Page 149 of Sparks Fly

I watched her for a while. The slow rise and fall of her chest. The faint crease in her brow even in sleep, like part of her was still worrying.

When she woke, it happened instantly. Her eyes opened and focused on me like she had never fully gone under.

“Hey,” she said softly. “How do you feel?”

“Like I lost a fight with the ground,” I said.

She winced sympathetically.

“The doctor came in at seven thirty while he was doing his rounds. He ordered more pain meds and the nurses gave you more through your IV, so you stayed asleep and comfortable.” She brushed her thumb over my hand. “He’ll be back soon. They’re planning to discharge you this afternoon.”

“Good.” I winced. “I think the pain meds have worn off.”

She gave me a look.

“I’ll call the nurse.” She pressed the button before I could protest

A few hours later, the doctor came back and discharged me.

With instructions. We both knew Addison was the one actually paying attention. And she did.

Every word got filed away in her brain. Ice. Medication schedule. No lifting. No stupid attempts at pretending nothing had happened. She asked questions I wouldn’t have thought to ask and nodded like she was committing everything to memory.

* * *

When we got to my place, Addison took over, going into nurse mode right away.

Pillows appeared. Ice packs. Water bottles. A blanket somehow materialized from who knows where. She made sure I had all my meds, and set alarms in her phone to be sure I took them on time. She moved around the apartment with quiet purpose while I sat on the couch feeling increasingly useless.

“I can get my own water,” I said when she came back from the kitchen carrying a fresh glass.

She stopped and looked at me. “You have one functioning arm right now.”

“I have one functioning arm,” I repeated. “Not zero.”

A smile tugged at her mouth, but she handed me the glass anyway.

I took it with my good hand and immediately fumbled it.

The bottom clipped the edge of the coffee table before I managed to catch it.

Addison didn’t say a word. Which was somehow worse.

I sighed. “Okay. That was bad.”

“It was a little bad,” she agreed gently.

“A little?”

She laughed and sat down beside me. “A medium amount bad.”

I leaned back against the couch cushions and rubbed a hand over my face. “I hate this.” The admission came out before I could stop it. Addison’s expression softened immediately.

“I know, baby.”

“No, you don’t.” I shook my head and instantly regretted the movement when my shoulder protested. “I hate sitting here while everyone tells me what I can and can’t do. I hate needing help to put on a shirt. I hate that opening a bottle of water suddenly feels like an Olympic event.”

She got up and knelt between my legs so I wouldn’t have to turn to look at her. She cupped my face, her eyes filling with tears. “I know you’ve spent your entire life taking care of yourself,” she said. “And I know this probably feels strange. Maybe even a little scary?”