Chapter Twelve #2
With low murmurs and more of those chuckles that tightened the senseless anger buzzing under my skin, Josh and Vic maneuvered him from the car and supported him up the stairs. I trailed behind, casting one glance over my shoulder at Nicole’s. A curtain fluttered and was still.
Inside, Josh eased him onto the bed and helped him wrestle free of the shirt. With a nod at me, he nudged Vic toward the door. I threw the deadbolt behind them, and we were alone.
Fingers linked, I hovered in the bedroom doorway. Dan sat on the bed, staring at his boots. “Can I help?”
“Will you untie those?” He pressed a hand over his heart. “Chest hurts.”
I dropped to kneel at his feet, fumbling the laces free. The upper didn’t give, and he leaned forward, loosening the laces with a finger, a deep grimace twisting his mouth. I hurried to do the same with the next boot, my chest caving with inadequacy.
I was so not good at this.
Wrapping a hand around the heel, I tried to tug a boot free. He waved a hand and toed the first one off, then the next. I set them by his dresser, neatly side by side.
With a rough sigh, he lay back on the pillow, an arm over his eyes. I eyed him, the belt at his waist, his watch on his wrist. “Do you want to take off-“
“No.” He shook his head. “Just want to shut my eyes. Head hurts like a motherfucker.”
“All right.” I clicked off the lamp, the glow from the living room spilling through the door. Shifting one foot to the other, I ran a hand through my hair. The nurse said something about prescriptions, but we didn’t have those and–
“Lay down with me.” The sleep-slurred mutter might have been an entreaty or a command. Kicking off my own shoes, I crawled up the bed to ease into his side. He dropped an arm around me and pressed me close, mouth against my forehead. His chest shuddered. “Glad you’re here.”
I buried my face against him, sweat and deodorant and antiseptic filling my nose. Tears scalded my eyes. “Me, too.”
I woke before he did, sunlight creeping in to draw me from an uneasy sleep filled with dreams I didn’t remember. Snoring quietly, he slept on, one arm thrown above his head on the pillow. I watched him a moment, timing his breaths, watching his face for a flinch or grimace.
Planting a careful hand on the mattress, I eased off the bed and slipped into the kitchen.
As quietly as possible, I started a pot of coffee brewing – he still had one of those old-fashioned drip machines and he made it so strong I could hardly stand it.
While it bubbled, I rooted through his small refrigerator and came up with eggs and cheese to go with the half-loaf of wheat bread and avocados on his counter.
When he woke up, I could make him the avocado toast he liked, topped with scrambled eggs and a slice of tomato.
Weight pressed in the center of my chest, squeezing my lungs. I could make him strong coffee and a protein-rich breakfast, start his day the best I could. He was here for me to do those things. He was here, and so was I.
I poured a cup of coffee and added milk to lighten it. Standing at the window, I sipped, eying a lone dove hopping along under the spirea at the corner of the yard. Its partner fluttered down, the pair of them strutting over the grass.
At Nicole’s the curtains along the back windows rippled, then opened. The glass reflected the morning light, so no one was visible inside.
A muffled groan sent tension racing up my spine to the base of my skull. Quiet footsteps shuffled on the floor, and I spun to look at him, fingers clenched around the mug, one of a pair he’d picked up at the state park where we’d gone hiking on an early date.
The bruises under his eyes had darkened, a harsh reddish-purple extending beneath the pale green splint.
My company sold those. Maybe I’d even sold that one to the hospital.
“Morning, baby.” He scuffed a hand over his nape.
“Hi.” Energy surged up from my feet. I set my mug on the counter, coffee splashing over the side. I flung myself in his arms, cringing at his muffled oof, and buried my face against his shoulder.
He tightened his arms around me and rested his cheek on my hair. I held on, palms flattened over his spine. His chest rose and fell against mine. He rubbed his jaw over the curve of my head. “Love you.”
I froze, bracing my forearms on his pecs to lever back a half-step. I lifted my gaze to his, finding his eyes dark with emotion under puffy lids. “What?”
The broken whisper hurt my throat.
“I love you.” His throat bobbed with a swallow. I stared at him. His hands flexed at my waist.
Unable to breathe, to swallow, I blinked.
In the circle of my numb arms, he stiffened. “You’re not there yet.”
“I . . .” I moistened my lips. What could I say? Nothing was going to make this better.
His expression shifted, his mouth tightening. His eyes shuttered, the light there dimming. Silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable. Last night, he’d taken a physical hit and been hurt.
This morning, just now, I’d hit him emotionally.
He was still standing, still holding me in a loose embrace, although he’d eased away to put distance between us.
He wasn’t walking away.
And I didn’t know what to do with that either.
I was a mess.
A flaky, flighty, not-as-together-as-I-thought-I-was mess.
He said he loved me, and I couldn’t say it back.
My eyes prickled, but I refused to cry. He was physically not okay. I’d just hurt his heart, and I would not let my tears hijack that.
“So we probably need to have a conversation we should have already had.” His pained rasp scraped over my raw nerves. “But I feel like shit and can’t think straight.”
Relief spurted through me, and I hated myself for it. Even so, I sagged in his easy hold. I wanted to smooth the blood-stained t-shirt on his chest, but somehow, I didn’t feel like I had the full right to do that any longer.
“You should rest today.” I touched the edge of his leather belt. “I can make you some breakfast and pick us up lunch later if–”
“I wouldn’t mind a little space today.” His voice quietened, and he seemed as present as always, although that tiny distance remained between our bodies.
“Oh.” I blinked again, uncertainty making my fingers shaky. “Okay.”
I dropped my hands and stepped back. I cast about for something to ground myself – the hum of the refrigerator, the angle of light coming through the window, the hardwood under my feet – because he suddenly wasn’t there the same way he’d been.
“I’ll just . . .” Tears pushed at the backs of my eyes, and I bit my lip. I wasn’t going to cry. That wasn’t fair to him. “I’ll get my shoes and order a rideshare.”
“Hey.” He cupped my chin, a gentle nudge turning my gaze to his. “It’s just a little space so I can think and process. That’s all.”
I nodded, an ache spreading from the back of my throat all the way down my chest to my stomach. The overwhelming urge to bawl reminded me of breaking one of my grandmother’s handpainted plates.
Like I’d broken something that couldn’t be brought back.