Page 71 of After We Fall

This makes no sense to me either, except that maybe it does and I just don’t want to admit it.

He tosses the decorative pillows carelessly to the ground and shoves the bright pink bedspread back. When he discovers the multicolored pastel-striped flannel sheets and accompanying lime-green blanket, he grins at me. “You have so many layers, Penelope.”

“It’s winter,” I try to snap, but it lacks the heart. “Everyone has layers.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

Exhaustion sweeps over me, and I don’t have much fight left. I sit on the bed, swing my legs in, and curl my body on my right side, avoiding any contact with my stitches.

He draws the covers over my shoulders, then crouches down, resting his forearms on the edge of the mattress, his face only a few inches away. “You don’t belong with those people.”

Tears hit the backs of my eyes. “No,” I whisper.

“You belong here.”

“Yes.” I blink, watching Luke stare at my lips.

“I’m wondering if I do too,” he murmurs, almost as if he’s saying it to himself.

In Colorado Springs? At the ranch? With me? Something in my chest aches. I want him to belong here too.

His eyes shoot to mine. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at nine thirty.”

“For what?”

“You meet with a renowned, board-certified neurofeedback specialist at ten. Depending on how long that appointment takes, we’ll grab some lunch and head over to the DO for a one o’clock consultation.”

“What’s a DO?”

“Doctor of osteopathy. This one specializes in head injuries.”

I put my hand on his forearm. “I don’t understand. The hospital didn’t mention any of this when I checked out.”

“I did some research.”

“You did some research?”

He grins. “Not just any research. I spent two days conducting Penelope-worthy research of the best doctors for you. But because I knew you would want to see it for yourself, I have a binder full of doctor bios, medical articles on TBI recovery, and different care plan options. For extra credit, there’s a pros and cons list, topped off with a cherry in the form of a comparison chart.”

“You made a binder for me?”

He peruses my face. “Are you about to pass out on me?”

“You made a binder for me.”

Something leaps in my heart. A binder, organized with information that I greatly desire but cannot get for myself. This annoying man has never appeared so attractive to me.

“You have your protocol from the hospital, but there are things we can do to help your healing move along quicker. Both doctors you see tomorrow are the best at what they do in regard to traumatic brain injury. But if you don’t like them, we’ll work down the list.”

He had me at “help your healing move along quicker.” The man is speaking my love language. Efficiency.

But . . .

“But you’re leaving town.”

He sighs, resting his chin on his hands. “I’m not leaving town.”

I start to sit up, but he places a warm hand on my shoulder that stops my progress. I settle back into my covers as much as I can. “You said. You said the other day in my hospital room that you were leaving town.”