Mr. Fixer Upper

by Lucy Score

  He scooped up the gauze and tape along with a photocopied sheet of doctor’s instructions for wound care and carried it to the bed. He read as he dumped everything on the mattress next to her before getting to work. She had bandages everywhere, and it just wasn’t feasible to leave the t-shirt on, so Gannon stripped it off.

  “Damn it, Gannon!” Paige reached for the bed sheet to cover herself.

  “Honey, I’ve already seen it all, and I’m really looking forward to seeing it all again when you’re healed up. So let’s hurry the process along.” He tore a piece of tape into fours with his teeth and adhered them to the sheet.

  She muttered something about being ridiculous under her breath while he worked as quickly as he could moving from bandage to bandage. She’d needed stitches in two places and had the equivalent of road rash in several spots. The slice across her calf was the worst of it, deep and angry looking. Nearly a dozen stitches held the wound shut.

  “They said it would probably scar,” Paige said into her pillow.

  “Scars just mean you’re tough,” Gannon told her, gently securing a fresh strip of gauze to the wound.

  “Malia said you told her that.”

  “That is one tough kid.” He sealed the tape around the gauze.

  “The bed you’re making for her is amazing.”

  Gannon raised his hand intending to smack Paige on the ass to have her roll over and then thought better of it. “Back’s all done. Roll for me.”

  She started to roll and let out a muffled yelp before slowly complying.

  “Almost done, honey,” he promised softly.

  He worked quickly trading out old gauze for fresh on her arm, hip, and thigh, before helping her back into his t-shirt. She was still shivering, so he pulled the covers up to her neck.

  He found the bottle of pain meds in the pharmacy bag. “How many of these are you supposed to take?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t like that stuff. Makes my head fuzzy.”

  “You’ve got to be in pain.”

  She attempted a sad one-shoulder shrug. “It’s not so bad. I’m fine.”

  Stubborn to the point of idiocy, Gannon thought. He could respect that. He found a bottle of ibuprofen in the bag and dumped three into his hand and prodded her arm on a square inch of unbruised skin. “Over the counter,” he promised.

  She tossed them back and washed them down with an open bottle of water. Once she started drinking, she couldn’t seem to stop.

  “Are you hungry?”

  She shook her head and handed the empty bottle back to him. Paige was as pale as the pillows beneath her.

  “When did you eat last?” he prompted.

  “Ugh. I don’t know,” she said, closing her eyes. “Breakfast?”

  “You don’t eat breakfast,” he reminded her.

  “I forgot. Then it was dinner last night. I was going to have lunch after the kids…” She trailed off as if the effort to speak was too much for her.

  He swore quietly. “You need a damn babysitter,” he muttered, reaching for the phone on the nightstand and fishing out the room service menu from the drawer. He dialed the front desk and ordered for both of them.

  She didn’t even attempt to argue with him, and that worried Gannon. He went back in the bathroom and pulled on his underwear and jeans. By the time he came back out, Paige was dozing. He sat on the mattress next to her and pulled out his phone and texted Cat. He’d finally connected with his sister after showing up at the hospital and being told that thanks to HIPAA the ER desk couldn’t confirm if Paige St. James was a patient. Thankfully Cat had finally answered her damn phone before Gannon had deemed it necessary to yank the doors off their hinges and go looking for Paige himself. She was in the pharmacy picking up the newly discharged Paige’s prescription and had given him what details there were to be had.

  Paige had saved the little boy’s life. That part was clear. The kid would probably be scared shitless of thunderstorms for the rest of his life, but he was going to have a rest of his life thanks to the woman next to him who wiggled a little closer to his heat.

  For the first time since he’d nearly ripped her shower curtain down, Gannon let himself take a deep breath. Paige was alive and, after a carefully monitored recovery, she was going to be fine. He rubbed a hand over his chest. He hoped to God his heart would recover, too. He’d thought the worst, had fought those demons on the drive back, holding on to that terror until he saw her with his own eyes.

