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Sydney smirked. “He did save my life so I’m guessing he won’t let all that effort go to waste.”
There was no way I was letting her out of my sight for a minute. My heart couldn’t survive it.
Trailing after the doctor, a male nurse entered and removed Sydney’s IV.
“Take it easy for the next two weeks, okay?” the doctor said, leveling Sydney with a pointed look before walking away.
Gathering up her clothes from the chair (minus the tights), I handed them to her along with a pair of scrubs I’d lifted earlier. “Let me help.”
“I can handle it,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m going to put my jacket on over this anyway.” She motioned to her light blue hospital gown.
“You could get dizzy and fall over. Stop being such a pest.”
That brought a smile to her lips. Her hand came to rest on my shoulder as I held the pants for her while she slipped one leg into them, then the other.
Yours, a distant voice called out.
However it had happened didn’t matter anymore. Life had intervened and brought us together. And now she was mine to keep safe. No one and nothing would ever hurt her again. I’d make sure of it.
A foreign sense of calm stole over me. It brushed aside the residual anxiety of having almost lost her. That’s when I knew. I’d never felt this way before, not for anyone, and immediately recognized it for what it was. I was falling for my wife.
Sydney
Scott knew. He’d seen the scars. The look on his face––the horror––as the doctor had cut away my leggings, could be seen from a mile away. I’d dated some in the past, not a lot, and I’d warned them all, prepared them for the inevitable. It’s not like I could go my entire life hiding my thighs.
I’d told them I was in a car accident when I was three and didn’t correct their assumptions. It was partly true; I had been in a car accident. Except that’s not what had caused the scars. Without context, however, they looked like what they were––battle scars.
I glanced over at the man in the driver’s seat and found his face closed for business. Inscrutable. He hadn’t uttered a single word since breaking me out of the hospital. We’d been in the car for twenty minutes and it already felt like twenty thousand, the quiet growing more oppressive than my headache.
“Nice car,” I finally blurted out because…fuck it.
A grunt. That’s all I got in reply. So much for small talk.
With no recollection of how we’d gotten to the hospital, I was surprised when he pulled up to the entrance of the ER in a black-on-black AMG 500 S. Turning into his driveway, he parked in the garage and came around to the passenger side. “You don’t have to carry me. Just let me lean––” Flatly ignoring me, he scooped me up in his arms. “Whoaokay, never mind.”
Not even a crack in that hard façade. Somebody was in a mood.
The dogs went crazy at the sight of me being carried, hopping around Scott’s legs and barking as he marched through the house headed for my new bedroom. I’d missed them terribly when I was in New York. Who knew the smell of cheesy feet could inspire longing.
“Quiet!” Scott shouted, and the dogs, sensing Scott the Grinch was back, ceased barking immediately.
“Neat trick. I’ve gotta try it sometime.”
I looked up into his chiseled features as he gently placed me on the bed and his lack of response stole my smile away. The Grinch was not amused.
“Romeo. Juliet. Out.” As soon as the dogs were ushered out of the room, he slammed the door shut behind them. “What can I get you to eat?”
“Nothing. I need a shower. I smell like Windex.”
His gaze softened, sympathy there. “Shower is too dangerous. How about a bath?”
“Okay.”
He walked into the attached bathroom, and I heard the water running. When he emerged, he leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. Despite the pain, despite the possible brain damage I may have incurred, backlit with the white Henley clinging to every curvy muscle of his upper body and his thighs filling out the worn jeans, he looked like a living sex fantasy. One I wanted to explore in real life.
“I have to stay in the bathroom while you’re in there…for your safety.”
“Please tell me most women don’t fall for that.”
He gave me a dimpled smile for the first time all day. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Mrs. Blackstone. You could pass out in a hot bath.” At this point, that smile could’ve pretty much made me agree to anything. Heck, I’d put on a clown costume if that was his kink.
He scooped me back up and my arms automatically wrapped around his neck, holding on like he was the last fixed point on the planet. He felt steady and solid, smelled so good I wanted to sniff his neck and lay my head on his shoulder. In the dimly lit bathroom, he set me on the edge on of the tub and turned off the water. “Get undressed and I’ll help you in,” he said, volume low, tone serious. Then he handed me a towel. “Use this to cover yourself.”
