That doesn’t stop him. My shoulders sag as I give up. Sometimes, arguing with Heath is pointless. When it comes to my supposed recovery, he’s impossible to argue with. If he has it in his head that I’m overly tired, I’m lying down whether I’m actually tired or not.
Once we’re in his room, he pushes the chair so it’s right next to his bed. Standing on my good leg, I hold his offered hand and turn to sit down. He surprises me by leaving. Once I’m on his bed, Heath usually makes a point of joining me on it. He’s back in seconds, and I can’t miss my brush in his hand.
I lift my hand and gesture at it. “What’re you doing?”
“I’m going to brush your hair,” he nonchalantly replies.
“I can brush my own hair,” I retort, adding, “and I could have done it in the bathroom.”
“You’ll be more comfortable here.”
“No, I won’t.”
He already washed, conditioned, and dried my hair. Why I was adamantly opposed to the idea of him brushing it is beyond me.
He ignores me—he’s good at that—and takes a knee to the bed. In less time than you would think, considering I was uncooperative and he was being careful moving me, he had me settled in front of him between his legs.
This is terrible.
Before he was just above me, I could close my eyes and pretend he was someone else, not that it worked the first time.
Now, with his legs cocked on either side of me, his thighs touching mine, it would be a miracle if I could ignore him. Firm but gentle hands pull me until my back is resting against his chest. He shifts my hair to the side and slowly drags my brush through it. His fingers trail the brush, sifting into my hair with each pass.
I turn my head and stare at the hole he punched in the wall. The hole he punched when he thought I left town to meet up with another man.
“There was no other guy in San Francisco,” I blurt.
His hands still.
Stupidly, I go on, “I only told people that because I was angry and hurt. I wanted you to think that I didn’t care. All I really did was crash on Cecil’s couch.”
Without a word, he drops the brush to the bed beside us and wraps his arms around me before pushing his face into my hair.
My good hand lifts to hold his arms to me.
My eyelids are heavier than I expect and I fight to keep my eyes open. Maybe I was wrong about not being tired.
It’s been just over a week since the night I washed her hair.
I glance over at her. “How does it feel?”
She cups her jaw, and softly replies, “Weird.”
The wires keeping her jaw stable while it healed were removed today. In two days she has a follow-up appointment with an orthopedist in town to X-ray her ankle and her leg.
Now, we’re on our way to her physical therapy appointment.
“It’s strange opening my mouth to talk,” she murmurs.
My eyes were drawn briefly from the road to her face when she spoke. If she opened her mouth when she spoke, I can’t tell.
I sat in the waiting room so unless she tells me what the specialist said, I wouldn’t know if that’s normal or not so I have to ask and hope she answers. “Did your doctor say that would happen?”
She nods and then pulls a plastic case from the bag that sits on her lap. “I still can’t eat anything too chewy for a few days and he gave me this”—she pulls out something that looks like a mouth guard, like the kind used in sports—“thing to strengthen my jaw. He wants me to sleep wearing it and when I put it on, to flex my jaw twenty times before I go to sleep.”
“When can you eat solid food again?” I ask.
What I don’t say is, I’ll be sure to remind you to work out your jaw before you fall asleep tonight. Even though she was freaked we slept together the first night she was at my place, I’ve managed to repeat that each night since.
As long as she isn’t bringing it up, there’s no way I’m going to.
“All I know is I asked if I could have French fries and he said yes,” she replies.
“Want me to have some with me, when I pick you up?” I’m parking as I ask, so I turn my head to look at her when I’m done. Her face is soft as she stares at me. It’s a look I’ve seen more than once since the mudslide and more frequently in the last week.
It’s the look she gets when I do something that makes her happy. It’s the look I plan on getting for a long time. It’s that look that reminds me it’s my car she’s in right now, not Trip’s.
He came to town again to see her yesterday. Sat in my living room and flirted with her right in front of me. I’ll give him that play. The only reason I didn’t kick him out was because he saved her life.
