“Gus and I are going to move the old couch in the basement outside so you can sit near the fire. I’m hoping that will help. But don’t push it.”
“Yes, sir.” My lips quirk at his authoritative tone. I thought I was going to hate it. Instead, I’ve grown to love how much Jack seems to care for me. Me. Not my face, my body, or any other things that might make me alluring, but when he’s acting like this—a doting boyfriend (even if we haven’t labeled it)—it’s like he cares about my soul, too.
“I should go help him with that while you eat.” He checks his watch. “You’re due for your painkillers soon. The doctor said we should start weening you off them tomorrow, so I don’t want to mess up today. After, do you want to take a break from sitting and nap with me?”
Over the past few days, napping with Jack has become my favorite hobby. There’s a moment when he falls asleep before I do, where I sit and listen to his heavy breathing and flicker over his peaceful face, reveling in how his thick eyelashes rest against his cheek.
It doesn’t matter if I’m still in a drug-filled haze. I’m in love with him, that much is clear. What’s more, I don’t think I’ve stopped loving him since I was five and became aware of his existence. I just learned to ignore the feeling like I’ve ignored so many other pains in my life.
Letting that sensation bubble to the surface once more has been liberating. There’s a constant lightness in my chest and a swirling giddiness in my veins. Even when I know Jack will report back to his team soon and all of this could end very poorly for me.
* * *
“No way,you’re napping? It’s like four in the afternoon.”
An unfamiliar booming voice rattles the bookshelves in my bedroom.
Eyes still closed, I question if I’m dreaming, because why would another guy be in my bedroom? One is weird enough.
“Grady, what the hell are you doing here?” Jack groans, his voice harsh and hushed, like he’s trying not to wake me. “And why do you have a pumpkin?”
“I got it at a stand on the way up here. I thought we could make pumpkin beer.”
At this, I blink my eyes open. Over the years, Grady’s antics have been one of my favorite pastimes. True, he’s toned down as he’s matured, but there’s a chaotic aura about him that’s uniquely Grady.
His colossal figure looms in my doorway. His broad shoulders…and chest…and legs…are exposed, clad solely in a loincloth. He’s got a pumpkin tucked under his arm and a six-pack in the other. “Did I overdo it with the drugs, or is Grady in my bedroom dressed like George of the Jungle?” I whisper.
“If you’re hallucinating, so am I, and I don’t want to unpack what that would mean. But you’re due for ibuprofen anyway, so I’ll make you a sandwich.” Jack pushes himself off the bed, pressing a quick kiss to my lips, which sends my heart a flutter. He’s always sure to kiss mesomewherewhenever we’re about to be separated, even if its for a few seconds and one room over. Grady raises an eyebrow in surprise, but says nothing. Jack drags his tired hand through his messy bedhead and directs Grady toward the exit. “How are you planning on making pumpkin beer?” he asks as they disappear down the hallway.
“I don’t know. I just figured we’d carve the pumpkin out, pour the beer in, and the juices would soak into it, right?”
“Dude. No, that’s not—”
After being locked up in my bedroom for ten days, there’s no way Jack will ruin this for me.
“That’s exactly how it’s made!” I holler, wincing as I get up and stroll out of my bedroom and toward the kitchen.
A hint of disapproval flickers across Jack’s face as he glances in my direction. He’s probably irritated that I got out of bed without him standing near me, and well, fair, considering I’m not as sure on my feet with all these meds. “Grab a towel out of the closet in the hallway, Grady, and I’ll get you a knife,” I say.
I shuffle to the silverware drawer and pull out a sharp knife as Jack dances around me, grabbing bread, deli meat, and mayo from the fridge. “What are you doing? Why are you encouraging this?”
“I’m bored out of my mind, dude. Let me have this. Please.” I flash him some puppy dog eyes, and he nods. “I’ll drag your recliner out to the porch so you have another space to use tonight, and I’ll set him up on the floor so you can watch. I’ve gotta go pick up the tie-dye shirts Lucy made us for our Clarissa and Sam costumes, anyway, so it’ll be a good way to keep you out of trouble.”
“Trouble? Me?” I put my hand on my heart, the picture of innocence.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice you coming out here alone. The doctor said you’re not supposed to be doing that.”
“That doctor is a thief of joy,” I grumble. “But I guess you’ll just have to add it to the spank bank.” I shrug.
I invented the spank bank in my itchy-to-move, bored-as-hell descent into madness the last few days. A national institution dedicated to appropriate butt taps in the bedroom that I’m determined to cash in on when I’m allowed to do things with Jack again.
Which is, unfortunately, a good six weeks away, according to my follow-up five days ago.
Jack has yet to agree to the existence of the spank bank, but I’m sure I’ll be able to convince him to withdraw when the time comes.
With a final diagonal cut I’ve grown far too used to in the past week, Jack rinses the knife, twists the bread back up, and puts all the ingredients away in the fridge. The way he effortlessly maneuvers around the kitchen is mesmerizing, his shirt revealing the tension in his shoulder blades and his biceps showcasing a fluid grace.
“Got a towel,” Grady says.
