Two months later
“Can you zip meup?” Nathan smirked, enjoying his dependence on me far too much.
He’d been in a sling for the week and a half since his surgery, only escaping it to do physical therapy and to take a shower—with my help. Those first few days postsurgery had been tough, with Nathan’s shoulder constantly hooked up to an ice machine to keep the inflammation down and to ease the pain. I filled it with ice and water every few hours, including during the nightwhen Nathan woke with discomfort. Sleeping sitting up in a sling was no one’s idea of a restful night.
I squatted in front of him, eye level with his crotch, and smirked right back. “Anything for you, my liege.”
Nathan groaned. “Don’t you think I’ve been tortured enough?”
This week, he’d taken longer walks and started living out of the sling around the house. The physical therapist gave him permission to push himself within his comfort zone, which left me in the position of reining him in. I refused to do anything that could put his recovery in jeopardy, even though Nathan liked to make tempting offers likeI don’t need my hands to get you off.
The torture had gone both ways.
I pulled the zipper up to his chest, leaning forward to give him a chaste kiss. “Better?”
“Well, I’m not cold anymore, if that’s what you mean.”
I returned to my seat beside him on the bleachers at a hockey rink in Palmer City, where Molly took hockey lessons. Practices were held once a week on Thursday nights, which made it possible for Nathan and me to watch. We hadn’t missed one since she started, except for last week when Gemma brought her while Nathan was early in post-op recovery.
“I hope we’re not interrupting anything,” Gemma trilled, making me jump.
I hadn’t expected her. She sometimes joined us at practices when caring for her friend Connie’s kids. Gemma used to nanny for them, before she had her daughter—as a test run, she said—and she missed Mason, Izzy, and Silas terribly. She volunteered often to help Connie while she and her husband were at work. Gem’s bakery closed early, giving her flexibility.
She lightly placed a hand on my shoulder. “Sorry about that.”
Gemma and I had grown close since we moved back, often having lunch when we were both working. When I told Gemma I was an HSP, she asked how she could make me feel morecomfortable. If I hadn’t already liked her, that would’ve sealed it for me.
“Hey.” I stood to hug her. “What are you doing here?”
Gemma motioned behind her. “Just hanging with my girls.”
“Hey, Brenna, Nathan, good to see you again.” Connie smiled before easing onto the bench. Gemma’s daughter slept soundly on Connie’s chest in one of those strapped-to-the-body contraptions. “Molly’s famous in the Callahan household.”
I grinned. “Molly loves Izzy too. We should get them together more often.” Connie’s kids went to a super pricey prep school I’d never be able to afford in my wildest dreams.
“Oh, she’d love that,” Connie said, then winked. “So would Mason.”
Nathan leaned forward, his left hand supporting his sling. “She has another decade before I need to worry about boys.”
I flicked his ear. “Do you remember what we were doing when we were sixteen? What we would have been doing before then if you hadn’t been oblivious?”
“Molly isseven,” Nathan said, stress rising in his voice. He was taking his role as Molly’s guardian very seriously, which made it immensely satisfying to rile him up like this.
I leaned into him, whispering, “Relax, babe, we’re not serious. Besides, I fully believe in your ability to keep the boys away from our girl.”
The tension in Nathan’s posture eased. “In another decade,” he repeated.
We turned our attention back to the ice where the kids—all under ten years old—did drills, skating with hockey pucks around cones to learn handling skills. Molly stood beside Connie’s daughter, Izzy, talking away while they watched the players in front of them skate. Suddenly, Connie’s son, Mason, turned to glare at them. He must have said something Mollydidn’t like because she crossed her arms—and stick—over her chest.
Gemma laughed. “Oh, they are abest friend’s brothertrope in the making.”
Nathan raised a brow. “I don’t know what that means.”
“Best if you don’t,” I muttered.
Mercifully, Gemma changed the subject before Nathan asked questions that would have his overprotective nature shifting beyond the point ofadorable. “How’s the arm, Sharpe?”
“So far, so good.” He hadn’t taken his eyes off the ice. “But we won’t know until I start throwing.”
