“Hey,” I greeted him. “What are you doing?”
“Taking you home,” he said casually.
My brow furrowed. “You don’t have to do that. My mom can take me back to my place.”
“I know I don’t have to, but Iwantto. And you’re not going to your place. You’re coming tomine. I talked with Dr. Tomblin yesterday and took the next two weeks off.”
I stilled.
He was taking me back to his place?
And he talked to Dr. Tomblin?
“What?”
Before he could answer, the doctor and the nurse walked in. Blake looked at me. “I’ll explain everything later.”
The nurse closed the curtain around my bed, and while she helped me get dressed, I listened to the doctor go over my discharge instructions with Blake. He said he was well aware we both already knew the routine because of our positions, but had to tell us anyway, “per protocol.”
And I did know the routine—monitor the incision, avoid strenuous activity, take pain medication as needed, increase activity as tolerated, and so on.
Once I was dressed, I signed the paperwork. While I waited for the nurse to return with the wheelchair—another protocol—Blake retrieved a cart and took my bag and get-well flowers down to his car, which was already waiting out front.
When I was wheeled out, he was right there, helping me from the wheelchair and into his car. Just that bit of movement had me tired and winded since it was the most I’d done in days.
Blake got into the driver’s seat once I was in, and glanced over at me as he buckled his seatbelt. “You okay?”
I nodded, resting my head back against the seat as I closed my eyes. “Yeah.”
I felt his hand curl around mine a moment later, and I looked over at him. I had so many damn questions running through my head, but I didn’t have the energy at the moment to ask any of them.
We pulled into his driveway twenty minutes later—he drove like a grandpa the whole way, trying to avoid every little bump and dip in the road. He got out and walked around to the passenger side, opening my door. I carefully turned in the seat, and he offered his hand. “Careful…”
My grip on his hand was tight, his other hand going to my hip as I carefully slid out of the vehicle. I could hear Maverick barking from inside, and I smiled through the ache I was feeling as he helped me walk toward the porch.
Maverick was at the door the minute Blake opened it. “Stay down,” he said, gentle but firm, as Maverick whined happily and bounced.
I reached my free hand down, scratching behind his ear. “Hi, buddy.”
He trotted alongside me as Blake led me over to the couch and helped me sit, and I let out a breath as I rested back against the cushions. “You feeling okay?”
“Yeah, just…” I paused, trying to catch my breath. “Didn’t know walking from your car to the couch would be so tiring.”
“Just rest,” he said. Maverick jumped onto the couch a moment later, inching toward me, almost like he knew he had to be careful.
“I’m going to grab the stuff from the car. I’ll be right back.”
By the time Blake got everything inside and situated, I was feeling less winded. He walked over to the couch, set a bottle of water and my pain meds on the coffee table, and then turned, crouching down to slip off my slippers for me.
I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was being so caring and gentle—he’d been this way the whole time I was in the hospital—and it made my emotions start to feel wonky. I think they were more heightened than usual due to everything that happened the last few days and my body being out of whack.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He lifted his eyes to mine and smiled. “It’s just slippers,” he quipped.
“Not just for taking them off…but foreverything.” His gaze softened, and my eyes stung.
Maybe it was being alone with him in his house, but I hadn’t really been able to fully process it all before. But Blake had saved my life. If he hadn’t gone out and found me, if he didn’t do what he did before the ambulance got there—I knew how lucky I was that things didn’t pan out worse for me.
