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I want to tell her I’m capable of driving myself, but that’s a lie and would be dangerous with the way the pain is throbbingthrough my battered body. I do have pain pills in the center console, but they don’t work instantly and really, I want to hold out for the high-power shit I have at home.
So I hand over my keys and direct her to where I parked. I still have some pride though and get into the passenger seat without any help from her.
She returns the wheelchair and is back in a matter of minutes. Driving to my place, we’re both silent, though I notice her mouth moving at times and how white her knuckles are as she grips the steering wheel with two hands.
At my house, Blaire looks between my arm crutches and me. “I should have kept the wheelchair,” she grumbles.
“I’ll be fine,” I lie, twisting to reach for my crutches in the back seat and sucking in a harsh inhale as pain flares through my hip.
Blaire’s face drains of color and she bites down on her lower lip, her eyes silently regarding me. “Maybe I could call someone for some help getting you into the house,” she says after a moment of thought.
That’s the final nail in the coffin housing my pride. “I have a wheelchair in the house.”
She doesn’t say a word, merely nods, and heads into the house. The wheelchair isn’t hard to find. It’s right there in the entranceway, waiting for me like it’s been lately. After work, I’ve been easing right into it, to give my hips and knees a break and hiding it in the hallway closet whenever she was over.
Wheeling it up to the open door, she helps me transfer into it and hands me my crutches. I hold them as she pushes me into the house.
“The bedroom, please,” I request in a small voice. Despite how things ended between us, I never wanted Blaire to see me like this. Pity is the last thing I want from her.
On shaking arms, I crawl onto the bed, kicking off my shoes before laying back against the cool pillows. I blow out a breath and try to scrunch over and get my nightstand’s drawer open. Blaire is there in an instant, pulling the bottle out. Her brows go up as she reads the label, but she doesn’t say a word, just opens the lid and hands me the bottle.
I toss two in my mouth, even though I should really only take one of these, and keep my eyes averted from hers as I hand her back the bottle.
When she shuts the drawer, I say, “Thanks, Blaire. Go back to the golf tournament and get your car. I can have someone drive me to pick up my SUV tomorrow.”
The mattress shifts as she plops down on the other side of the bed. Turning on her side and being careful not to jostle me, she props an elbow up and rests her head in that hand. “What the hell happened, Lee?”
“In short? My body is fucked up.”
Those green eyes of hers that I adore roll as she scowls. “No,” she snaps. “The other day. The last few days, actually. I’ve been trying to talk to you, and you’ve been avoiding me.”
Letting out a sigh, I tuck my hands behind my head and gaze up at the ceiling. “My hips and knees are shot. I have degenerative arthritis in them and pretty soon I won’t be able to use the crutches to get around and will need a wheelchair full time because surgery isn’t advisable due to my age and the previous injuries.”
Her hand goes to my chest, resting right over where my heart is beating painfully. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I turn my head and take in her lovely heart-shaped face, seeing the concern there and also taking note of how young she looks. Because she is young. Too young to be saddled with a broken-down man like me.
“So you could pity me? Stay with me out of some misplaced obligation?”
“Pity? I don’t pity you, Lee.”
I see the truth of that on her face and my chest constricts. “You have your own life and your own issues to deal with.”
She snorts. “You mean my mother?”
“Yeah, I figured something along those lines.”
“She’s a pain in my ass and the asses of everyone that loves her. We need to do something about her and stop enabling her.”
My brows creep up. “That sounds serious. Is she an alcoholic or?” I let that question dangle. The pills are already working their magic and the pain is starting to merge into something hazy and far away.
“Kleptomaniac.”
She grins. “And probably a narcissist as well, but that’s something most of us can deal with.” Her grin fades. “Having a mother steal from every single friend and family member’s house she’s ever been in isn’t so easy to deal with.”
I reach out the hand closest to her and run my fingers down her arm. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too. I’m sorry I let her issues have such sway over my life. I’ve shut people out because I’ve been ashamed.”
