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“I know what you told them,” I say with raised eyebrows. “But when they came to check on me, they thought there wasn’t any need for me to stay there longer. So they let me go.”
They were a little hesitant about it, given that the Angry Thorn had instructed them to keep me there for another couple of days. With him footing the bill, of course, because as I said, there wasn’t any need for me to stay there any longer. Anyway, I insisted that I wanted to be released and go home. And despite what they’d been instructed to do, they did.
His eyes narrow. “The fuck they did.”
“You —”
“I’m giving them a call.”
“No, you’re not,” I tell him calmly.
“I am.”
He’s ready to let me go when I blurt out a warning, “If you call them, then I’m going to climb these stairs all by myself.”
He stares down at me for a few seconds, his face a mask of displeasure. “You are.”
“Yes, and look,” I glance at them for a second, “there are so many of them. I’m pretty sure it’s a stressful thing to do in my condition. Exactly what the doctor said I shouldn’t do.”
He takes a second to respond. Then, “Are you threatening me?”
“Yup.”
The displeasure on his face goes up, causing his eyes to narrow.
“So you better decide what you want to do,” I continue when he keeps studying me silently. “I don’t think you —”
Instead of words, I squeal.
Because he bends down to pick me up and carry me in his arms.
Bridal style.
Again, all gently and cautiously like I’m the most precious treasure he’s ever held in his arms.
It reminds me of that one time when he carried me over the threshold into our cabin. The day I went to see him practice. It felt like such a significant thing, and of course it was.
Significant and traditional.
What a groom does with his new bride on the night of their wedding.
God, I can’t believe I was married to him back then.
This powerful guy who’s climbing the stairs with me twenty-eight weeks pregnant without breaking a sweat. For a second when he started, I wanted to tell him to put me down because I’m so heavy now. But then I figured it’s his job to carry me around, isn’t it?
It’s his job to take care of me.
That’s what he said to me yesterday. Among other things of course.
So I’m not going to stop him.
But he can’t stop me either then. From taking care of him.
We’ll get to all that in a second though.
First, I want to see his room.
When we enter, he slowly puts me down and I look around. This is the first time I’ve been inside it. In all my visits to their house, I never once set foot inside his room. Not because I didn’t want to or I wouldn’t have taken the opportunity to sneak into his room if it had been presented to me.
But because it was always locked.
Either with him inside it or without.
Anyway, I don’t think much has changed over the years. From what I can see, it still looks like the bedroom of a teenage boy. There’s a desk in one corner and even though there aren’t any books on it, I can still picture it laden with them. There’s a chest of drawers, again empty on top but I can imagine Ledger piling up his clothes on it. Or on the floor, like he used to do back at the cabin. There’s a twin-sized bed that I don’t think can accommodate him now, if it even could when he lived here full-time.
It’s a room stuck in history.
And the more I see of it, the more I’m convinced that I can’t let him do this alone.
Sighing, I look at him. “Hmm. We’re going to have to do something about the bed.”
He’s standing at the door still, rigid and tight.
At my words, the tension in his frame only grows. “What?”
“There’s no way all four of us can fit here.”
“I…” He swallows whatever he was going to say and stays on topic. “Four.”
“Well yeah,” I tell him. “You and me and our two little butterflies. Oh, and my body pillow. I have like, a huge one that supports the bump and my back at the same time. So I guess five.”
“Wh…” He swallows his words again. Then, “Where’s your useless brother? What was he doing when they were discharging you? Why the fuck didn’t he call me and tell me when he knew I was —”
I narrow my eyes at him. “When he knew you were what?”
His first response is to draw in a breath.
Probably because he slipped up just now.
Then, shaking his head and scrubbing a hand down his face, he says, “It doesn’t matter. He —”
“When he knew you were going to drive over to the hospital and wait in the visitor’s lounge until they kicked you out, without ever letting me know that you were there?” Then I add, “Like you did yesterday.”
