“I know what you mean.” I try to smile. “And Boss probably doesn’t care what your intentions are, he’s just happy you’re here.”
“Where is Stevie?” Logan asks as I try to toe-off my boots and almost tip over. His arm snakes around my waist and pulls me against him.
“Stevie’s deaf so she doesn’t even know I’m home,” I explain. “Sometimes Boss will go over to her bed and wake her up. It’s the sweetest thing.”
Logan gently grabs my shoulders and looks at me, his stare intense and serious. “Okay, let’s get you into your room. Where is it?”
“Upstairs. Left. End of hall,” I mumble and try to remember if I picked up all my dirty laundry. I’m not the neatest person. Sometimes I leave yesterday’s clothes in a heap on the floor next to my side of the bed. I can’t remember if I picked up last night’s heap.
“How did you pick their names, by the way?” Logan asks.
“They’re named after musicians. Boss for Bruce Springsteen and Stevie for Stevie Nicks,” I say as we make our way up the stairs slowly.
“You like Springsteen? I do too,” he says and I can hear the smile in his voice, but I don’t dare turn my head to look at him because I know it’ll make me dizzy.
“Yeah Springsteen is good,” I say vaguely because I don’t want to tell him that it was actually my husband who named Boss. It’ll bring on a conversation I don’t want to have in the state I’m in.
Boss stays at the bottom of the stairs when I tell him to but he lets out a little bark of annoyance. “I’m going to have to let them out for a pee soon.”
“I’ll do it once you’re settled,” he promises. “I’m sleeping on the couch remember?”
“There are four bedrooms in this house so you might as well stay in one. All the beds are made and clean so take your pick,” I explain.
“This house is massive for just you,” Logan says, and he couldn’t be more right. But I blow it off the same way I always do when people bring it up, rather than explain everything.
“I’m banking on being that crazy old lady who fills her giant house with stray animals, so I’ll need the space,” I joke.
“Ah. The crazy cat lady. A classic.”
“Only with chihuahuas. Lots and lots of chihuahuas.”
“I like it. Taking a boring, antiquated stereotype and making it your own.” Logan chuckles, and my first thought is that the sound is deep and warm, which makes me think this concussion is serious. How can a sound be warm? My brain is definitely damaged.
My bedroom door is open, and when he flips on the overhead chandelier, I close my eyes and say a silent prayer my dirty underwear isn’t on display. “Okay. Do you want to lie down right away? I will have to ask you some questions before I let you sleep. And I’ll ask you questions every time I wake you up too. Make sure you’re coherent.”
I perch at the foot of the bed and touch my head again. “I’d really like to clean up a little. I think I look disgusting and I know Ifeeldisgusting.”
His eyes sweep over me slowly, assessing. “I’ve seen worse.”
“You’ve seen dead people, so that’s hardly reassuring.”
He smiles. “I can help you to the bathroom, grab a wash cloth, and clean up the blood on your face.”
“I’d love to take a shower,” I say, and his smile disappears. “I’m freezing and my hair is caked to my head with blood. I can feel it.”
“You can’t shower by yourself Chloe,” he explains. “You might faint or get dizzy and slip.”
“Well, how else am I supposed to shower?” It’s a stupid question, and I’m not expecting an answer because there isn’t a logical one. But boy, do I get one.
“With me,” he says calmly and I stare at him, my mouth agape. “I mean with my help.”
“No,” I reply firmly. “I know you’re a medical professional and you see people’s body parts all the time, but you shouldn’t see mine. You can’t. There’s got to be some landlord-tenant rule that would break.”
“I was thinking you could put on a swimsuit.”
“Oh.”
“You own one?” I nod and he walks over to my dresser and points at it, raising an eyebrow.
