by Rachel Lee
She wasn’t exactly tap-dancing for joy, but she didn’t want to say that. Having him around made her fearful. Fearful that the past could be resurrected. Fearful that she could get hurt again. Fearful that she might start caring again.
But that was no reason to treat him like a junkyard dog. Hell, she’d give at least this much care to a stray. “It’s okay,” she said finally. “That past is past.”
“Is it?”
Now it was her turn to give him a look, an icy one. “Yes. So I suggest we just go on as if we have no past. I don’t want to rake that up, and neither should you.”
“Fair enough.” He closed his eyes a moment, then swore quietly. “I hate this.”
“What?”
“Being dependent. I’m cold. I don’t want to go in but I’m starting to shiver. I’m hurting. I don’t want one, but I think I need another pain pill. I can’t tough it out any longer.”
“What are you feeling?”
“Like someone’s hammering my leg, my arm and my head. It’s making me crabby. I don’t want to fight with you.”
“Maybe if we get you warmed up, you won’t need a pill. Want to try that first?”
“Yeah.” Curt but to the point.
Just then, Jack came walking up the street. Bri was bending to unlock Luke’s wheelchair when he called out.
“Bri?”
She straightened, seeking him with her gaze. “Hi, Jack. We were just about to go in.”
“You maybe need a ramp on those steps? I mean, if your friend is going to be here a while.”
Luke started to say no, but Bri forestalled him. “That might be a good idea. Let me think about it. I’ll know more when Luke gets his leg X-rayed next week.”
“All right. You need any help, just holler.”
“I will. Thanks, Jack.”
Luke remained silent until they were back inside. Then the withheld words burst out of him. “I don’t want you spending that kind of money on me.”
“But wouldn’t it be nice to get around the block in the chair? Trent said you might need it for a while, and I’m not sure you can get very far on a walking cast at first. Sheesh, Luke, crutches are going to be hard with your broken arm.”
He remained silent for a smoldering moment. “Did you hear that guy?”
“Jack? What?”
“He can’t wait for me to be gone. Just like you.”
Oh, boy, she thought. The concussion? Or had she really missed something? “Jack is always trying to be helpful.”
“He might as well wear a sign. He’s sweet on you.”
“And that’s none of your business.”
“Nope.” He shook off as much of her help as he could getting back into bed.
Without a word, she elevated his leg again, hoping it would help. “How’s the pain? Head? Leg?”
“What do you care?” he grumbled.
“Luke!” She put her hands on her hips and glared at him.
“Sorry. The pain got to me, I guess. Or maybe my head did.”
So she went to get him half a pain pill. He took it sullenly, like a sick kid. Lovely.
But, she reminded herself, he’d been through hell, he was indeed in a lot of pain and he still had a long way to go. She could hardly blame him for getting cranky, especially with the concussion. Those effects might well last a long time.
A tiny fear gnawed at the corner of her mind. What if the concussion had a permanent effect on his personality? The thought made her feel ill.
* * *
He slept for a while, which gave Bri a little time to read. Diane called and they chatted for a few minutes. She offered to come over and keep an eye on Luke if Bri wanted to get out. The offer was tempting, but she refused it.
“He’s not in the best mood right now. Maybe another time, Di.”
“Sure, but I can handle cranky. Remember, I’ve got a husband and two sons. When they get sick they turn into real pains. Men. They can’t handle even a tummy ache.”
Bri laughed, because she’d seen it often enough. At the hospital men tended to be sweet as pie to the nurses, but then she’d hear all the crankiness and complaining when their wives came to visit.
Even though she tried to read an engaging novel, her mind insisted on wandering. Could Luke be right about Jack? She dismissed the idea almost immediately. Jack had been her handyman for a couple of years, and he’d never done or said anything that indicated interest. Just helpful and pleasant and nothing more. After two years, if he really was sweet on her, he surely would have indicated it in some way. She was glad he hadn’t, though, because she wasn’t at all interested in Jack that way.
Luke was just concussed and in pain, and probably hypersensitive about the idea that Jack might have to build him a ramp, a chore that were he well he would have knocked out himself in no time. The male ego was probably taking a real ding. That was all. Luke had never been one to like others doing for him what he should be able to do for himself.
Such as the way he had insisted on refusing almost all her help with getting back into bed. Ego again. Independence. Maybe a measure of stupidity. Certainly he had been determined to prove that he wasn’t completely helpless.
She sighed and closed the book. For some reason her knee was aching. The weather must be changing. Rising, she went to the kitchen and got herself an ice pack, then grabbed an elastic bandage from the cupboard.
She was sitting in her office chair wrapping the ice pack onto her knee when Luke startled her by speaking.
“When are you going to get that knee fixed?” he asked.
She looked up as soon as she pinned the wrap into place. “When it gets bad enough.”
“But it hampers you now.”
“Sometimes. There’s a lot of arthritis there now. But it’s not to the point where I want to undergo a knee replacement. No biggie.”
He grunted, which could have meant anything.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Like a freaking jerk. Apologies available.”
