“The hands aren’t. Just gouges and some scrapes. But I did a number on my knee.”
He looked that way even if he couldn’t see anything through the duvet.
“It’s fine,” I assured. “Just a deep cut. Not so deep it needs stitches, though. Patsy pushed it together with some plasters and bandaged it. It just aches a little, and since it’s on the bend, it gets irritated easily. I tweaked it pushing up.”
Battle, being Battle, didn’t take my word for it and shoved the covers down (seriously pissing off Gingerface, I really needed to work on his habit of blithely disturbing the animals) so he could peer under the bandage at my knee.
“Fuck, that looks bad,” he murmured.
“It’s okay. I’m okay. But I need a toothbrush and then I need caffeine.”
He pulled the covers back over me. “I’ll have some coffee sent up.”
“No, I need more to make sure Prue and Chassie are okay.”
“Prue is in the breakfast room. Because of the late night, Cook adjusted the schedule and set out a brunch.”
I started to get out of bed. “All right. Let me do my biz and we can head down.”
“Darling.” I stopped moving and looked at him. “They are dear to us, but we still pay them, and we pay them well, to serve.”
He was just so sweet.
“I need to move,” I replied. “I feel achy and still revved. I don’t think I can lie in bed, baby.”
At that, it was Battle who pulled me from under the duvet.
“I’ll meet you down there,” he said.
I gave him a peck on the lips, nabbed the lounge pants I took off to go to sleep last night, hit the bathroom, did my thing, including taking off the bandages on my hands (they really weren’t that bad, and I didn’t want to have to deal with them whilst using cutlery). I put my pants back on and walked (okay, kind of limped) out.
The cats were still snoozing on the bed.
Last night, they’d tried to warn me too, my lovely furry babies.
I’d ask Patsy if we had any tuna.
On that thought, I headed down to the breakfast room.
I’d hoped Chassie would also be there by the time I made it there, but it was only Battle and Prue.
The minute I walked in, Battle started pouring me coffee.
He also started issuing commands.
“Sit. I’ll get your plate.”
I did as told, reached for my coffee cup and smiled at Prue. “How are you doing?”
“I think I slept for about an hour,” she told me something I could guess, considering her tired eyes and the messy edge to her fringe, which was always razor sharp.
Man, Chelsea was such a bitch.
“How are you?” she asked.
“Knee aches. Otherwise,” I showed her my scraped palms. She winced. “They look worse than they are.”
My filled plate clattered in front of me.
