Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Lindsey
I didn't mean to be so blunt with Kace, but sometimes the words just flow, you know?
Growing up, I had Jason to lean on in times of real struggle, but ever since his sickness, I've…
been on my own. Our parents weren't parents in the traditional sense.
They fed us and clothed us, but not once do I remember them ever showing the warmth I see Kace share with his daughter.
I don't remember feeling loved the way I see it in them.
Maybe it was just me. I know my parents did their best. I'm positive about that. So maybe the comparison isn't fair because their best and Kace's best can't be measured against each other.
Jason would always step in whenever our parents' critical natures kicked in, but since Jason was older, there were a few years in my life where I was on my own in the house of criticism. I often found myself a walking bullseye for the complaints they ignored about each other but took out on me.
I couldn't wait to get out of that house, and the moment I turned eighteen, my bags were packed and I was gone. I wondered how long it actually took them to notice. When I didn't come down to dinner? Or when I wasn't there to be their bullseye?
Instead of moving to be close to Bronwyn, one might think I'd move to be close to my parents.
The idea is so laughable; I actually huff and shake my head.
No, this is better. My independence is important to me.
If I lose that now when everything is already so unstable, I don't know what will be left of me.
It's part of my identity—and, if I'm honest, a safety net.
Because God only knows what the future holds.
An awkward silence follows my earlier words as I finally get us to the bridge leading to the island and Carolina Cove. The car is quiet, low music droning on the radio that no one can hear.
"Okay," Kace says from the backseat. "I'm thinking we need some ground rules."
"Probably not a bad idea," I agree. Because it's not. We are two adults of the opposite sex, virtual strangers, about to be sharing a house with a teenager and child. Boundaries are needed for everyone. "So how do we do this? Make a list?"
I like lists. Lists mean control and organization, and things aren't forgotten.
"I was thinking more along the lines of a family meeting," he says. "To go over everything and answer any questions the girls might have."
"A family meeting?" I hit my turn signal and wait for the light to change so I can head down Dow Road to bypass the chaos of the many traffic lights of the main road that cuts through to the end of the island.
"So you just mean you and the girls." Seriously?
Am I in my parents' house again? I know I'm temporary and all but—
"No, I mean all of us," he says. "You, too."
I glance at him and falter before forcing my attention back to the road ahead of us.
Still, the image is there. Kace's light brown hair gleams in the late July sunlight blasting through the windows, but it's the scruff on his handsome face that fascinates me and makes my fingers twitch with the absurd urge to know what it feels like.
Is it rough and abrasive? Soft? Would it tickle?
How can I be this attracted and aware of a man I barely know?
The person behind me honks, and I realize the driver in front of me has made their turn, and I'm the one holding up traffic. I hit the gas and draw a giggle from Dani in the third-row seat along with a "Whoa!"
I don't make it far before traffic slows again due to several cars turning left. "You did say family meeting." Do I really sound that defensive?
"Lindsey, you're going to be living in the house with us. That means you're family. Why wouldn't you be included?"
Maybe because in my family, Jason and I never had a voice.
We weren't adopted or fostered, but our parents had been so exacting in their personalities that I often believed we were afterthoughts.
We never had a say in whatever went on in the house or any decisions that might impact us.
They made the decisions. We braced for the impact. Period. "Just clarifying."
It's all I can come up with as a response, and while it lacks any oomph, it's what I've got. Is pregnancy brain a thing? I'll need to check the books. Maybe they can explain the goose bumps Kace causes, too.
"Well, you are. Let's get home. Settle in. We can talk to the girls tonight after Madi gets home from her shift at the bookstore," Kace says.
I hear the exhaustion in his tone and look up to see him visibly drowsy.
It's then that I realize he's probably worn out already.
But of course he is. He's healing. His body is using every scrap of energy to fight off infection and heal his wounds.
And here I am going on and on about my own personal stuff with Bronwyn and the past and things that don't matter one whit at the moment.
Quite the caretaker there, Linds.
Like ants in a line, I follow the car in front of me down the backside of the island and then am finally able to turn left off the main drag onto a much quieter side street.
The narrow lanes are still full of cars and people, so I sit up straighter as I maneuver the stop signs and watch for pedestrians and kids making their way to the beach.
Summer vacation is in full swing. And I have to say, I'm here for it. After all, there's no bad day at the beach.
