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“There’s a rolling chair in the office,” Brooks said, pulling me out of my head.
“What?”
“The girl, you said she was unsteady on the crutches,” he said. “There’s a rolling chair in the office you can steal for her to roll around on. It’s mostly one level here,” he told me with a shrug.
“Thanks, I’ll steal that.”
“Alright. Good. Keep me posted,” he said, toasting me with his cup, then heading out to do… whatever it was that Brooks did during his day.
I made my way back out to the common room, wanting to be somewhere visible for when Sylvie emerged.
I probably nodded off here and there, catching maybe an hour total when, sometime around ten, I heard the telltale tapping sound of the crutches on the floor.
Getting up, I grabbed the chair out of the office and was wheeling it into the hall when my bedroom door burst open, then there she was, trying to get through the door, misjudging the distance, and almost falling off her crutches.
“Goddamnit, motherfucking, cock-sucking, pain in the…” she was fuming before her gaze lifted, aware of being watched, and looked at me. “I’m not apologizing,” she said, jaw tight.
“Don’t need one. Got a chair for you to roll on, though,” I said, pushing it toward her.
“Thank God,” she said, barely resisting the urge to chuck the crutches back into the room. “I think Nitro needs to go outside,” she said, using her good leg to scoot herself out of the doorway so my dog could walk out, looking well-rested and pleased with himself.
Figure if I got to share a bed with a woman like Sylvie, I’d be pretty proud of myself too.
“Come on, bud,” I said, patting my leg and leading him out into the yard before coming back to find Sylvie inching through the common room before, suddenly, Sully was appearing out of nowhere, dressed now in a light blue Hawaiian shirt with a white flower pattern on it, and grabbing the back of her chair.
“Need a ride?” he asked, all charm and affability.
“Sure,” she agreed after looking up at him.
“Where are we heading?”
“Coffee,” Sylvie said, sounding like she was dying for it.
She’d only had a few hours of sleep. After a traumatic event.
“You should head back to bed,” I suggested. “I’ll keep Nitro out here so he doesn’t bug you anymore.”
“I need to get to work,” she insisted, and over her head both Sully and I shared a raised brow look.
“Babe, you can’t work today,” I insisted.
“I have to,” she shot back. “We’re short-staffed.”
“You have a concussion. The doc said you’re not supposed to be using your brain too much for a while,” I reminded her.
“Gotta rest that noggin,” Sully agreed. “I suggest you spend the day watching rom-coms with me.”
“Rom-coms?” Sylvie asked, lip curled at the very idea.
“The good ones,” Sully insisted.
“I don’t think there are good ones.”
“Oh, quite to the contrary, angel. There are many good ones,” he insisted, pushing her into the kitchen.
There was a strange sensation growing in my system then. A churning, burning sort of thing.
It took a long-ass time to recognize it for what it was.
Jealousy.
I’d never been jealous before in my life.
I’d never been into a woman enough to feel possessive of her.
I mean, not that I was interested in Sylvie. I barely knew the woman. I was just worried about her. That was all it was.
“Fuck,” I hissed raking my hands down my face, then moving into the kitchen as well.
“Our girl here has agreed to give it the day,” Sully declared.
“It’s already after ten,” Sylvie said, looking a mix of worried and relieved.
“The place won’t fall down without you,” I told her. “That Russ guy is there to run things.”
“He’s already overworked,” Sylvie said.
“Where do you work?” Sully asked as he moved around the kitchen, gathering shit out of the fridge, then going to the stove.
“Barlowe House,” Sylvie supplied.
“Sober house,” I supplied. Then, to Sylvie, “Sully is new in town.”
“Noble work,” Sully said, heating up a pan, then cracking eggs into it.
“You cook?” I asked, brows drawing down.
“Don’t you?” he asked.
“No,” Sylvie and I said in unison.
“I mean, I can microwave. And heat up a solid TV dinner,” Sylvie said.
“That’s an oxymoron,” Sully insisted as he tossed a dishrag over his shoulder. “There’s no such thing as a solid TV dinner.
“It’s the closest thing to home-cooked I’ve ever known,” Sylvie admitted. “And they get bonus points for going on sale all the time. Between TV dinners and ramen, I manage to do alright.”
“Well, we can do better than alright, can’t we… Voss, was it?” Sully asked.
Sylvie’s head turned in my direction, her one-eyed gaze curious.
“He’s new,” I told her.
She looked worse than she had the night before. It was to be expected. It took the body time to catch up with the trauma sometimes. Bruises settled in darker. Fluid rushed to injured spots, making the swelling worse.