  He distracted himself by perusing the doctor’s instructions on recovery and wound care.

  His phone vibrated against his leg.

  Tony’s got footage of it if you want to see it. Pretty messed up.

  Before he could fire off a pissed off reply about what the hell Tony was doing standing around filming the disaster rather than helping Paige, Cat texted again.

  Calm down, Lover Boy. It’s not what you think. Tony ended up playing hero. Saved a little girl and dug Paige out. But the second the network heard about the accident, they demanded the footage. No way it’s not making it into the show.

  Paige would be pissed and humiliated. Gannon had no doubt about that. And it would also mean Paige sitting through some lengthy, invasive interviews to milk it for every ratings point possible. That pissed him off.

  There was a knock at the door, and Paige stirred next to him.

  He levered himself off the mattress and answered the door. Room service consisted of a scarecrow of a kid with a shock of white blonde hair and a face full of freckles.

  Gannon cut the small talk short and took the tray from the kid before sending him on his way with a ten spot.

  “Oh, hell. Did you answer the door like that?” Paige demanded from the bed.

  He looked down at his bare chest and unbuttoned jeans, shrugged. “Princess, again, you’ve got bigger problems. Besides, the kid’s more likely to be a fan of Cat than me.”

  She sniffed the air. “What smells so good?”

  “My burger and onion rings. I got you chicken noodle soup.”

  “Awh.”

  “Serves you right for being a health food snob.”

  They ate side-by-side against the upholstered headboard, and she shot longing looks at him until he finally ripped off part of his burger and gave it to her.

  “Happy now?”

  “Mmm,” she sighed, eyes closed to savor every bite. “Okay, chewing made me tired.” Energy gone, Paige slumped back against the pillows.

  “Bed time,” Gannon agreed. He cleaned up the dishes and left the tray in the hallway. Tomorrow was going to be a long ass day, starting with a conversation he was going to have with Andy during which he would make it crystal clear that no one was going to turn Paige’s accident into ratings.

  He turned off the lights in the room and secured the locks before shucking off his pants and climbing under the covers next to Paige. She felt like an ice cube under the sheet, and he shifted closer, offering her his heat.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she yawned. She had no energy to fight him, and Gannon sure as hell wasn’t leaving her to sleep by herself.

  “I’m sleeping here. Don’t bother trying to argue.”

  “This is also not how I pictured our first time in bed together.”

  He could hear the smile in her voice. “That makes two of us,” he admitted and immediately tried to stop thinking about how he had pictured their first time in bed together.

  Paige went quiet, and after a minute or two, he thought she’d fallen asleep. But she tried to roll to her side and muffled a yelp of pain.

  “What are you trying to do?” he asked gruffly.

  “Get comfortable.” Pain and exhaustion laced her tone yet still no complaints from her.

  Gannon slid an arm under her and carefully pulled her against him, her back to his chest, her ass nestled against his thighs. “Better?” he asked.

  He thought she nodded.

  “Gannon?”

  “Hmm?”

 
“Thanks for taking care of me.”

  “Even though you don’t need anyone to take care of you?”

  “Yeah. It was still nice.”

  “You know, princess, you didn’t have to go to these lengths to get out of having sex with me tonight.”

  “Har har, ass.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Paige woke slowly, advancing into different stages of awareness. She was warm and safe. But she froze when the soft snore reached her ear and she became aware of strong arms wrapped around her.

  Gannon.

  He’d helped her shower, dried her hair, changed her dressings, and fed her. And then he’d climbed into bed next to her as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She let that soak in, ready to feel the humiliation of him seeing her at her most vulnerable. But that thought was derailed by the twitch of what promised to be an exceptional erection prodding her back.

  She’d witnessed it with her own eyes last night. It was official. There wasn’t an inch of Gannon King that wasn’t impressive. And what should have been a night of mind-blowing pleasure for the two of them—because Gannon didn’t half-ass anything—had been downgraded to an unfulfilling evening of nursemaid and patient.

  That sucked.

