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I pushed the car door open, looking over Jake’s house and garden. The yard was a colorful riot of dahlias, zinnias and enormous sunflowers, as you would expect from a man who ran a landscaping business with his brother. The house looked fantastic, too. Cream clapboard, dormer windows, a long front veranda. The window trim was painted a deep navy blue and for some reason, that tiny detail had me frowning. Had Jake chosen the color scheme? There’d been a time when I’d dreamed we’d do that together. When all my plans had been wrapped up in Jake and our future together. A lovely old clapboard home with a big yard for the three kids I’d wanted to have. A picket fence, of course. Now I was walking down the driveway of a house I’d never even been inside before. Jake’s house. Clutching a container of banana bread in front of me like a shield.
I stepped onto the veranda, taking in the rocking chair and long bench nestled under the window with a smile. All very homey and sweet. Should I knock? Ring the doorbell? He’d been home from hospital a few days now, but I couldn’t imagine he was particularly mobile yet. The last thing I wanted to do was make him walk to the door. Still, it felt weird just to go in unannounced. I compromised by pushing the door open halfway and, leaning in, called out a tentative, “Hello?” No answer. I bit my lip. “Hello? Jake?” a little bit louder. Still no answer. Fuck.
I pushed the door the rest of the way open and stepped inside. It was dark, with the blinds closed, and I squinted, waiting for my eyes to adjust. Then I saw him: he was lying on the sofa, his good arm above his head, his other one resting on his stomach. It was utterly ridiculous that a guy could be so badly injured and somehow still look hot, but here we were.
Setting the banana bread on the kitchen counter, I quickly sprayed sanitizer on my hands, then walked into the living room. “Jake?” I didn’t want to disturb him but in the back of my mind I was worried about a fever, so I reached over and lightly touched his cheek.
He opened his eyes, and instantly I froze. There was no mistaking the flash in their stormy gray depths when he realized it was me leaning over him. “Are you really here?”
I still had my fingers on his cheek and I frowned. He was hot to the touch. Yep, a fever. Good thing I checked. “Yes, I’m really here.”
He pulled an earbud from his ear. “I’m not dreaming?”
Oh. That’s why he hadn’t heard me come in. “No, you’re not. But I’m not surprised you’re a little confused. You’re running a temperature.” I knelt on the floor next to the couch.
“I’ve been taking my medication.”
“That’s great, but I should check out your wound, to make sure it’s not infected.” I hesitated. Was I really doing this? This was meant to be a flying visit, just to drop off some crappy banana bread and see with my own eyes that he was okay. Fuck it. I was here now and it was a lot easier and faster for me to have a quick look myself than to call a doctor. I gestured to his shirt. “I need to lift this up.”
There was that flare in his eyes again, which made me swallow around a throat that was suddenly dry. My hands were shaking slightly as I reached for the hem of his shirt and peeled it up far enough to see the bandage. I did my best to ignore the sight of his rock-hard abs, to squash down the memories of other times I’d lifted his shirt for very different reasons. “This might hurt a little.” I pulled back the bandage carefully, blowing out a breath of relief when there were no signs of infection around the wound. “It looks good, but I think you should up the dosage of antibiotics. The main job of the spleen is to control infection, and now that your body has to do that on its own, it might need a little extra help. At least in the initial recovery phase.” I sounded amazingly knowledgeable and professional, which of course I was. But inside, I was quaking. Jake was watching me closely, his eyes narrowed.
“What are you doing here?”
Straight to the point. Great. “Checking on you, that’s all. Don’t overthink it.” There, that should stop any further questions. “Where are your antibiotics?”
“In the kitchen.”
I got to my feet and headed into the kitchen, sighing. “Okay, well, that’s not great. You need to have them within easy reach. The last thing you want is to have to drag your ass to the kitchen every time you need to take one.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
“It’s fine, just don’t do it again.” I looked around. They weren’t on the counter anywhere I could see, which meant they were tucked away in a cupboard. Even worse! I eventually found them in a cupboard above the fridge, in a plastic tub with lots of other medicine, and really had to bite my tongue to stop giving Jake a piece of my mind. These medications were very important for his recovery, and he’d gone and made it so much harder to take them, dammit. I drew in a deep breath and managed to tell him as much in a reasonably calm tone.
“Gabe comes over and gives them to me when I need them,” he said meekly.
Bringing the tub of meds over to him, I sat on the coffee table, rifling through the bottles, looking for the antibiotics. “Well, I guess that’s okay then. Kind of. Sorry. Okay, here they are. Do you know when you took the last one?” I could see he was struggling to remember, so I said, “Never mind. I’ll text Gabe. I’ll also call your doctor and let him know what’s going on. It wouldn’t surprise me if he recommends a short-term increase in the dosage, just to help you through this first phase.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“You’re running a fever. It’s necessary.” I’d shot off a text to Gabe while I was talking and he’d replied straight away. “Yep, you’re due. I’ll get you some water.” I grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, and coming back, asked, “Are you able to sit up?” He couldn’t, so I had to help him. Man. Even sick and injured, he smelled so good. “Here you go.” Twisting the cap off the water bottle, I handed it over, along with the pills. He took them without complaining, and to stop myself from ogling him I looked away and down at the tub of medications. I picked through them idly, checking out what he had, until something in particular caught my eye. “What the fuck is this stuff for?”
He looked at the bottle in my hand. “Pain relief.”
“Mm-hmm. So do you mind telling me why it’s still sealed?”
“Because I don’t need it.”
“What in the ever-loving fuck is that supposed to mean? You don’tneedit? How are you managing the pain, then?”
“Meditation.”
I gaped at him. “Did I hear that right? You think you’re going to meditate your way through this?”
“Yeah.” He sounded defensive, maybe a little petulant.
“Are you a superhero, by any chance? Wolverine, with extra fast healing powers?”
“Don’t be dumb.”
