Chapter Twenty-One #2
His throat raw, he confessed, “I’d rather do just about anything with you than hang around all by my lonesome.
” He blinked, clearing the unnecessary emotion from his voice.
Then he exhaled deeply, regaining his footing here.
He managed a soft smile. “And that includes sitting around the waiting room at the clinic.”
“Oh.” Her smile echoed his for a second, as if she were really hearing what he was saying—probably hearing more than he wanted her to.
But then her smile wavered, her mouth threatening to crumple all over again.
“What if it’s really bad, though? If I can’t put weight on it for days, or if I need surgery or it’s really broken or… ”
He didn’t have the heart to tell her that a break would probably be easier to recover from than a bad enough sprain. Not when she was spiraling like this.
“Then we’ll handle it.”
“But I live on the second floor.” She tipped her head back toward the trail. “Hopping down half a mountain nearly broke me. How can I do that multiple times a day?”
“We’ll handle it,” he repeated, subtly emphasizing the word we. “Maybe you stay at my place for a couple of days. Or maybe I stay at yours. I’m a really good crutch, remember?”
“I know.” Her lip quivered, and her gaze fell. “But it’s such an imposition.”
“It’s not.” He’d be happy to have her, in fact.
Again, the contrast with his previous attitudes was almost too stark.
He’d always preferred his home to be his Fortress of Solitude, but he loved the idea of having Emma there again.
Even if she was hobbling around on crutches, and they didn’t do a damn thing except sit around watching TV together, or reading curled up on their own ends of the couch.
Even if he ended up waiting on her hand and foot.
It didn’t sound like an imposition. It sounded… great.
Some of his excitement must have leaked over into his tone. She met his gaze again, one brow lifting. Tentatively, she reached out and ran a hand through his hair. Despite the cool temperature, he was probably all sweaty and gross from carrying her on his back, but she didn’t seem to care.
Finally, she let out an exaggerated sigh, dropping her hand. “Fine. Let’s get me and my giant, broken ankle to a medical professional.”
“Giant, probably sprained ankle,” he corrected.
“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes, and he stepped back. Just before he moved to close her door, she stopped him, though. “Hey, Hunter?”
“Yeah?”
“Just.” Her soft smile warmed his heart. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.” And honestly, he meant that.
“It’s just a sprain, Mom.” Pinching the bridge of her nose, Emma took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Sprains can be serious,” her mother reminded her.
“I know—believe me.”
Dr. Nguyen had made that abundantly clear after he’d examined her. He’d also made it clear that while her sprain had swelled her ankle to the size of a grapefruit, she would almost certainly make a full recovery. She’d probably be feeling better within a week.
But that wasn’t going to stop her mom from fretting. “But you have to take it easy. Remember: RICE. Rest—”
“Ice, compress, elevate. I got it, I promise.”
In fact, she was doing all four right now.
Unsurprisingly, the doctor’s instructions had included trying to stay off her feet as much as possible for the next few days, and not putting any weight at all on her affected leg until she could comfortably tolerate it.
Once she’d been outfitted with a very stylish set of gray, metal crutches, she’d hopped her way out to Hunter’s truck, where he’d presented her with exactly two options: He could mother-hen her at his place, where there weren’t any stairs, or he could mother-hen her at her place, where there were.
Exhausted as she was, she’d opted for no stairs.
So here she was, curled up under a soft fleece blanket on his couch, her leg propped up on a pillow and her ankle wrapped in an Ace bandage, with a fresh ice pack draped over the whole kit and caboodle.
“Are you going to be okay at work?”
“Yeah. I got someone to cover for me today and tomorrow, and then I should be able to plant myself at the register for most of the weekend. Minimal time on my feet, promise.”
“But your apartment. Those stairs—”
“Seriously, Mom, it’s fine. I’m…” Emma swallowed, trying to decide how much to divulge. “Staying at a friend’s.”
“Oh, let me see if I remember. Is it Hattie or Abby?”
Well, crud. Emma might be able to be evasive with her mother, but she couldn’t outright lie. “Actually, neither.” She winced preemptively. “I’m staying at Hunter’s place.”
“Hunter.” The good news was that her mom’s voice had finally lost its frantic edge. The bad news was that it had gained a suspicious one. “I don’t remember you mentioning a Hunter before.”
“Sure I have.” She definitely hadn’t—not by name, anyway, but she’d absolutely mentioned him. “He’s the one I went hiking with, and we went to that cooking class at the diner, too.”
“Emma…”
Emma cringed. “I know, I know.”
“So soon? You and Brock only broke up—what? A month ago?”
“Almost two. But…” She cast her gaze at the ceiling.
Hunter had been a perfect gentleman, excusing himself from the room when her mom finally got around to returning her call, but it was a small cabin. Even if he was trying not to listen in, he’d be hard-pressed not to catch at least some of what she was saying.
“I’m not jumping into anything,” she said diplomatically. “But I really like him, Mom. He’s smart and funny.” And hot. But she didn’t need to mention that part to her mom. “And he’s been so nice to me.”
Her mom snorted. “It takes more than that.”
“Of course it does.” She bristled, shifting positions but ultimately settling back against the pillow again so as not to dislodge her ice pack. “But it’s a good start.”
“How long until you’re on your feet again?”
Emma wasn’t fooled. Her mom wasn’t changing the subject; she was asking how long she’d be staying at a boy’s house.
“Hopefully just a few days.”
Her mom let out a rough breath. “Well, in any case, I’m glad you’ve got someone to help take care of you.”
“Me, too.” Unexpected emotion rose to her throat.
Hunter had gotten her things for her from her apartment.
He’d picked up a pizza and groceries. Then he’d settled her in on his couch with everything she could possibly need.
There was a glass of water, a bag of chocolates, a book, a phone charger, the TV remote, and her admittedly still-early attempts at a knitting project—all within arm’s reach.
Had she ever felt so cared for before in her life?