“I love you,” I whisper as I focus on the sound of his heartbeat in my ears.
We lay on the couch, a sweaty sticky mess, and leave the dishes until morning.
The months go by like seconds. We spend New Year’s Eve at his place getting drunk and fucking until the sun comes up.
We spend all of January finishing the upgrades on his house, together. It takes us a whole month because every time I put on my paint-splattered clothes, he can’t keep his hands off me.
He cooks me dinner for Valentine’s Day and fucks me over the counter for dessert.
Every day is better than the last and the pain subsides. From my leg; from my heart.
My days are no longer boring. They are full of things to do. I spend as much time as I can with Britt and the kids during the day when I’m not at therapy now that I have a new mini-bestie to spoil. Spending time withBentley makes me think a lot about my dad and my brother. Britt suggested I try to reach out, since as she says, “I’m in a better place,” and I guess she’s right. I am in a better place. Because of Jordan. He thought it was an okay idea, too, so I listened to them. I reached out.
My dad and I started golfing again, and while it’s awkward, he hasn’t complained about my shitty strokes, which I appreciate. I’m not sure we’ll ever have a good relationship, but he’s not bitching at me as much, so once a week is manageable.
“Are you nervous?” Britt asks as Bentley rubs his small head on my shoulder.
“A little,” I admit, chewing my lip. “It’s been six months. Jordan says I’ve healed beautifully, but—”
“I’m sure he did,” Britt says with a devilish smirk.
I cast her a knowing look as Bentley squirms in my arms. He looks damn cute in his little Rioters jersey. His sisters have matching ones, of course, because why wouldn’t they?
“Will you stop?” I tease her. I haven’t said anything to confirm or deny her suspicions, but she knows.
She knows me better than anyone, and I can never really lie to her.
“Well, I hope it goes well, for the record,” she says, watching me and her son.
I can’t help but stare at him. He’s getting so big already. I’ve never been home long enoughto see the kids grow. Before my injury, I came home twice, maybe three times a year, tops.
Six months. I’ve been home for six fucking months. The truth hits me and I tense.
Jordan and I have been together for nearly five months.
It’s not long in the scheme of things, but… we have beentogetherfor five months.
And it’s been the best five months of my fucking life.
I regrettably give Bentley back to his mother, knowing if I don’t leave now for my doctor’s appointment, I’ll be late.
I’ve been late a couple times to therapy because I lost track of time because Bentley James Evans is my new favorite thing.
My heart is in my throat the whole way home. It’s Thursday, which means I’m at his place today.
After Austen moved out before Thanksgiving, I’d suggested we split things up. As much as I love having him in my house and I want him thereall the time, I know he can’t abandon his house. Since December, I was cleared to be on my own. I don’t need anyone to stay with me anymore. I hate him not being here, but a little space is a good thing. I think.
The sound of The Fray’s “Look After You” fills the air as I drive down the winding road to Jordan’s house. There’s a decent layer of snow on the ground, but theroads are mostly clear. I thought I was going to pass out when the doctor said the words I’ve been waiting six months to hear.
“You’ve made a full recovery. You can go back.”
Just remembering the words makes me want to cry, but I can’t cry now.
Because the minute I heard those words, I knew I needed to tell him. Not only because he’s the reason I’ve recovered but…
Over the months, I’ve thought a lot about this moment. When it would inevitably come, what would I say? How would I handle leaving? Going back to PA?
Vance is out for the season on injury. I only know because I caught it on the highlights one night after Jordan fell asleep.