“Also not necessary.”
He gave her a crooked smile. “I probably still owe you a million apologies.”
“Let’s not go there, okay?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Have it your way. Watch out for that Jack guy, though. Unless you want to date him.”
“I don’t want to date him, and he’s a perfectly nice person.”
“You would know.”
She straightened the leg with the ice pack on it. “I don’t get you,” she said. “Jack has been my handyman for two years now. He’s never stepped out of line.”
“He sure doesn’t like me being here.”
“How can you possibly know that? Did he say something? Because if so, I sure didn’t hear it.”
“It wasn’t something to hear. But I can tell.”
“Oh, you have amazing psychic powers?”
He lifted his good hand, as if to wave the discussion away, then paused. “If you were paying attention, you would have heard it. He was trying to find out if I was going to be here for long.”
“By asking if I needed a ramp? Really? That couldn’t have just come from seeing you in a wheelchair?”
“Maybe.”
“Thank you.” Sarcasm filled her tone.
“But think about it, Bri. If you wanted a ramp, you’d have called him and hired him. Asking was like pumping you for work...or information. Does he do that often?”
Bri fell silent, partly because she was steaming, and partly because he’d raised a question in her mind. But just because Jack had never asked her about work before, but had always waited for her to ask him, didn’t mean he wouldn’t ask such an obvious question under the circumstances.
“Cut it out,” she said finally.
“What?”
“Poisoning things. Jack’s a nice, helpful guy and I don’t want to be suspicious of him.”
“Okay,” he said. “What are you reading?”
The change of topic was too abrupt
and very unlike Luke, who didn’t quit easily. Now she had to worry about his head again. She didn’t want to worry about him, especially when he lay there in a bed looking like a dented Christmas package waiting to be opened. Everything about him awoke her sexuality, even when she was annoyed.
She stood, wincing a little as her knee complained. “I need to stir the soup. Are you hungry?”
“Getting there.”
She left the living room, and now it was her turn to feel as if she’d been thrown in a cement mixer. Mentally and emotionally, anyway. Was Luke right? Was his concussion affecting him? Was there really some reason to be suspicious of Jack?
No, of course not. She answered the last question for herself. She knew Jack. All he’d done was offer to build her a ramp for her front steps. A kind and generous offer. Thoughtful. Jack was always thoughtful.
So Luke was still a bit addled, seeing things that weren’t there. She supposed there’d be more where that came from.
Dang, it was easier to deal with someone she didn’t know as well, a regular patient. Dealing with her ex was making every bit of this harder. Things he said struck her more deeply. He had her questioning herself in ways she didn’t like.
And she wanted to get back to him with a bowl of soup. Maybe that was the scariest thing of all.
* * *
Luke lay in the bed feeling pretty crummy. It wasn’t just the pounding pain, or the loopiness of even the smaller dose of painkillers. It was wondering how much the concussion had affected him.
His suspicion that Jack was sweet on Bri struck him as perfectly reasonable. The thing was, it wasn’t his business. Bri was his ex. A free agent. Someone who was entitled to make her own decisions about everything. The only thing he knew for sure was that there was something he didn’t like about Jack.
Well, maybe that was just an old jealousy rising up. He ought to be able to deal with that by now.
He’d said more than he should have, in a way that wasn’t good, and that bothered him. How much damage had he suffered to his head, anyway? It was hard to know, being stuck like this, locked up in his own body. He couldn’t get out there to learn if he could still cope with everything in his life. Hell, at this point he wasn’t sure if he could still walk. All his parts seemed to be there, he could wiggle the toes on his broken leg, but the thing he worried about was the dizziness.
He hadn’t mentioned it to Bri except briefly because he could tell it instantly worried her. The doc had told him he might experience it for a while, but Bri clearly feared it. She had asked, after all, if it was getting worse.
It wasn’t, but if it kept grabbing him at odd times, he might not be able to get around on crutches. God, the thought of being stuck indefinitely in a wheelchair made him want to crawl out of his skin.
He couldn’t stand being helpless, but he kept reminding himself to shut up and take his medicine like a man. Easier said than done. He wondered if it would have been easier if he went to that convalescent facility Bri had mentioned. Maybe his self-image would take less of a ding being cared for by strangers than by Bri.
Not that she was doing anything wrong. Considering the way their meeting before his accident had gone, he was amazed that she’d been willing to take him in. And not only take him in, but sometimes care for him like a baby.
She was a nurse, yes, but she was also his ex. They had a history. This had to be hard on her.
It was sure hard on him being around her all the time. He had plenty of good reasons not to care about her anymore, but those reasons weren’t helping him much.
He’d come here the first time, all determined to defend himself. After three years. He might be concussed and not quite in his right mind, but he wondered if he’d been in his right mind when he walked in on her.
In theory, it should be enough that he knew he hadn’t cheated on her. You couldn’t make people believe what they didn’t want to believe, and the only opinion that should matter was his own, anyway.