  So did the cacophony of aches and pains that began to plague her as they settled into her consciousness like a cloud of rabid locusts. There were so many of them she couldn’t identify or isolate them all. Paige felt like she had the flu times a million.

  She lifted her head ever so slightly and could tell that the world beyond her room was still dark outside. She should wake Gannon, send him back to his room. But she was so comfortable. The steadiness of his breathing, the slow thrum of his heartbeat, soothed her. She wasn’t alone.

  He stirred, burying his face in her hair. “Go back to sleep, honey,” he murmured. And for once in her life, she did what she was told.

  ––—

  Gannon woke to the incessant ringing of a phone and cracked open a bleary eye. Paige was cradled in his arms, and he could just make out a lightening in the sky around the edges of the curtains.

  Blindly, he reached for the phone and sat up, easing his arm out from under Paige.

  “’Lo?” he rasped quietly into the phone.

  “I’d like to speak to my daughter who didn’t bother telling me she’d been in an accident yesterday.” The voice had more than enough ice to refreeze a melting iceberg.

  “You must be, Dr. St. James,” Gannon yawned.

  “And who are you?”

  “Gannon King, your daughter’s…,” he glanced back at the silhouette of Paige’s sleeping form next to him, “friend.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you would put Paige on the phone,” the woman said icily. Gannon imagined it was the tone she reserved for slow valets or dimwitted servers.

  “She’s sleeping—”

  “I never should have let her take that ridiculous job. Reality television,” Dr. St. James gave an inelegant snort. “She could have gone into medicine like her sister or —”

  “Look, Dr. St. James. I understand that you’re pissed off and worried, but you’re a psychologist, right?”

  There was a slight pause. “That’s correct.”

  “Then I imagine you can hypothesize how berating your daughter after a physical trauma might not be the right call.”

  Dr. St. James sputtered on the other end of the line. He could hear it. The anger, the worry in her tone. She cared. She just didn’t know how to show it. Sometimes his own mother, a tough Italian broad as she liked to tell everyone, was the same way.

  “Paige is going to be okay, by the way. Pretty banged up, but she’ll live and so will the boy whose life she saved.”

  “I didn’t realize—”

  “Look, Paige needs more sleep. Why don’t you call back this afternoon, and I’d suggest leading with ‘Are you okay?’”

  “Mr. King,” she began.

  “Gannon.”

  “Gannon, I appreciate that you’re looking out for my daughter, but I find your tone disrespectful and entirely uncalled for.”

  “I was just about to say the same to you,” he yawned. “I’ll tell her you called and asked about her. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.” Gannon hung up the phone.

  He swiped his hand over his face. It looked as though he was officially awake for the day. As much as he wanted to stay in this bed with Paige, he needed to get back to his room before anyone saw him sneaking shirtless out of hers. Gannon didn’t care much about appearances, but it would upset Paige if people knew he’d spent the night with her.

  He’d play ball. For now.

  He switched on the bedside lamp and gave himself a moment to study her. The bruising on her face and the bump looked even worse now, mottled purple and blue. The violent evidence of her injuries still managed to work him up. He could have lost her without ever really having had her. This was no potential fling. These feelings were real and deserved to be explored, for both their sakes.

  They were officially dating whether Paige liked it or not, whether she acknowledged it or not. And he wasn’t leaving her side.

  “Paige,” he whispered her name. She murmured something in her sleep, and he took the opportunity to lean closer, his lips brushing her ear. “Princess.”

  “Mmph.”

  “Paige, I’m going back to my room.”

  “You’re leaving?” she croaked.

  “It’s almost morning.” He brushed her hair back from her face avoiding the bump on her head.

  “I’m getting up.” She murmured, but her body looked like it was refusing to acknowledge her words.

  “Why don’t you get some r—”

  Paige rocketed into a sitting position and tried to cover her yelp of pain with a yawn.

  “You’re going to hurt yourself all over again.”

