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“I’ve had a career-ending event, so I get that a little bit. Not that it’s the same thing…” She trails off.
“We’ve both been through a lot, I guess.” There’s still so much about her that I don’t know. But I’m not about to push her for details that don’t concern me. I got enough of that in the NFL and then suddenly being out of the NFL. People constantly asking questions, wondering what you’re doing and thinking. I’m not about to do the same thing to her.
We’re quiet the rest of the way until we reach the rise. Through the pines my place is now visible, a 1500-square-foot two-story cabin with board and batten siding in a muted red. It’s got bright white trim and a large, oak door. I left a couple of lights on earlier in the day and now they’re glowing through the windows.
She gasps behind me. “This is your Bigfoot, chainsaw cabin?”
A laugh spills out of me. “I never once used those words, but yeah.” I glance over at her as she joins me, her mouth gaping open.
“It’s so picturesque,” she says. “Not at all what I thought it would be.”
“What did you picture?” I’m anxious to get inside and warm up since my knee’s feeling the cold deep in my bones. But I don’t want to stop looking at her surprised expression. It’s cute.
“I don’t know. It’s the place you holed up and hid from the world. I guess I pictured something more along the lines of the house from the movie,Misery.”
Now it’s my turn to shudder. “The one where the writer gets injured and has to stay in the cabin of his ‘biggest fan,’ the murderous Kathy Bates?”
Her laugh puts me at ease. I like the sound of it. “Well, yeah.” She glances at me and then moves in front of me on the trail. “Come on!”
Once inside, I manage to grab the socks under my leather La-Z-Boy recliner, I hope before she sees them. I walk over to the half-bathroom and laundry room and throw them in a hamper. I motion around the room with my arm. “So, we have the great room here with the fireplace, seating area, and kitchen.”
It’s cozy, with its thick, tan carpet and plush seating. She grabs the now-melted ice pack on the arm of my leather recliner. “Did you ice your knee like I told you to?” A smile curves her lips.
“I always do what you tell me to,” I say, folding my arms.
Her smirk tells me she knows that’s false. She takes a few steps in as her gaze roams over the kitchen. I like having her here.
“I would have cleaned up a little more if I’d known you were coming,” I tell her. Things suddenly feel a little stuffy, but maybe I’ve been more isolated here than I realized.
“So where’s this guest room you were telling me about?”
I motion to the staircase on the far end of the room near the kitchen. “Basically, you can have the whole loft to yourself. There’s a bathroom, bedroom, and a little seating area near the window facing the lake.”
“Where do you sleep?” I don’t miss the hesitation in her eyes.
“There’s a little bedroom back there.” I point to a hallway near the pantry. “I didn’t want to have to do the stairs.” I feel old and broken down and I’m tired of it. Tired of hurting, tired of having to change my life around because of my knee.
She reaches for the bags I had set on the floor when we walked in. “Well, thank you for this. I’ll call up the Motel 6 in the morning.”
“You can stay here until your room is ready.” I reach around her to grab the bags and start heading up the stairs.
“Wait a minute!” she says from behind me. “You just told me you wanted to avoid the stairs. Alec, I can take the bags up myself.”
“I know you can. Doesn’t mean I can’t help a little.”
“A little? You have most of my bags. Please don’t hurt yourself again.”
I reach the top and set down her things, then lean over the railing of the balcony. “While we’re here, you’re not allowed to be my trainer slash physical therapist, okay? No talk about the injury or how to rehabilitate. Please.”
She looks up at me. “But—” and then she stops herself. “There’s no sense being a hero when I’m more than capable of taking my bags up a flight of stairs myself.”
“Again. I’m not saying you aren’t capable. It helps me to help out.” I scratch at the back of my head. “I’m reminded…a lot…about my injury and I’d rather just not have to worry about it while I’m here in my home.” I know I sound irritated. I am, but not necessarily at her. Just at things in general.
She brings the rest of the bags up the stairs and stands close to me. The bed is right there, behind us, soft and inviting. Everything about her is soft and inviting.
“Oh, this is so—open up here,” she says, and I hear her frustration loud and clear.
The loft isn’t a separate bedroom. It’s only got three walls, no door, and there’s a wooden railing where the fourth wall should be.
