Page 21 of Yours Truly, Fall

“My head is heavy.” He sports a sudden smirk. “And my shoulder is giving me some trouble since I was tackled earlier, but it’s all a part of the healing process.”

“Ha. Ha.” My sarcasm kicks in. “You’re so funny.” I earn a chuckle from the sleepyhead. It actually sounds genuine, too. “I’ll get you a pill to help with the pain.”

He closes his eyes, mumbling, “Thanks.”

Maybe if we can ease the pain he’s feeling, he’ll be less of a pain to take care of and learn to trust me. I grab a napkin and dispense the pills into it, then fill a glass with water. When I return to the couch, I find Brandon already asleep. That’s good.

I place the napkin on the coffee table for when he wakes again and pad back into the kitchen to eat. I’m starving and won’t be good for anyone if I don’t eat.

Heating the lasagna in the microwave makes me realize I can hear the appliance. It’s usually too noisy at home. The quiet here is impressive, almost as if nothing else in the world existed. It’s dark outside, but there’s no need for privacy since no one else lives nearby, so I leave the blinds open.

The beep of the microwave has me jumping to pop the door before it continues. A glance at my patient confirms he’s still asleep, and I relax. Standing at the counter, I blow on a bite as I look back over at him. He’s a big guy, his body stretching along the couch. His slightly reclined position is the only reason his legs fit.

It’s been hard to miss how defined each of his muscles is, from his abs to his biceps. He’s built for lifting heavy equipment like hoses, people, or whatever else firefighters need to carry. The fire station is small, and I imagine, much like a family. I wonder how they’re getting along without him.

Every bite of Brenda’s lasagna is a burst of flavor the second it hits my tongue. Garlic and cheese melding with sausage that I know must be from Saint Clary’s Butcher Shop north of downtown. I close my eyes and relish each bite, trying to identify every ingredient as it melts in my mouth.

Dolly is a great cook, but Italian food isn’t her specialty. Before I can stop myself, I release a moan, savoring the delectable flavor. My eyes pop open, and I peek around the cabinet to make sure I didn’t wake him. He shifts, leaving me holding my breath, and I watch as his face relaxes into a deeper sleep. So handsome.

I steal another forkful from the casserole dish before packing the lasagna away, contemplating where my thoughts just went.

Is that the real rub? Brandon Culver was always so attractive that it made me feel special by association. He chose me, or so I thought. There’s no sting following the reminiscence. His being injured has softened the humiliation enough to see him in a new light. Currently, the dim glow of a lamp in the corner provides enough light to see, but not enough to keep him awake.

Since he’s doing okay, I wander into the spare bedroom where I’m staying. The view matches his during the day, but I close the blinds, not wanting to be woken up at the crack of dawn. Digging through my bag, I curse when I realize I was so quick to throw in scrubs but forgot most everything else. I did remember my toothbrush, though. As for toothpaste, I sneak down the hall into his bathroom and load the bristles before tiptoeing through the bedroom.

“Ack!” A tall figure stands in the shadows of the doorway. Brandishing my toothbrush, I jab it in the midsection and run down the hall to Brandon under the echoing groans behind me. “Wake up, Brand—oh no!”

I stop my feet so fast that I tip forward, waving my arms to hold my balance. Turning around, I ask, “Brandon, is that you?”

“What the fuck, Autumn?”

“Oh no. I’m so sorry.” With the light behind me, it’s hard to see anything other than a figure brought to its knees. Rushing back to him, I say, “Logic didn’t kick in, and I thought I was being attacked.”

He groans louder and looks up at me. “Attacked by your patient who happens to live here?”

I shrug, though I doubt he can see it. Swinging my arm wide, I stammer, “Well, um, you were wandering around in the dark⁠—”

“In my own house.”

When my eyes finally adjust to the low light drifting in through the bedroom, I hope to high heavens I didn’t leave him worse off than how I found him. “Valid point. Sorry, I’m used to a house full of noisy people who stomp around on creaky wood floors. It’s so quiet here. I didn’t hear you and didn’t expect you to be walking around. I thought you were still asleep.” I drop to my knees and cup his face with my hands. “Look at me, Brandon.”

His gaze flows from the floor to meet mine, and each harsh breath of his softens. The lack of bright light can’t hide the way his eyes caress me, as if his fingertips were tracing the lines of my face. My heart beats harder, and I part my lips to take in a bigger breath.

I turn away under the discomfort of the weight of that silent exchange. Standing, I release him and drag my palms down the sides of my legs. On the intake of a sharp breath, I say, “I think you’re going to live.”

“Tell that to my abs.”

Leaning down, I say, “You’re going to live,” and walk back toward the living room. “But you’re probably going to need some pain meds now.”

Every step back toward the living room is a struggle for him, but he insists despite my objections. He stops short of the couch. Holding his hand over his stomach, he says, “What were you doing anyway?”

“In your room?” My voice pitches, revealing my guilt without evidence. His brows pull together as he stares at me like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or call the hospital on me again. “I packed in a rush and forgot my toothpaste.”

“So you stole my toothpaste?”

“I didn’t steal your toothpaste. I borrowed some.”

“Borrowed?” He moves to the couch and sits down, still holding his side like he was stabbed. Technically, he was. “I don’t need it back.” He takes the glass of water, taking a sip to chase the meds. He finds me standing on the other side of the coffee table, and adds, “I was expecting to get help, but this isn’t how I imagined home healthcare worked.” He’s not wrong.