Well, that went better than expected. There was no yelling. Although it wasn’t the kind of advice I hoped for. I wanted to talk it over with her. Maybe get her to tell me I could do this.
Instead, I was left to wonder if I was making a huge mistake.
I put the kids to bed early, reading the same sentence to them three times before Luca complained.
I was stress cleaning while crying and listening to the Backstreet Boys when the front door opened. Someone banged against the wall, and then Sebastian stumbled into the kitchen. His hair was disheveled, his shirt ripped, and he had a busted lip.
My eyes widened as I rushed up to him. “What happened? Do you need to go to the hospital?”
“I’m fine. Just need some ice and a shower,” he said and dropped into one of the chairs.
I went back to the kitchen and put ice in a dish towel. He was hunched over by the time I came back, his elbows on his thighs.
“Where do you want it?” I asked, holding out the ice, trying hard not to gasp at the sight of him. I scrunched up my nose at the smell of whiskey wafting off him.Where has he been?
He sat up, his bloodshot eyes taking me in. “Why are you crying?”
“No reason. Sometimes I just cry.”
Worst excuse ever, but all I had at the moment.
Sebastian raised a brow at me and took the ice. Guess my poker face really needed some work.
“I’m going to clean up,” he announced and pulled himself back to standing with the help of the dining table.
I watched him limp out of the kitchen and wondered what kind of man was living in my house.
The shower turned on, and I was still standing in the same spot when it shut off again. Since I really didn’t want him to pass out in the bathroom, I decided I should check on him.
I stood outside the door, unsure if I should knock or call out to Sebastian. Or maybe this was a terrible idea and I shouldn’t do anything except go back to the kitchen.
My hand made the decision for me when it lifted and knocked on the door.
A muffled curse came through the door and then it opened, showing Sebastian only wearing a towel. His hair was wet, and water was dripping off his twenty-pack. I knew I was staring, but I couldn’t get myself to lift my gaze.
And what self-respecting woman would when faced with all that’s currently in my line of sight?
“Do you need the bathroom?” he asked, his voice scratchy.
I lifted my head and took in his face. For the first time I noticed the circles under his eyes, the slump in his shoulders.
“Just making sure you didn’t pass out,” I said, keeping my eyes above his neck. It took every ounce of self-control I had not to let them wander again.
“I’m fine.” He turned back around, dismissing me. “It takes more than a little beating to make me pass out.”
There was a long cut along his back, and he had a big purple bruise on his side.
“You can’t clean your back by yourself. Now move. I’m helping.” I pushed my way into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.
“What are you—” he started to say, but I brushed past him and went to the medicine cabinet.
I had everything I’d need to clean his cuts, but I wasn’t sure if he needed stitches.
“Did you fall off your bike?” I asked, taking out cotton pads, gauze, disinfectant, and dressings.
“That question is insulting,” he growled.
I ignored his mood and arranged all my supplies on the vanity. “Turn around.”