Minutes later, we pull into Kace's driveway, and I can almost feel relief rolling off him as I stop outside his cottage-style house. "Good to be home?" I ask as I turn off the vehicle and grab for the door handle.
"You have no idea," he murmurs.
His words remind me just how close he came to never making it home again, and I swallow hard.
Pregnancy by comparison? A solvable problem.
Death? Not so much. That's a perfective I need to take to heart.
Especially since I've only got one life to live.
"Let's get you inside so you can rest. We'll figure out the rest of the stuff later. "
"You'll call Bronwyn? Fill her in on the plan? I don't want her or Gabe coming after me."
"Why would they? It's a good idea that solves both our problems."
"Yeah, well, Bronwyn might not see you staying with her as a problem," Kace argues. "She seems pretty chill about it."
"I didn't say it was a problem for her. Only that I have to do this my way." I swing my legs out the door to stand but pause when I catch sight of Kace watching me. "What?"
"Are we a bit of a control freak?"
"We like a plan," I say. "This is mine."
"Fine. But I don't want them thinking I pressured you into this."
I laugh at that. "Well, the good news is Bronwyn knows me well enough to know I'm the one making the moves on you. I mean—"
Kace's chuckle and the way he looks at me in the expanse between our seats leaves my belly fluttering and not in the hurling kind of way.
Get a grip, preggo.
I force myself up and out of the car. Good thing I know we're about to have a family meeting on boundaries because right now? I need the reminder that I'm already knocked up by a man. I do not need to add fuel to the complicated fire that is my life.
It takes us a good twenty minutes to get Kace into his house.
First there's the unloading of the wheelchair and getting it open and mobile.
Then figuring out the leg extender thing that wasn't hard to fold up but seems to need a user manual to unfold and lock into position.
Then there's actually getting Kace's large body out of the vehicle when one arm and one leg are out of commission, and they're on opposite sides of his body.
Oh, and the leg? Casted from toes to thigh.
The orderly helped Kace into the vehicle at the hospital but now? It's all on me. And I'm half his size and beginning to feel sick due to the heat of the day and the little monster nugget of surprise inside me.
Kace can't put any weight on his right leg, which means being his support as he twists and shifts to get out of the vehicle, but because his left arm and side are wrapped and in a sling and his mobility limited due to the pull of the burns he suffered, he's off kilter.
I help get him to the edge of the seat and after a few failed attempts, I add my weight to help get him upright and standing on his left foot.
Doing so puts me up close and personal with his very hard body and broad chest as he huffs and groans from the pain.
My heart breaks for him because he's trying to suffer through.
The white line around his mouth and locked jaw gives him away, as though the sounds escaping him aren't enough.
Carefully, he hobbles on one foot as I pivot, and together we turn him round using me and the car door for balance.
I'm tucked under his good arm with it around my shoulders when I look up and discover our mouths only inches apart.
His face is racked with pain and dripping with sweat, and I'm sure I'm beginning to turn green as nausea continues to build.
We're a study in the pathetic, and undoubtedly a sight to behold. "One of these days, this'll be funny."
His groan-tinged laugh is rough and gravelly.
"If you say so."
Finally—finally—we get him lowered into the wheelchair.
Leg out, chest heaving as he drags in exhausted breaths.
I lean weakly against the arm handles, my head spinning like a merry-go-round while I try to ignore my rolling stomach.
Barely holding it together, I use the wheelchair and his good arm for support as I move behind him so he doesn't witness the extent of my overwhelm.
"You okay after that, beautiful?"
Kace leans his head back as though to see me but can only go so far without pulling the burns at his neck. It's sweet that, despite his pain, he's thinking of me. "Peachy. Just thinking about how you really need to hit the gym. Bulk up before you blow away."
He huffs a laugh and stretches his good arm and hand back until he finds mine wrapped around the handle of the wheelchair. After a sweaty, gentle squeeze that shows his thanks and means more than he'll ever know, I swallow back the urge to hurl and turn to shut the door.
"Helllllo? Anybody gonna let me out?" Dani says from the third row.
I gasp and see Kace's daughter looking more than a little put out by her so-called caretaker's forgetfulness. If I'm going to survive in Kace's world, there are some things I need to learn fast—before I let his girls down, or worse, start needing them right back.