I doubt she jumped at the opportunity to have me live with her.
From what I gathered, this is the first time she’s been able to live alone.
And after years of roommates, I highly doubt she wanted a new one.
I know I was happy as hell when I finally got my own place, yet here I am, making her life shit while she’s doing me a huge favor.
After I calmed down, I googled the rehab center where I’m going to be an outpatient starting Wednesday. I have to admit, Ronan was right, it does look like a better program for me.