He laughed, saying, “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I don’t want you to be stressed about SPOC.” I settled my hand on Scout’s head. She huffed out a sigh as if to say none of this would’ve happened if she’d been there. I should’ve named her Darcie Junior. “And I’m just going to sleep.”
“I will be stressed if I’m not here.” He moved toward me, his hands in his pockets and his collar open at the throat. I didn’t remember him ditching the tie. “Stop trying to get rid of me. I promised your parents I’d stay and even if I hadn’t, you’d have to physically throw me through the door to get me to leave. Would you care to try?”
Jem gave a low howl like he supported these kinds of sweeping statements.
“Do you want to sleep here?” he asked, motioning to the couch. “Or would you prefer the bedroom?”
A dry, painful laugh shook out of me. “I always prefer the bedroom, Beckett.”
He glanced up at the ceiling as he blew out a breath. “Don’t do that.”
Everything was gray and blurry yet I still knew he was as aggravated with me as always, and I loved it. “Do what?”
“Tell me where you want to sleep and don’t be a brat about it.”
“Take me to bed.”
He rubbed his brows. Sighed, again. Pointed to me like I was a puppy learning to sit. “Stay there,” he said. “I’m going to get your room ready and then I’ll come back for you. And be quiet. No more comments.” He knelt down to look at the dogs. “Bark if she tries anything.”
* * *
I didn’t knowwhat day or time it was when I woke up but I definitely felt like I’d been hit by a car. Everything hurt, even my fingernails. My belly churned like I’d eaten gravel and my mouth tasted like metal from all the activity in my brain and I didn’t enjoy anything about this useless arm of mine. Even the rainbow cast was a bright, blaring reminder that I was in a bad spot. I wanted to scream, just for the pleasure of getting that noise out of my system.
But then I caught a glimpse of Beck sitting beside me, working on his laptop, phone, and tablet all at once. Three devices, two hands, and somehow it all worked. Businessman magic. Very powerful stuff.
His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow and he’d lost the vest at some point, and he wore those glasses I loved beyond reason. If not for the overall shambles of my body, I would’ve crawled into his lap and stayed there until he put me into a little coma.
“There she is,” he said, piling the devices on the bedside table. “What do you need?”
“I feel”—I waved a hand down my body—“filthy.”
He blinked at me. “Okay.”
Another floppy gesture at myself. “Do I have to be filthy? Or can I wash any of this? Can I take a shower?”
He ran a hand over his mouth but that didn’t hide his laugh. “Not by yourself, you can’t.” Climbing off the bed, he added, “I’ll help you.”
“That seems”—I shook my head, struggling to get the words that I wanted and then force them out of my mouth—“advanced. For our relationship.”
He opened the closet, grabbed my robe. “Not really.” He came around to my side of the bed and peeled back the blankets. “I think it’s exactly right.”
Since the hallways in this house were too narrow for anyone to carry a large baguette without breaking it in half, we had to execute a sluggish two-step shuffle to the bathroom. The air was warm and humid in here, and the rush of running water into the bathtub seemed to match the constant thrum in my head.
He backed me up against the sink and stilled me with a hand on my hip, saying, “Let’s take these scrubs off.”
Back on my sexy bullshit, I said, “I thought you’d never ask.”
“Stop being so weird. You’re going to make me fall in love with you and your injured brain.” He said this mostly to himself as he drew the pants down my legs and I knew he was being quippy and smart-assed. He was teasing me. I knew that. But I patted his shoulder and funneled my affection for him into a loopy grin all the same. The ultra-fancy boy shorts followed and he dropped down to the floor, a hand closing around my ankle as he said, “Give me a tiny step. That’s it. And another. Very good.”
“My hair feels gross.” I tried to run my fingers through a tangle but it was hopeless. Worst of all, my hand came away covered in dried blood and dirt. “Do you know how to wash long hair?”
“You can tell me what to do,” he said, standing. “I’ll learn.”
I peered at him. “I have a lot of hair.”
“I have a lot of time.” He turned his attention to my oversized top, running his finger along the inside of the sleeve where it draped over the cast. “We’re going to take this slow, all right?” He cupped my good elbow, lifting it gently. “One arm up, baby. Okay, good.”
