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“Are you alright?” I asked Leland while resting a hand on Cole’s shoulder, silently asking him to take it easy.
“I’m fine,” he said, dropping his head to his pillow. “I won’t take your money, Cole.”
“Then you’re stuck with one of us,” Cole seethed, pressing his palms into the footboard and leaning in, all while subtly looking Leland over to make sure he was okay.
“Fine,” Leland bit out, eyes flicking over all of us. “I’ll stay with Franky—” He stopped short. He’d never called me by that name in front of anyone. No one else knew of its importance. “I mean Franklin. I’ll stay with FranklinuntilI’m able to manage on my own.”
“Until a medical professional says you can manage on your own,” Cole warned.
Noon whistled low and slow. “I wouldn’t want to be on his bad side,” he murmured, watching the stare down happening between Leland and Cole. Cole didn’t back down until Leland agreed. And then we spent the next few hours convincing him that between Cole, Noon, Jasper, and the other staffers, The Daisy wouldn’t fall into ruin while he spent the next few weeks recovering.
That evening he was discharged, and I was helping him out of my truck in front of my townhome. The wheelchair seemed excessive, but he couldn’t hop around on one leg all day, and with only one good arm, he couldn’t operate crutches.
“I’m not getting on that,” Leland said, glaring at the wheelchair lift hooked to the side of the porch stairs. I’d fully expected him to be difficult about this.
“I can always carry you up,” I said, gripping the handles of his chair as he debated his options.
“Are you sure that thing is even secure?”
I chuckled, wheeling him onto the ramp and securing him in before ascending the steps slowly to keep pace with him.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” he said when we entered the foyer to an identical lift attached to the staircase straight ahead.
“My offer from outside still stands,” I said, to which he craned his head around to scowl up at me.
“Why do I even need to go up there? And when did you even have time to do all of this?” he grumbled as I rolled him onto the second lift, careful not to hurt his injured leg.
“That’s where the bedrooms and showers are, and Stacey called in a few favors,” I said. “You can take the primary bedroom. Its size can accommodate the chair, and the bathroom shower is bigger too. Cole dropped your clothes and toiletries off earlier. Everything you need is here.”
“Where will you sleep?” he asked as we entered my bedroom.
“In the room across the hall.”
Using the chair’s joystick, Leland spun toward the bathroom. He didn’t compensate enough for his extended leg and ended up nailing the chest of drawers with it. “Damn it!”
“Let me help—”
“No,” he gritted out. “I need to be able to do something for myself.” It took him five minutes of working up a good sweat, but he finally got the chair through the bathroom door.
“You thought of everything.” He scanned the wall-to-wall shower and the medical-grade bench inside of it. “You’ll need to help me with more than just making a sandwich,” he said with trepidation. “Fuck. I didn’t think this through.”
“I won’t make this uncomfortable for you,” I said, trying to reassure him.
“You’ll have to see me naked, Franky. You’ll have to strip me naked, and likely help me shower and do…other things,” he said, chest rising and falling rapidly. “How will that not be uncomfortable?” He had a point.
“I’ll do as little or as much as you need me to, and we’ll come up with ways that you can help yourself. Your arm splint should be off in a few weeks, a month at the most. You’ll gain more mobility and independence,” I said, but he couldn’t see beyond that bench.
“What do you want to do first?” I asked, blocking his view of the shower. “I can make you that sandwich you were just talking about. Won’t require fire to make it.”
Leland huffed at my bad cooking joke, then blushed down at the tiled floor. “I need to wash the hospital scent off of me.”
“Okay,” I said decisively. If I wanted him to be at ease with what came next, I had to pretend that showering him was no big deal. I’d need to keep things clinical. “Give me one second.”
I returned wearing swim trunks and a tank, then helped him up and against the wall so I could remove his clothes. I didn’t linger in any spots, and I made sure my fingers didn’t graze any areas considered private.
“Not yet,” he said, breathing rapidly and clutching the waistband of his boxer briefs with his good hand.
“I’ll set you down, then get the scissors. You can shower with them on, and I’ll cut them away once you’re ready.” I lowered him onto the bench, slipped on the waterproof cast protectors, then got the showerheads going while I rushed for the scissors.