When I walked him out to his truck, his saving her life didn’t stop me from making sure he knew where I stood. I was firm, but respectful. He then made it clear that wasn’t going to stop him from being her friend.
That’s bullshit. Even with broken bones and black and blue, Sydney Fairlane was beautiful. Now, almost all healed up, she was more so. No guy sees all that is Sydney Fairlane and isn’t interested.
Which is why he texted her two hours later to ask when he could visit again. I can’t blame him. The only reason I don’t want to kill him is because during his visit, her face didn’t soften once.
He can be her friend, he can flirt all he wants, but I’m already in there. She can tell herself and me that I’m not, but that won’t change the truth.
“That’d be amazing,” she murmurs.
“Then I’ll have some ready. Want me to go in with you?”
She shakes her head. I still need to get her wheelchair out of the trunk and set it close enough for her to shift into. From there, even mostly one armed, she can get around on her own. The doors to the clinic open automatically so she doesn’t even need me for that.
Her independence is one of the things I admire about her. She has crushed every therapy goal they’ve set for her. She might need a cane once her casts are off, but she won’t need a walker like they originally thought.
Her injuries were severe but she’s healthy, strong, and determined to get better. She hasn’t let Gigi or me go in with her during her therapy. Since I don’t want to sit and wait in my car, I drive to Lola’s.
I visited my mom during my lunch break and left the office to take Sydney to her appointments. Mr. Fairlane offered but either he or Gigi have been keeping Syd company while I’m at work.
My mom is still pushing for me to bring Sydney to visit her. Since her jaw isn’t wired shut anymore, I’ll ask her if she wants to go with me tomorrow. She never said it, but she was uncomfortable talking before. Or, that was the excuse I made for not asking her sooner.
As I park, Gigi waves at me through the window.
The door chimes as I move through it. “How did the appointment with the specialist go?”
“Wires came off—”
She cuts me off, lifting both hands to shout, “Praise Jesus.”
I bite back a smile at her reaction.
When she looks at me expectantly for me to go on, I do. “She needs to stick to soft foods for a bit to not over stress her jaw. She wants me to bring her French fries.”
“We’ll have an order done up right before you go so they’re fresh and hot for her.”
“Okay if I hang out here until her therapy appointment is done?” I ask.
Gigi doesn’t pause. She pushes me until my backside hits an empty stool and says, “Take a load off.”
She moves back behind the counter and pours me a cup of coffee. My mug is black and says Coffee makes me a better person. I wholeheartedly agree.
“I’m still upset at that girl for not letting me go with her to the doctor today,” she grumbles, leaning toward me.
“She’s your granddaughter,” I reply. Her independent nature was absolutely inherited, so Mr. Fairlane has repeatedly said.
She doesn’t argue but instead changes the subject. “Has she made any noise about coming to
stay with us again?”
I shake my head. “No, but as soon as her casts come off she will.”
Gigi straightens and puts her hand on her hip. “Of course she’ll go back to her place once her casts come off, unless you’re thinking about asking her to move in with you.”
“That’s exactly what I’m thinking,” I say, before lifting the mug to my lips.
My eyes stay on her as she absorbs my words. Her eyes widen, her mouth tightens and the hand that was resting on her hip moves to press against her chest. “You want her to move in with you?”
It may seem backwards to state my intentions to Gigi before Sydney, but in any battle, you need to maximize the weapons at your disposal. Outside of my own stubborn desire to wear Sydney down, Gigi is the best weapon I have.
If it weren’t for her support, Sydney wouldn’t be staying with me right now.
“That gets you a slice of pie,” she mutters once she’s over the surprise of what I said and walks away.
I grin down at my coffee.
“Hey, stranger.”
I turn my head and watch Reilly Whitmore slide onto the stool next to mine. I’ve known her most of my life. As the little sister of my oldest friend, Jake, she was always underfoot. With no siblings of my own, she’s the closest thing I have to a little sister.
