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Trey chuckled, “I’m teasing, but if you do have Chad Larson’s number, delete it immediately, please.”
Chelsea giggled, nodded, and continued to chop up tomatoes, “Oh I will, don’t you worry.”
A beat of quiet and chopping against a cutting board passed before Trey cleared his throat, “How is she?” Trey asked his voice lowered.
Chelsea continued on without looking up, “She didn’t have Physical Therapy today, so she has only left her room for a sandwich I made at around noon, the bathroom and a shower. Other than that, I haven’t seen her.” Without looking at his mom he could hear the sadness in her tone.Shit.
“Should I go check on her?” He asked.
Chelsea shrugged, “Might as well, maybe she will be hungry.”
Trey immediately wiped his hands on a towel and headed down the hall straight to Maybelle’s room. He halted in front of her door, only an instant of hesitation before he lightly knocked.
No response.
She must be asleep.
He softly knocked again. No answer.
Trey reached for the doorknob and opened the door. The bedroom door flung out at him making him jump back and a blonde hollering female rolled out into the hallway at his feet.
On the floor, laying on her back was his Maybelle staring up at him wide-eyed with mirthful surprise.
Trey crouched down frantically checking her over.
“What the hell happened?” He demanded.
He swooped a hand under her neck and helped her sit up. Maybelle didn’t look injured or to be in pain, but she was hot to the touch, her cheeks red and her skin damp with sweat, like she just got done with a long jog.
Maybelle’s astonishment turned beaming as she cackled, “Well whatever happened to knocking? I was leaning up against the door when you opened it and sent me tumbling.”
Trey wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her up to her feet, “I did knock.” He defended.
Maybelle snorted, “Not loud enough.”
She pulled out of his arms to stand by herself but still leaning up against the wall behind her.
She was standing,by herself.
Trey gave her a once over, noticing the white crew socks, black leggings that were painted to her legs, stopped at her ankles and the tight V-neck, long sleeve, blue gray shirt that darkened in areas from perspiration. Her face was pink, and her long curls were pulled back into a tight high ponytail.
She looked alive which made his stomach dance with nervous excitement.
She looked good, damn good.
Trey peered over her shoulder, seeing the room looked like a tornado had gone through it. Her cabinet of books had fallen to the ground spilling out novels, and her bed was a disaster of sheets and pillows.
“What are you doing in there?” He asked quizzically.
Maybelle followed his gaze to see the destruction, she grimaced then turned back to face him, “Don’t worry, I will clean it all up, I promise.”
Trey looked back at her his eyes catching onto a nasty bruise on her hip barely peeking out under her shirt. Trey didn’t think, he stepped forward grabbing the hem of her top. Maybelle tried to retreat back but was already sandwiched between him and the wall.
“Trey, wha—?” She lightly gasped out but he was already lifting her shirt so he could more clearly inspect the angry purpling mark on her hip.God, she would have had to hit her side really hard to get a bruise that dark.
Trey’s attention fell back on her, the anxiety and fear in him mingling into something ugly, “That doesn’t answer my question, Maybelle. What the hell are you doing in there?”
Maybelle was watching him quietly; her breathing was heavy as she stared up at him. Her blue, green eyes moved down to look at the hand still holding her shirt up a few inches and his thumb now subconsciously swiping soothingly back and forth across the dark mark.