  She gingerly scooted herself to the edge of the bed but seemed in no hurry to attempt standing. She had to be hurting. Every visible inch of her was black and blue. He could only imagine what her muscles were screaming at her right now.

  “I have to get to the set,” she said, refusing to look at him.

  Gannon rolled his eyes and walked around the bed stopping in front of her. He nudged her chin up. Or at least tried to. Her gaze seemed to get stuck somewhere around his crotch, and then he remembered he was wearing only his underwear.

  “Eyes up here, princess.”

  The grumpy look she gave him did his heart good. She was going to be okay. If she took her recovery seriously, but he’d help her with that.

  “About this going to the set—”

  “I’m not staying in bed all day while everyone else works and worries,” she said defiantly.

  Gannon had already anticipated there’d be no keeping her from the set. He preferred to have her there anyway so he could keep an eye on her. Besides, the rest of the crew was most likely still torn up over seeing her being carted away unconscious and bleeding. It would do them all some good to pretend that everything was normal today.

  “You can go to work on the following conditions.”

  She was trying to work up a mutinous expression, but it took too much energy. “Ugh. What?”

  “You sit your ass in a chair and don’t lift a damn finger. You eat breakfast and lunch. And you come back to rest in the afternoon. We’ll see how you feel after a legitimate nap and then we decide if you can come back to the set tonight.”

  She argued, weakly. “Gannon, there are a million things to do. I can’t just sit around and—”

  “It’s either that or you’re banned from the set for the next two days. And Andy will back me up there.” He held firm and stared her down. In her weakened state, he was confident in a win.

  “You’re really bossy.”

  “Yeah? How’s it feel to be on the receiving end?” he asked cheerfully as he helped her to her feet.

  Paige kept her face impassive, but he sensed her body tensing with pain. “Paige.”

  She
shook her head. “I’m fine. Just a little stiff and sore.”

  “Do you need anything before I leave?”

  “You should probably put your pants on before you go.”

  “I should probably check out all your bumps and bruises before I go,” he countered, reaching for the hem of his t-shirt that she wore, but Paige slapped his hand away.

  “Be ready to go in thirty,” he said, dropping a soft kiss to the top of her head. He stepped into his jeans and boots and on the way out, grabbed Paige’s oversized windbreaker and put it on. His biceps strained the seams. He pointed at her. “Thirty minutes.”

  “Don’t hulk out of my jacket,” she called after him as he let himself out.

  ––—

  Gannon didn’t bother with a soft knock on Cat’s door. His sister could sleep through an earthquake that sent a six-lane highway into collapse. He gave the door a good three or four pounds before it opened. Cat looked as if she hadn’t slept all night, dark circles hovered under her bloodshot eyes.

  “Why are you punching my door in the face at six in the morning?” she demanded, her voice a sleepy rasp.

  “You and I are taking Paige to the set.” He snuck into his own room like a teenager after curfew and changed into fresh clothes before having a text conversation with Andy about exactly what Paige would and wouldn’t be asked to do today. Andy was on his side, but there was no way they were going to get her out of an invasive one-on-one about the accident and its after-effects.

  “I knew she’d talk you into it,” Cat yawned, leaving the door open and fishing through dresser drawers for clean clothes.

  “How do you know she talked me into anything?”

  Cat shot him a look over her shoulder. “You’re the only one on the team who can talk her out of anything. If she’s going, it’s because you said it was okay.”

  “I didn’t bother having the argument with her. I’d rather keep her where we can see her, make sure no other disasters befall her.”

  “Gannon King walking away from an argument?” Cat arched an eyebrow at him and yanked one of a dozen pairs of shorts out of her drawer. “You must be rattled.”

  “You’re the one who looks like she didn’t sleep a wink last night.”

  “It was bad, Gan.” Cat shook her head as if trying to dislodge the memories. “Tony and some of the other guys literally had to dig her out of the debris, and she was just huddled there on the ground over that boy. I thought she was dead. I thought they both were. Everything was dead silent, and then we hear the kid singing his ABCs.”