But somehow, despite all the anger, all the pain, all the fury of their breakup, her opinion still mattered. It was like having a piece of glass in his foot that he couldn’t extract, a constant irritant that she had such a low opinion of him.
But changing her opinion, even if he could, wouldn’t change anything else. They had split, it had been hurtful and ugly, and you couldn’t take that back. No way. It would ever be there, a scar on the landscape of the past as if a huge bomb had blasted a hole into what had once been a beautiful world.
Maybe she had other gripes, too. How would he know? She hadn’t said much until the end when she was so angry with him, and that had all been about Barbara. That comment she’d made about how their marriage had been more like an affair bothered him, though.
Had separation been the real death knell?
All he was sure of at that moment was that he still craved her with every cell in his body. Medicated and in pain though he was, addled though he probably was, the intimacy of her care for him kept arousing him. He hoped she never guessed how often he quickly bunched blankets over his erection so she wouldn’t see it. How quickly he responded to the lightest of her touches. God, he wanted that woman as much as he had ever wanted anything. Still.
He tried to think about that, about what it might mean considering all that had happened between them, but he was drifting away again. He gave up.
None of it mattered anymore. He just had to heal and get the hell out of here. His eyes closed, he let go. He still had a lifetime to examine his screwups.
* * *
Bri let him sleep for a couple of hours, then brought him a big bowl of potato soup. He was waking, and gave her a half smile as she set it on the table beside him. “That smells really good.”
“Do you want me to raise the head of the bed, or do you want to get into the chair?”
He looked down his length, at his leg once again elevated, and thought of all the work he would make for her by asking to sit in the chair. So he reached for the bed control and raised himself up. “This is fine, thanks.”
“Let me know if you want more. There’s plenty.” She pushed the table in front of him.
“I don’t see a bowl for you,” he said. “Can’t even eat with me?”
She hadn’t been, but this was the first time he had mentioned it. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Luke!”
“What? You’re stuck with me for at least a few more days. I’m tired of the ice-queen routine. Surely you can manage a casual conversation with me.”
She studied him dubiously. He liked the look in her witchy eyes, liked knowing he’d put her off balance. She deserved to be a little off balance. Vengeful? Maybe. But she should have believed him rather than Barbara.
After a long pause she said, “I’ll get a bowl.”
“Good.” Not that he was likely to have much to say. The swelling and lacerations in his cheek still made speech painful, and he figured he’d used up most of his endurance just asking her to eat with him.
His thoughts drew up short. Endurance? Was he really feeling that way, as though he was out of strength even to talk?
She returned a couple of minutes later, put her bowl on the table beside his, then brought out a TV tray that she set up in front of the office chair she’d been using.
“You’re still limping,” he remarked.
“Change of weather, I guess. I’m going to be one of those people who can predict rain by my knee.”
She settled with her own table and soup so that she faced him. “So what’s on your mind?” she asked.
Before answering, he tasted the soup. Hot and rich, the way she always made it. “This is really, really good, Bri. Better than I remember it even.”
A faint smile lifted the corners of her mouth, a mouth he realized that he still wanted to kiss. Oh, cut it out. That would only cause trouble.
“What’s on your mind?” she asked again.
“I realized it’s wearing on me even to talk. That won’t last, will it?”
&nbs
p; “You’ve been through a lot, Luke. It’s not like you just had a minor injury. It’ll take time to get your strength back. And the more time you spend in bed, the more strength you lose.” She shook her head a little, and he wished she’d let her hair down so he could watch it swing the way it once had. “I’m hoping they can start some rehab on you when they replace the casts. That’s so important. Bed rest is a bad thing.”
“It feels like it, but not much I can do.”
“Not yet. That’ll change soon. You’ll see.”
For a while they ate in silence. He tried to figure out some way to draw her out, maybe about her job. He knew how dedicated she was to nursing. Hell, it had been the reason she hadn’t wanted to travel with him. Getting her to talk about it should be safe ground.
But he felt like an idiot when it came to that. He knew next to nothing about what she did, even after being married to her. When they were together, neither of them had spent much time on shoptalk. They’d been too busy making up for lost time, in bed and out of it.
Maybe she was right. Maybe it had never become a real marriage, never had the chance to grow that way. Maybe it had been just an extended affair. That might work for some people, but it apparently hadn’t worked for them. Not in the end. Even as she had accused him of cheating on her, he’d had his own dissatisfactions with the ways things were.
Neither of them had been willing to change. But before he brought up that bit of the past—if he decided to—he’d better be clear on how much change he’d be willing to make. They’d already burned enough bridges.
But why was he thinking this way? It was over. She had made that clear. She’d sent him packing until he wound up helpless. Nor could he say that she seemed to be enjoying having him at her mercy. In fact, she seemed utterly unhappy about it.
As unhappy as he was.
So put away those thoughts about how much he’d like to make love to her again, be grateful it was completely impossible now and focus on anything else.
It was hard, though, with her sitting so close. The itch to reach for her never went away. Even harder to face the fact that she was now a stranger to him. Maybe she’d always been a stranger.
