Chapter Twelve
“Alright, blondie. The only room in the house on the main floor is mine. Where do you wanna kick that leg up? I’ve got a recliner, a full length sofa or a bed—pick your poison.”
“What if I have to pee first?”
Shit. Caleb didn’t leave any crutches. “The only bathroom on this main floor is through my bedroom. It’s a trek to the other side of the house.
You can demand your independence and use my shoulder or I can pick you up?
But I’m going to have to run into town to get you some crutches as soon as possible tomorrow. ”
“Don’t worry boss, I can be a good girl and obey.” She looks as annoyed as I’ve ever seen her. “Just pick me up and take me.”
I chuckle to myself because she's threatening me with a good time, and if I was a weaker man, I’d let her know exactly what her words just did to my cock.
Instead, I bend my knees as she puts her arms around my shoulders, then scoop her up into mine.
I’ve held her like this a lot today. When I turn my neck, her nose is almost touching mine.
Our eyes meet—and something’s there, something I recognize deep inside.
She and I are the same. Our pain might stem from different sources, but it’s the kind that changes you—the kind that alters you in a way that doesn’t allow you the convenience of ever experiencing the person you were before the pain happened.
“I see you, blondie.”
“Of course you do. You’re starin’ right at me.”
“You know what I mean.”
Her breath hitches, and then I slowly, but steadily make our way toward my bedroom. I move through the doorway and around the fourposter bed. As I approach the bathroom, I turn sideways to fit us both through the smaller frame. Then bring her to where I know I can set her down safely.
“There’s a handlebar next to the toilet. My uh—my wife needed it before she passed. When you’re through, just holler and I’ll come help you get situated wherever you’d like.”
Her gaze darts from the metal handlebar and back to me. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t know.” Her countenance burns with empathy.
“Cancer. It’s been three years. My girls and I…”
She cuts me off. “Wait, you have kids? Damnit, that makes it worse.”
“Two. Adelaide is eleven and Evolette is nine. We’ve healed together more than I thought we would.”
“That’s good.” Her smile is warm as she reaches out and grips the metal bar.
I hurry to lift the toilet seat for her and clear my throat.
“Thank you.” She breathes, her Texan accent getting the better of her.
Damn, it’s torture not to reach my hand out and brush her jaw with the backs of my fingers.
“You’re welcome.” I nod and turn. Striding out the door and pulling it closed behind me.