Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Jeff
Devon is sitting up against the headboard with her foot propped up on a pillow and an ice-pack of peas beneath her ankle, and I’m immediately reminded of the first time I saw her.
Her dark hair spilling across the white linens of the bed in the recovery ward in Chicago, her glassy eyes smiling at a hundred funny thoughts that skittered through her loopy brain.
Instead of a blue hospital gown she’s wearing a t-shirt that says, “Underestimate me. It’ll be fun.” And a pair of shorts that might as well be underwear. I take a deep breath and step inside as she waves and scrunches up her nose in apology.
“I knew you were in pain last night,” I tell her, sitting on the end of the bed very gently.
“Must be nice to know everything. Can we blame this on Meredith?” she asks.
“As long as I don’t get blamed. We could blame the dozens of creepy men chasing after you. You had to do a lot of fancy footwork to keep them at arm’s length.” I reach for her painted blue toes and stop. “You’re not gonna dropkick me again are you?”
One side of her mouth curls upward. “No promises.”
I wrap my hand around her foot and scoot closer so I can get under her knee with my other hand. She lets out a small gasp and I meet her eyes to check for pain, but she is looking down at her lap, no sign of pain on her face. I lift her foot and can see the ball in her calf immediately.
“Jesus, Devon. Did you stretch at all last night?”
Her eyes meet mine and she looks annoyed. “Yeah, Jeff. Didn’t you notice me doing the lotus pose on the dance floor?”
“Alright, alright.” I slide my fingers down over the bump onto her heel. Everything seems to be intact as far as I can feel. “I want you to come in and get an MRI just to make sure you didn’t tear it again.”
She groans. “Can’t you just tell?”
“I can’t see through your skin, Devon. This bump is definitely a muscle knot.
” I run my finger over the tennis ball in her calf down to her heel, “and the tendon isn’t completely ruptured, I can feel that.
” I push gently again into her heel and feel for a tear.
“But you have a fair amount of swelling and I can’t be sure you don’t have a tiny tear and if you do, you need to rest—get back in the boot and stay off your feet. ”
“Surgery again?” she asks, her tone exhausted. “The kids are ruthless when I have to use that scooter thing.”
“No, a tiny tear wouldn’t require that,” I say, placing her foot back down on the peas. “You can teach in a boot.”
“Not the way I teach,” she murmurs.
She looks so sad that I pat her shin and she looks up at me.
“Ok. We can blame this on me,” I tell her.
She smiles, but it’s only a shadow of what she’s capable of.
“You want me to try to get this knot out?” I push my thumb into her calf muscle, and she jumps a little. I grin at her narrowed eyes. “It’s gonna hurt like a bitch.”
“Are you some kind of sadist?” she asks seriously. “Like Steve Martin in Little Shop of Horrors?”
I laugh. That movie gave me nightmares for years when I was little. But I watched it over and over again none-the-less.
“Maybe. Either way you gotta work that knot out,” I tell her, and she sighs and tilts her head back against the headboard.
“Alright. Do your worst.” Her eyes are closed tight and she’s biting her lip. I have to look away.
“It’ll be easier if you roll over onto your stomach.”
She opens one eye and looks me over.
“Is this so you don’t have to see my face when you hurt me, you sicko?”
“No. It’s so you can scream into the pillow.”
Her eyes widen and the amber around her pupils seems to melt.
The words hang there between us. I’m suddenly aware that my hand is still on her leg and that I’m sitting on her bed and her chest is rising and falling beneath that ridiculous tee.
She’s not wearing a bra. She rolls over just as my eyes find her hard nipples.
I let out a slow breath that does nothing to help the situation beginning in my pants.
“Alright, you ready?” I ask her as I get into position.
“No,” she murmurs into the pillow.
“I’m just going to stretch you first,” I explain as I slowly rotate her ankle and pull out her toes.
She grunts a little and then giggles when my fingers accidentally brush along the balls of her feet.
“Careful. You might get kicked again,” she warns.
