Page 89 of Wrecked

“You bet.”

Beth walks into the kitchen while I’m flipping pancakes. “Hey, kiddo. Good morning. What’ll you have? And don’t tell me you’re not hungry, because that won’t fly anymore. You’re pregnant—you need to eat.”

Beth gives me a long-suffering smile. “I’ll have whatever you’re making.”

“I’m making pancakes and bacon for Sam. That sound good?”

“Yes, thank you.” She takes her seat at the breakfast counter. “I’m really happy about you and Sam.”

I freeze, my shoulders tensing up. “You want coffee too?”

“Decaf. I’ll get it.” She hops down from her seat and heads for the coffee maker. “Is Sam still sleeping?”

“He’s awake, but I told him to stay in bed.” Last night really wore him out. “His leg’s aching pretty badly this morning, and he refuses to take any pain medication. The obstinate knucklehead.”

Beth laughs. “It’s nice having him here, isn’t it?”

“Sure.” I have a feeling I’m about to be interrogated.

“You know I love you, right?” she says.

I know what she’s doing. She’s trying to desensitize me to talking about my relationship with Sam. She figures if I get used to talking about him to her, it’ll be easier for me to talk about him to others. “Beth, please don’t. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But why?” Clearly, she doesn’t get it. “I care about both of you and I’m happy for you—”

I shake my head. “Please. I’m asking you nicely.” I set a plate of food in front of her. “Eat up.”

Beth frowns as she slathers her pancakes with butter and maple syrup.

I make up a plate for Sam—pancakes, bacon, coffee—and carry a tray to his room. I find him sitting up in bed, leaning against a stack of pillows, with his tablet in his lap.

I make room on his nightstand for the tray and pull a chair close so I can help him eat.

“I don’t need to eat in bed,” he says.

“Yes, you do. You’re pushing yourself too fast. You need to take it easy and give your body time to heal. For fuck’s sake, Sam. You could have died from that head injury. You got off easily. It could have been so much worse.”

“Maybe I could try using the crutches. Then I could get around on my own.”

“No.”

He glares at me. “You’re not the boss of me, you know.”

Now it’s my turn to glare at him. “Aren’t I?”

He turns away from me, staring at the wall across from the foot of the bed. I reach out to stroke his cheek, but he pulls away.

Hurt by his dismissal, I stand, lean in, and grip his chin. I make him look at me. “You’d better cool your jets, buddy. Forget the damn crutches for now. You have nothing to prove. Just rest and let your leg heal.”

I kiss him, using my lips to nudge his mouth open. Suddenly, he grabs hold of my wrist and kisses me back, groaning hungrily.

I catch movement out of the corner of my eye, but when I glance at the open doorway, no one is there.

* * *

I take a leave of absence from work so I can stay home and take care of Sam. His leg still pains him, but it’s a little better each day—as long as he doesn’t overdo it, which he is prone to. He still refuses to take anything for the discomfort. Stubborn brat.

I finally break down after all his pestering and let him try using the crutches. That goes about as well as I expected—meaning very badly. If I hadn’t been there to catch him, he would have hit the floor. “No more crutches until I say so. You’re recovering from a head injury, too. Take it easy.”