"There's an old step stool in the garage. I figure it'll work as a seat until the shower seat and transfer board arrive. Grab bars would be nice, but I don't want to wait on them."
"Okay," I say, standing. "I'll get the stool, check on Dani, then get towels set up, and we'll…go from there with getting you…undressed." I feel my cheeks heat at the words.
"You're blushing," he murmurs, the light in his hazel eyes turning them to warm, whiskey brown.
I narrow my gaze on him.
His grin widens, and I try to ignore the way my heart trips at the sight. I'm probably as red as a pepper, but I can't help it. He's cute. Handsome. Someone I would totally go for if life hadn't thrown me the curveball of a surprise pregnancy.
"No need to blush. It's just a job duty," he counters in a casual tone. "And I'll remain covered at all times." He studies me several more seconds, like he knows how rattled I am and is trying to not make it worse. Reminding me that we're two adults and this is a professional arrangement.
I narrow my gaze and remind myself he's under the influence. And since he's right, I roll my eyes, which draws a husky laugh from him.
I head out of the kitchen to the garage, heat filling my face because as a job duty? I suppose it doesn't suck. Even though it's not my normal wheelhouse as someone working in advertising, I'm not sure how to spin the job change as a positive other than the fact my client isn't hard on the eyes.
It takes me a bit to find the stool since it was folded up and hanging above a workshop table. Once I have it inside, I give it a good scrub and then sanitize it too before layering a fresh towel over it. I leave more towels close at hand and then make my way to the kitchen for a trash bag to cover his cast.
The hospital sent him home with cast covers but warned an extra layer would be wise as an added precaution.
Once everything is in place as best I can get it, I remove the shower wand and place it in the tub. I check on Dani once more and find she's moved on to watching cartoons. I tell her I'm going to be helping her dad for a bit and to let me know if she needs anything.
Back in the living room, I find Kace attempting to get up but unable to get his balance, seeing as how his left arm is in a sling bound to his chest to keep his burned skin from tearing, and his right leg is casted from his thigh down. "You should wait on me to help you."
He growls in frustration and falls back into the seat.
"This is ridiculous," he mutters. "I hate this."
"It's your first day home," I remind him. "It's going to take time. Have some patience."
"You have patience. I want to be able to move without needing help."
I shift to his good side and brace my feet, then extend an arm to help get him to his good foot. "See? We're already making progress. That was nothing compared to getting you out of the car."
I'm a little breathless because Kace is a big man, and countering his weight and staying on my feet takes some doing. But now that he's standing, I get him turned, and he practically falls into the wheelchair with a groan.
I notice I'm not the only one wearing a sheen of sweat as I wheel him toward the bathroom. And despite the medication he claims has kicked in, I see the lines of pain pinching his features once more.
I should argue against his desire for a shower, but I also understand the need. There's nothing like it after being sick, and having been stuck in the hospital bed for so long, Kace deserves a little pampering.
We get to the bathroom door when I realize we have another problem. The room is a good size but not large enough to wheel the chair between the sink cabinet and tub and for me to maneuver around to help him out. I have to back the chair up, move around it and walk backward into the bathroom rolling him along with my hands on either side of the arm rests while standing between his legs.
I'm looking down at the wheels and his extended leg to make sure I don't bump them into anything but glance up and falter when I see where his gaze is fixed.
My T-shirt isn't low cut, and he can't see anything but bending as I am… "Professional," I scold, sliding him a quelling glare.
"Apologies," he says immediately.
He then makes such a show of shifting his gaze up to stare at the ceiling that I can't help but laugh. Neither of us know what to expect with this arrangement, and he isn't being a jerk about things, so I have to give him some leeway. Besides, after being so thoroughly betrayed and dumped by jerk-face? I'd be lying if I said Kace's light flirting doesn't soothe a bit of my broken ego.
I lock the wheels, and when I focus on him once more, I find Kace shifting in the seat and struggling to remove his shirt. He's got his good arm free but— "Let me help you."
I unfasten his sling and set it aside, then tackle his shirt. Kace is broad shouldered with a thick chest, and the burns he sustained wrap around his shoulder and upper arm onto his chest all the way to his sternum. And they go all the way up to the base of his neck. I can't help the wince, even though I'm ashamed of my reaction.
"Sorry. I know it's not pretty."
I look at him and shake my head. "That's not— I hate that you're in pain. That you went through that. And I worry about them getting wet. Maybe we should wait?"
"No, the doc said showers are fine. That it's part of healing. Supposed to gently wash and pat dry. Then apply the cream."
