Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“I know you want to worry about me, but it’s not your job anymore.”
All it takes is those five words to light a match inside me. “Not my job? Did you think I’d just walk out the door and never look back?” I walk toward the trailhead, standing with my feet on the edge of it, and aiming my gaze through the trees until the dirt path disappears. “You can’t do stuff like that without telling someone. If not me, then someone else. You have a concussion. Running isn’t recommended for your treatment plan.”
“I searched it online, and the threads said it was fine—”
“The threads?” The shock of him saying that out loud has me whipping back around to face him. “You searched it online? Big mistake.” I drop my head into my hand to rub my forehead, hoping to ease the headache that wants to come on. When I look back up, I say, “I’m so glad you’re listening to the armchair professionals online. As for the real world, running with any kind of intensity can cause undue psychological stress. You’re recovering. Let’s not backpedal.”
“How am I supposed to know these things if you’re not around?”
I already packed my dirty clothes last night and was ready to move back home today. Not because I wanted to leave, but I’ve lost focus on my job and have been enjoying my time with him a little too much, considering I’m being paid. We’ve grown so close in such a short time that I’m afraid of what will happen if I stay the full week as initially planned.
If I remove myself and what I want from this scenario, I’ve become redundant. “You don’t need me,” I say. “You’re capable of taking care of yourself. I’m not saying this because I want you to, but because you’ve shown me through your actions that you are able. I’m not complaining about the shower, but you’re very close to successfully doing it by yourself. So instead of feeling like a nurse who can make a difference in your life, I’ve become nothing more than a babysitter. And you don’t need that either.”
“I do need you.”
The lines pinched between his brows only reaffirm how much he believes that. “Not for the right reasons.”
“How wrong can they be?” His expression lifts, a smile tempting the corners of his mouth upward.
“You need me to stay because you like the company.” It’s not exactly a bad thing that he wants me around for his own benefit. That street runs two ways. “That’s all.”
“That’s all I need, for you to know I want you to stay.”
Toeing the handle of the axe, it doesn’t budge. I bend down to pick it up, but I’m surprised by its weight and drop it. “You weren’t lifting this, were you?”
“No. Why?”
The relief I feel when he replies is unmatched. The damage this would cause to his muscles would set him back a month or longer. “It’s heavy, really heavy, and you don’t need to strain your muscles. But I’m still at a loss as to where the blood came from. From the fall?”
“Yeah.” He lifts his good arm and shows me the skin that’s been ripped. “A broken branch got me.”
“Got you is an understatement.” Taking his hand, I start to tug him back to the steps. “We need to get you cleaned up to see if you’ll need stitches.”
He doesn’t put up a fight, and by the third step, his grip tightens around my hand like it’s his to hold. I shouldn't love the way I feel safer with his hand wrapped around mine or the way he causes my heart to beat faster. But I do. I really do.
I slept better sharing the same bed with him than I do at home. And we didn’t even do anything other than hold each other or lie next to each other. How do feelings pop up out of nowhere like that? I’m making my way and minding my own business, dreaming of having a little place to call my own and a job where I get to spend more time helping people than I do desk work.
Only a few days into this reunion we’re having, and boom, I feel like he cares about me like I do him. It doesn’t hurt that he doesn’t remember what happened between us.
When we walk inside, I pull him toward the peninsula. “I didn’t bring a full kit, but I have some wipes and bandages, which will work for this new wound. Come sit.” He sits on the barstool and raises his arm for me. I clean the area and take another look. “It looked worse than it is. You won’t need stitches, but there is some bruising on your ribs.” I stand, looking at him. His lopsided grin tells me he’s absolutely eating this up, and those eyes that hold a million mischievous ideas inside are telling me he’s already plotting another way to get me to stay, since this scratch, even though it’s not pretty, won’t justify the change in plans. “Is that from today?”