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Or her house.
God, she would love to be in herhouse.
Hercouch. Her bedroom. The walls she’d worked so hard to afford. The space. The privacy. The fact that it was hers and hers alone.
“You’ll get there,” she whispered.
But as she struggled to reach the bowl of candy, to lift the remote, to keep her eyes open for any decent length of time, she knew that it wouldn’t come soon enough. Knew that she was stuck here…knew it was going to destroy her.
Clattering had her eyes peeling open, the bright rays of the sun shining through the windows of the guest bedroom.
Notthe family room.
Not the couch she’d fallen asleep on every night of the last week.
But the bedroom that had become hers since she’d been discharged.
The pillow next to her was indented and when she carefully shifted, pressed her nose to the surface and inhaled.
Fuckingman.
He’d slept next to her.
Again.
He had a perfectly good bedroom with a king-sized mattress, and yet he continued sleeping next to her, sharing the double bed.
Of course, he didn’t ever do it in a way that she could catch him—could catch him and yell at him and—
The door swung in, Connor carrying a plate laden with food and a steaming mug.
Coffee. Thank God.
She needed caffeine before she started thinking about—
“Give me,” she demanded grumpily, cutting the thoughts off, shifting her elbows beneath her, and trying to shove the pillows behind her back.
“Please…” Connor taunted lightly, setting the plate and mug on the nightstand and moving to help her, shifting the pillows, and getting her into a seated position far more efficiently than she would have managed on her own.
Ugh.
“Coffee,” she demanded again, mostly because she needed to think about anything that wasn’t how good it felt to have Connor fussing over her.
That wouldn’t last.
Already, he was glancing down at her with annoyance in his hazel eyes as he repeated, “Please.”
“Please,” she muttered, hating the annoyance, but embracing it. She had to. Otherwise—
He handed her the mug. “I have a shift today.”
That sent a tiny bolt of fear through her. It shouldn’t. She was fine on her own, wasalwaysfine on her own—and even if she wasn’t, she always found a way to be. “Of course,” she said. “You already took enough time off on my account. Don’t worry about me”—a small sip of the steaming black brew—“I’ll be fine. Actually, I just need a few more days, and then I’ll be out of your hair completely—”
“My mom will be over in a couple of minutes,” he said, talking right over her, taking the mug after she’d sipped and swapping it with the plate of food. “She’ll hang with you today and then when my dad comes over this afternoon, he’ll spot you on your exercises.”
“I’ll be fi—”
“Cole and Kim will be over after school,” he said, still talking over her. “They’ll make sure you get dinner and then hang around until—”
