His hands grab my upper arms to keep me steady, and the jolt it sends down my spine is bad news. He’s just touching my arms; I cannot turn every touch into something sexual.
Maybe I just need to start having regular orgasms. It could combat this insane reaction to him.Of course, I’d have to work less in order not to collapse into bed every night with barely another thought to make that happen.
Shaking my head, disrupting my thoughts, I pull away with a muttered, “Thanks.”
Together, we get the truck loaded up in no time, and it’s glaringly obvious that I need to start hiring people to help me. Loading and delivering is the bane of my existence lately, and having Arlo’s help shows me how much time I could really be saving myself. I tuck that away to work on later.
For now, I have to focus on keeping my cool for the next forty minutes.
We end up talking about everything under the sun but nothing of actual substance. Maybe we’re both tiptoeing around each other, but I’m thankful for the bit of reprieve.
We’re about five minutes out from the house when Arlo points out the window.
“That’s where my doctor is for my back.”
“How’s that going? Do you feel like it’s helping?” I don’t really know the ins and outs of his treatment, but if he’s feeling relief from the pain, that’s a win in my book.
“I do, actually. I’ve only had the one injection so far, but the pain has already lessened. The next injection, they’ll do another scan and see if there is any regeneration, and go from there. I assume I’ll need a few to get to a good place, whatever that means.”
“Do they hurt?” I ask, heart already aching that these injections could be causing him even more pain, regardless of whether they are helping in the long run.
“Like a bitch.” He chuckles, but my heart clenches. “They offered to numb everything up, but I declined.”
“You’re such a stubborn ass. Why wouldn’t you get it numbed if it hurts?” I’m not one to lecture on being stubborn because Lord knows I’m the worst of the bunch, but hearing he’s in any more pain is something I’m not okay with.
“Aww, Marina, are you worried about me?” he teases.
“Well, let’s see… You go off on crazy missions that I’m not privy to thanks to reasons I won’t bring up, end up smashing your back and hip, and have surgery on both without telling anyone. Then, you fuck it up again by being a hero to my brother, which lands you in more pain. Forgive me if I don’t particularly think you’re a good judge of injury decisions.” I roll my eyes. What I said registers in my head, and I realize I may have given away more of my feelings about him than I wanted to.
I do worry about him all the damn time. Usually, it’s a fleeting thought, but ever since Tennison, I realize this small-town sheriff job isn’t all that much safer than being in the damn Marines.
And it scares me to think about. Because I don’t want to be worried about him. I don’t want him to burrow deeper into my head and heart than he has been for years. It feels like the last fifteen years of anger are non-existent half the time, and my stubborn little heart just wants to hold on with both hands.
I’m not ready to let the hurt go; the anger maybe, but not the hurt.
The conflicting emotions have been exhausting me for weeks.
“I know. I’m trying,” he says softly. I glance over at him and see a somber look on his face.
“I know you are. That was a dick move from me. I’m sorry,” I say as I pull into my client’s driveway. I’m glad I need to work because this line of conversation will show him too much.
I park and see the husband-and-wife duo stepping onto their front porch, and I throw a little wave.
Climbing out of my truck, I hear Arlo follow my lead.
“Good morning. You guys ready to see it?” I say in my bestPrice Is Rightvoice.
“We’re so excited!”
Unloading is just as easy, and Arlo helps me set it up too. The couple obsesses over the dining set, and I swear—as much as I hate delivering things—this is the best part. Seeing their reactions in person to something I poured so much time and love into is simply the best. Pride hits my chest as I accept their appreciation before leaving just as fast as we came.
Wordlessly, we walk to the truck before climbing in.
“That looked fucking perfect in their house,” Arlo says in awe as soon as his door is shut.
“It really did.”
“You are so ridiculously talented,” he says, not allowing me to brush off his praise.