I push my thumbs into the lump on her calf and make a small circle. She tenses, her hands grip the sheets and the sight of her fingers wrapped around the linen makes my throat go dry and forces me to look away.
“You ok?” I ask as I work the tissue in slow circles.
She turns her head so I can see the side of her face.
“I’m fine. Get the damn thing out and stop fucking around,” she tells me, and I chuckle and push a little harder, causing her to turn her head back into the pillow and let out a low groan.
“Ummm. Am I interrupting something?”
I jump a little, but Devon doesn’t flinch. Tara is standing in the doorway holding two mugs of coffee, her mouth stretched into a wide smile.
“Shut up, Tara. He’s getting the watermelon out of my calf.” Devon rolls over and sees what her sister is holding and lights up. “Oh, Angel of Mercy. Coffee.” She claps. Actually claps.
I take a mug out of Tara’s hand and thank her then watch as she holds the second cup just out of Devon’s reach.
“You want this?” Tara asks.
Devon’s eyes turn to slits.
“Promise you’ll come to Milan in the early spring,” Tara demands, pulling the coffee back slowly as Devon’s fingers reach forward.
“That’s not even remotely fair. And isn’t it cold? Couldn’t you pick a nice Hawaiian?”
“Then I’ll drink it.” Tara takes a sip.
“You know I can make my own damned coffee,” Devon says.
“I used the last of the grinds and I doubt you can walk on that.” Tara gestures to her bad leg.
Devon shoots me a look and then stares at my mug as I lift it to my lips. I let out a long mmmmmmm.
“Dick,” she murmurs. “Fine, T. I promise to come to Milan in the spring if you promise to visit Mom twice a month until you leave.”
Tara scoffs. It’s like watching a chess death-match. I can’t help but wonder why the hell Devon wouldn’t want to go to Milan. Or why Tara needs to make a promise to see their mother. I’d kill to see my own mother right now.
“That’s a bit much,” Tara begins, but Devon gives her a look that could have started global warming and Tara shrugs. “Fine. I promise.”
Devon lunges for the coffee and I’m shocked it doesn’t spill everywhere. She puts her lips to the cup like it’s the holy grail. They both turn to me at the same time as if they’ve just remembered I’m still there.
“Can you get her in for an MRI today?” Tara asks.
Devon smacks her. “Eavesdropping again?”
“It’s not eavesdropping when the two of you talk so loud because you forget I’m here,” Tara says. She has a point. I’d forgotten about her.
“I can take her over to the hospital and get the imaging done whenever she’s ready,” I say.
Devon shakes her head as she blows the steam from the dark surface of her mug.
“I’ve got to meet Syd at the Children’s Hospital today at two. And it’s your day off, Jeff. You’ve already done enough,” she says, and I meet her eyes. It always catches me off guard when she shows her softer side. I clam-up, like I did last night on the dance floor.
I focus on my mug, take another sip of coffee and pull my shoulders up and let them fall like it’s no big deal.
And really, it’s not. The truth is, after everything that happened last night, the way she looked at me—the sadness there, I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
I left the bar to give her space and recover, but she didn’t leave my mind.
And when the phone lit up this morning with her name, it was the first time I felt at ease since my hands were on her last night.
“I can take you to CHOP after the imaging. My car’s in the Jefferson lot. It’s the least I can do after missing dinner last night.” I shrug.
Devon winces at the mention of last night then meets my gaze over the rim of her mug and I see her wheels turning. I’d pay my first year’s salary to see into that head.
“Ok,” she says, blowing again on the coffee.
“Ok,” I echo. Her lips are so—
Tara clears her throat and I slosh a little of my coffee onto my wrist.
“Yup. Still here,” she tells me with a smile. “I’ll drive you two over to Jefferson on my way out. Dev, get dressed.”
I stand and head out of the room. Just before I pull the door shut, I see Tara put her hands on her hips and stare at her sister with lifted brows.
Devon studies her coffee like she’s about to swan dive into it, then I’m staring at the white painted wood of Meredith’s guest room door thinking What the hell am I doing? for the second time this month.