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Chapter Eleven
Jackson
When I came back up with the towels, shampoo, and some clean sheets for the bed, I noticed the door was left opened a bit. I knocked, but Lena didn’t answer, so I walked in, figuring she knew I was coming, and that’s why she’d left the door ajar. The water was running in the bathroom, and the door had been left ajar, with Rufus edged in between it and the door jamb. I froze when I saw her soaking in the tub. Suddenly, I felt like I was back in high school as a wave of embarrassment swept over me, and I quickly turned away.
“Ah ... Lena?”
The sound of my voice must have startled her. The water sloshed loudly, and she groaned with pain. “Ouch! I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Sorry, are you okay? I didn’t mean to startle you. I’ll leave these towels here on this stool. I brought up some shampoo and found some conditioner.” I set the towels and plastic bottles down on a chair just inside the door to the bathroom and turned to walk away. I stopped before leaving, and over my shoulder, I said, “Oh, by the way, you might not want to stay in there too long, especially if the water is hot; the hot water isn’t good for the swelling.”
“Thanks, you’re probably right. It looked so inviting, but now that I’m in here, I’m not sure I can get up.”
“Do you need help?” I asked, keeping my back toward her but sounding a little too eager.
“No ... um ... yes ... I think I might, but ...”
“Don’t worry; I won’t look.” I picked up a towel, opened it, and holding it sideways. I walked up to the side of the tub. Keeping my eyes averted, I reached in and wrapped the towel around her while helping her up.
Our eyes met. I kept my gaze on hers, not wanting her to think I wanted a glimpse of her body. Her one good eye, blue as the deepest part of the ocean, and the other, a swollen slit of puffy black and blue, gazed into mine for a few seconds before she glanced down and placed one hand on the towel and the other up to her face in a poor attempt to hide her eye.
“Thank you. God, I must look horrible.”
“You’ll heal.” Yeah, she did look awful. Like someone beat the crap out of her, awful. I wanted to trail my finger down the side of her cheek, wishing I could stroke away the pain. Almost as if something or someone took possession of my hand, the tips of my fingers were at the side of her face, ready to find out how soft her skin might be. But when her mouth opened as though the gesture shocked her, I dropped my hand and stepped away. I wanted to touch her. I wanted very much to take away her pain—not only the bruises but the mental anguish I knew she must carry inside—and the thought worried me.
“Listen, Jackson. This is great; what you’re doing for me.” Her words brought me out of all those visions I had no business thinking about. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
“Don’t worry about it right now.” I turned to walk out of the bathroom but stopped and turned back. “If you want to shower and wash your hair, the shower controls are backward, something I’ve been meaning to fix but haven’t gotten around to yet.”
“Okay, thanks.”
I had to force myself to turn back around and walk away. Then, coaxing Rufus out of the way, I shut the bathroom door and went back down to the main house. Black eye and all, she was lovely, but she wasn’t in any shape—emotionally or physically—for me to be thinking about her in that way. Hell, the way I saw it, she probably never would be. I swore that if this Troy character was still alive, and I ever met up with the coldblooded bastard, I’d need to have someone restrain me because I knew I’d want to kill him.
Down in my own kitchen, I decided to make some eggs and toast. Considering that Lena walked into the bar around nine, and it was nearly noon now, she must be hungry. So, I brewed some fresh coffee and put some butter in a pan when the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Jackson, are you coming back? You left your guitar here on the stage,” Brodie said.
“Shit, um ... could you put it in the office? I don’t know when I’ll get back there.”
“Yeah, sure. Also, where did you put the daily sheet with the liquor count on it?”
“Look in the register,” I barked. Brodie knew that’s where I always put it. Out of frustration, I took a couple of steps toward the doorway.
“I did, it’s not there, and one of the keg spouts is jammed.”
God, I hated when Brodie acted like an imbecile.
“Open your eyes, Brodie, and look harder. I don’t have time for this. I’ve got things happening here.”
“Yeah? Well, while you’re off playing the hero, I’ve got a business to run.”
“My business.”
“Yeah, your business, and I’m running it by myself. So cut me some slack, will you? Okay, found it. You stuck it under the twenties. By the way, how’s your fawn?” There was a note of actual concern in his question.
“Mending.”
I turned to the sizzling sound, followed by the smell of burning butter coming from the stove. “Shit, I need to go. Talk to you later.”