“Hi, Reilly. How’ve you been?”
“Oh you know. I’ve had a ‘I’m skipping dinner in lieu of pie’ day,” she replies.
I cock a brow. “That bad?”
She nods.
“Here’s your pie, Heathcliff,” Gigi says, sliding a plate with a slice of apple pie in front of me.
When she sees Reilly, she smiles widely. “Hey, honey. What can I get for you?”
Reilly leans forward, resting her chin on her palm and sighs, “A cup of coffee and a slice of the Boston crème please.”
Gigi frowns. “That bad?”
Gloomy, head still propped up on her hand, Reilly nods. “Seriously crap day.”
Wisely, I avoid the fall incident. “What’s going on?”
She tilts her head so our eyes meet. “There’s this guy at work who’s annoying the crap out of me.”
Office politics can be a pain in the ass. There’s this woman in my office who has unpleasant breath and no concept of personal space. Once, she was in charge of training all of us how to navigate a new HR system. During my one-on-one training session, she leaned over the back of my chair to point at my computer screen as she directed me where to click next. I fought against inhaling as my eyes watered from her breath. Before she came in the next day, I put a bowl of mints out on a table that’s close to her office. I’ll never know if she used any of them or not but figured it was worth a try.
Hopefully Reilly’s work situation is something like this and not anything more serious.
“Annoying how?” I ask.
She drops her hand and straightens as Gigi returns with a mug of coffee for her. The mug she gets is one I’ve had before. It says Napa on one side and this might be wine on the other.
“Thank you,” she calls after Gigi, already lifting the mug to her lips.
“Hmmm. That’s the stuff right there,” she murmurs, and then turns to face me. “How come the coffee here is so much better than the stuff I make at home? I don’t get it. I use the same beans and have a similar, albeit smaller coffee maker. Do you think it’s the ambience or that fact that I didn’t make it myself that’s the reason?”
I ignore everything she’s just said and repeat my question. “Annoying how?”
She turns away from me, back to facing the counter. “It isn’t a big deal.”
Which means it is.
“Why are you avoiding the question?” I ask.
Gigi returns with Reilly’s pie and then quickly leaves again to help another customer. Silently, we each take a bite.
Once she’s finished with hers, Reilly says, “Promise not to tell Jake?”
I drop my fork. It hits my plate with a clatter and I pick up my napkin to wipe my mouth before turning toward her. “How about you tell me what’s going on and then I’ll decide whether or not to tell Jake. But know, you saying that already has me pretty certain this is something Jake will want to know.”
She twists the napkin in her lap. “There’s this guy. I used to like him, or have a crush on him and we kissed once, but that was a long time ago. Now he keeps asking me out and doesn’t get why I’m saying no.”
“What happened between you liking him enough to kiss him and now?”
She picks up her fork and looks around to see if anyone can hear her before saying, “I walked in on him having sex with someone else.”
My lip curls. “Were you dating this guy and he cheated on you?”
She shakes her head and takes a bite. Once she’s done chewing, she replies, “Nope, we were just flirting a lot and kissed the one time. Thing is I liked him and had for a while. He kissed me the day before I saw what I saw. I get we weren’t dating or exclusive but I thought he liked me back so it hurt when I found out he didn’t.”
She had only kissed this guy and was hurt. It only reminds me of the jacked up way I treated Sydney when I stubbornly clung to the engagement with Kacey. We had done a whole lot more than kiss. I still have so much to make up to her.
“So, he’s still trying to flirt with you and can’t figure out why you’re not in to him anymore?” I ask.
“Yep.”
“And, he doesn’t know you saw him going at it with another woman.”
She nods.
“So, how is he bothering you? Anything Jake or I need to have a word with him over?”
She covers her eyes with her hand. “This is exactly why I wasn’t going to tell you. It’s annoying but it isn’t that big of a deal. I’ve got it covered.”
