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Trey sucked in a breath, working through the math that was not mathing from Maybelle’s story.
Chelsea stiffened next to Trey, obviously realizing Trey’s same concern when she asked, “May, honey, were you up all night and all day?”
Maybelle retreated a bit, folding her hands on her lap, “I’m not tired.”
But she was, Trey could see the dark smudges under her eyes and her drooping lids.
Hopefully it explained her shit attitude as well.
“You’re definitely tired.” He bit, finding himself, for some reason trying to poke the bear.
Maybelle shot him a glare placing a fist on the table, “I am not.” Her nose scrunched and her eyes turned to slits in defiance, and it was surprisingly really—reallyhot. Trey couldn’t hold back the taunting smile that now gripped his own features.
Chelsea leaned over the table, intervening by placing a hand over Maybelle’s balled fist, “It’s ok to be tired May, its normal. We all need rest.”
Maybelle’s face softened when she faced his mom, “Chelsea, I lost a whole year of my life to sleeping, I need to stay awake. I cannot sleep for one more second. At least until I can better walk by myself. I need to live again but I can’t do that if I’m constantly sleeping and filled with the anxiety that I will just stop waking up.”
Maybelle now stared at her lap, refusing to meet their eyes. Trey understood, she was just as scared to sleep as he was watching her sleep. Maybelle slowly stood from the table holding her dinner plate, “Thank you for dinner, if you don’t mind, I’m going to eat in my room. Have a good night.”
Maybelle stood tall on trembling legs but successfully staggered to the wall and slid down the hall to her bedroom.
Trey’s attention meandered back to his mom who sat studying him like a hard equation.
“What?” He grunted.
Her face turned up sweetly as she put a hand to his forearm, “My sweet, overprotective son.” Chelsea shook her head, “I know it’s scary because you care about her, hun. But she isn’t made of glass. She isn’t fragile but her heart is right now. She needs you to believe in her more than you fear for her.”
Trey slumped, she was right, but she wasn’t done.
Chelsea squeezed his arm once more, “It’s no longer your job to fix and bandage up all the problems. I know you were put in that position as a kid, but Maybelle Mason is leaps and bounds more independent than I ever was. She is not going to shatter but she might if you smother her.”
Chelsea said simply, like the topic of his roles of being her protector and fixer at a young age was a common topic of discussion.
News flash, it wasn’t.
But again, his mom had a point. She and Maybelle were very different but that didn’t mean Maybelle didn’t need someone looking out for her. It just meant he needed to adjust his approach.
18 Please Don’t Run From Me, Mayhem
That cold pizza her first night might have been orgasmic but this lasagna was a whole other level of delicious goodness. Maybelle sat on her bed devouring her dinner wishing she could go outside her room right now to fall to her knees in thanks to Chelsea for the best meal she had ever had. Except her pride would not allow it, which was so childish, but she couldn’t care.
She was just so angry.
Yeah, Maybelle was pissed but she was more frustrated at herself for looking forward to seeing Trey, being excited to show him how well she was walking, to talking with him, to hear how his week had been, spending time with him and, damn, she hated to admit it, but she was so freaking exhausted.
Maybelle licked her plate clean, rose off her bed and placed the plate on the small desk against the other wall. Her legs still shook under her weight, but she didn’t need to hold to anything to walk the short length of her room now, which was huge.
At this rate, by next week, she could walk the house with no help at all. Her pride at the thought dwindled as she scrutinized the fallen bookcase, felt the soreness in her bruised hip and remembered Trey’s concern, his fear, his lack of belief in her.
Forget him,she thought.
She was doing great and that’s all that mattered, there were bound to be a few bumps and scrapes here and there along the way. But her damned palms were sweating when she thought of his hand caressing her hip and pressing her into the wall.
She shivered and aggressively shook away the memory.
Maybelle knelt before the case and scattered books. She lifted the empty shelving and began to fill it with the novels. A few of the books were beautiful, decorated with sparkling details and were leather-bound. One of the books was open on the floor.
Plucking it up she began to skim the pages.
