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Don’t stress, her butt. How could she not stress?
“I have to go,” she breathed. “I need to take a shower and clean my apartment. And—oh God. Do I need to wash my sheets? When was the last time I washed my sheets? I’m supposed to do that weekly, right? It’s definitely been longer than a week.”
“I’ll wash them for you. I can even help you with a bath. It’s going to be okay,” he said gently, and she shook her head. She felt so overwhelmed. She didn’t know how she was going to do everything in a few minutes. “Just breathe for me, pretty girl.”
She forced herself to take a deep breath. One thing at a time. She could do one thing. And that thing was take the world’s fastest shower.
fifteen
Number one-sixty-five.
The little gold numbers stared back at him, begging him to knock on the door. But his palms were sweating—actually, he was pretty sure every inch of him was coated in a nervous sweat. He glanced down at himself. Maybe he should’ve gone home to change out of his work clothes first. But when she’d answered and sounded so sad, he didn’t think about anything else other than getting to her and cheering her up.
So he drove straight from the shop here. A part of him was happy she lived so close. He could pop over at his lunch break if she was home, or if she needed him, he was only a few blocks away. He thought he recognized the building as Wes’ place, but he couldn’t be sure. He’d only been here once, and it had been in the dead of night two years ago after they’d been at a bar and Wes was too drunk to drive himself.
He took a deep breath and raised his fist to the door. There was black grease under his nails and in the fine lines of his skin. He should’ve scrubbed himself raw before he left the shop.
Something crashed on the other side, followed by a loud wail, and all his worries about the way he looked flew out of his head as he banged on the door. “Abbie? Abbie! Are you alright?” She groaned, and panic surged through him. “Open the door!”
Another crash had him all but clawing his way through the dented, beaten up metal door. “Abbie!”
It flung open, and there she stood in a little light green crop top and denim shorts. She was barefoot, and her dark hair was in dutch braids. But when he got to her face and noticed the tears in her eyes, he stopped checking her out and scooped her into his arms. Walking into the apartment, he kicked the door shut behind him, holding her close to his chest.
“It’s okay, baby. Daddy’s here. What’s wrong?”
“H-hit my t-toe,” she whimpered.
“Oh, your toe? I’m so sorry, pretty girl. That’s gotta hurt.” He looked for a place to sit, pausing a moment too long on the chair in her living room. Was that an otter?
Shaking his head, he sank onto the couch and rearranged her on his lap. She rested her head on his chest, and he smoothed his hand down her back, gently rocking her.
“It’s okay. You’re okay. Want me to take a look?” She nodded pitifully, wiping at her eyes. Poor baby looked so tired.
He carefully grabbed her foot and pressed his lips together. Her little toe was a bit red, but it didn’t look broken. “Can you wiggle it for me?” She moved her toes, and he nodded. “It doesn’t look broken. You might need some ice. How about that?”
“It is broken!” she wailed, throwing herself back at him. She would’ve fallen off his lap if he hadn’t had a firm grip around her waist.
“Maybe so,” he muttered. “Maybe it needs to be amputated.” She gasped, pulling away from his chest.
“Amputated?”
Nodding sadly, he stared down at her little glittery purple-painted toe. “If it’s hurting that badly, it might be beyond repair. Might need to just take it off.” She shook her head, her damp eyes wide as she stared up at him.
“Don’t needs to take it off,” she muttered, and he smiled softly at the change of her voice. As if she noticed what she’d just done, she stiffened. “I’m fine.”
Gone was Little Abbie. Big Abbie was back.
“What were you doing?” he asked, eyeing her and her change of mood.
“Cleaning up.” He looked around. It didn’t look that messy. He’d seen his place in a bigger wreck than this.
“It looks fine,” he said. “Not a mess, like you said.”
“Don’t look in my closet and you’ll still believe that.” She grinned up at him. “Are you hungry? I can make us food—okay, that’s a lie. But I make a mean frozen pizza.”
“You relax, pretty girl. I said I wanted to take care of you.” He tucked some stray hair behind her ear and felt her body relax slightly. “Want to tell me what happened?”
Her eyes dropped as she shook her head. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”