“I’m not doubting you, Reils. It’s just some assholes need extra motivation.”
She shrugs than says, “If it comes to that, I’ll let you know. At this point he just seemed baffled that his charm has worn off so he’s trying harder. Once it sinks in I’m not interested, he’ll move on to someone else.”
I glance down at my watch.
“Got some place to be?” she asks.
Before I answer her, I catch Gigi’s eye. She mouths “fries?” and I nod my head.
Then I look back at Reilly. “Sydney’s physical therapy is over in twenty minutes so I’ll need to take off in a few.”
“How is she? I wanted to stop by but wasn’t sure if she wanted visitors.”
I glance over at her. “They removed the wires keeping her jaw shut today. She still has a long way to go but she’s made serious progress. Mr. Fairlane keeps her company during the day. If you have time, I’m sure she’d like it.”
Reilly nods. “I’ll pop by tomorrow. If she has an appointment or something, give her my number and tell her to text me another time that works better for her.”
“She has physical therapy in the afternoon from four to four forty-five. Just don’t stop by then. Other than that her next doctor’s appointment isn’t for a couple more days.”
She blinks at me. “Are you guys dating now?”
Gigi walks over, bearing a takeout bag that must hold Sydney’s fries. I shuffle the last bite of pie into my mouth and wash it down with what’s left of my coffee before taking the to-go bag.
Then I look back at Reilly and reply, “Not yet, but I’m working on it.”
She grins and I walk away. Gotta go get my girl.
Ferncliff is no metropolis; the ride to her physical therapist’s office is a short one. Watching my speedometer, it’s a struggle not to speed. Her appointment was only forty-five minutes but I’m pulled back to her like a kite in the wind. As I park, she wheels herself out of the building. I’m out and circling my car by the time she reaches the passenger door.
“Did you have to wait?”
She shakes her head and the sunlight catches the faint line of sweat at her hairline. I wish she took it easier on
herself. Ever since her accident, she’s been wearing track pants, the kind with snaps that go up the sides. They’re huge on her, large enough to accommodate her cast and cinched tight at her waist so that won’t fall off. They’re a far cry from the sexy dresses she always wore, working or otherwise, before.
Even in oversized track pants and a baggy T-shirt she’s still gorgeous. There are times her beauty renders me speechless. Today, tired, and still fighting is one of those moments. Maybe it’s the way the sunlight illuminates the golden strands of the tendrils of hair that have fallen to frame her face. Or, it could be the determined set to her full lips. She’s a fighter, and I admire that about her. I worry that she is pushing herself too hard. Her recovery isn’t some race she needs to win. Her impatience to be back to normal is understandable but I hate the way she’s exhausting herself.
“Good timing.” She breathes, and I notice her mouth doesn’t seem as tense as it was when I dropped her off. She is already getting used to having more range when speaking. “I just finished up,” she continues.
I open her door for her and she doesn’t argue with me when I push her wheelchair up to it. She stands, pivoting on her good leg to get into the seat while I collapse her wheelchair and put it in my trunk. Then I move back and close her door for her.
She’s used the side control to recline her seat more than normal, this therapy session clearly knocked her on her ass.
“You doing okay?” I ask, once I’m in my seat.
“I smell French fries,” she mumbles, her cheek resting on the seat as she faces me with closed eyes.
I laugh and reach into the backseat for the to-go bag. Her eyes flicker open when I set it in her lap. With her good arm, she reaches into the bag to grab a fry. One by one she manages to eat three before she falls asleep.
I don’t wake her when we get back to my house. I make one trip to unlock my door and put her wheelchair in my bedroom, turning down the bed before I go back out to my car and get her.
She presses her cheek to my chest as I carry her inside and to bed. She might be pissed that she fell asleep before she could finish her fries but there’s no way I’m waking her.
After I lock up my car and my apartment, I slip off my shoes, and the one flip flop she wears and crawl into bed with her.
Why Lie? (Love Riddles #2) Page 11
