Page 103 of Paper Roses

It’s only a whisper, but his head shoots up so fast that his neck cracks. I gasp. His face is white, his eyes red, and the lines of strain on his face make him appear years older.

“Artie,” he says, sweet relief flooding his face and easing the tension a little.

“Where am I?” I stop to clear my throat.

He exclaims and stands up. I have a moment to mourn the loss of his hand, but then he reaches for something on the side table. I see a cup with a straw, and he offers it to me, gently guiding the straw to my mouth.

“Slowly now,” he warns as I start to suck on the straw. The water is ice cold and delicious on my sore throat. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

As I slow my sips, I feel his fingers touch my hair. It’s a gentle gesture, and his hand falls away as I look up at him. After setting the drink on the table, he reaches to the bottom of the bed for a blanket. He unfolds it over me with a snap, and I instantly feel a little warmer. My face hurts, turning my smile into a wince.

He stares down at me, something making him flinch. “Your poor face,” he whispers.

Panic seers through me. “Oh mygod, am I scarred for life?”

“No. Oh no,” he says immediately. “Sorry. That was such a stupid thing to say. You’re banged up and scraped, but the cuts will fade. It just looks so sore. I wish I could take it away.”

“What happened?”

His face darkens. “A moped driver went the wrong way up a one-way street.” His mouth tightens and he looks stern. I bet this is the way he looked as a copper. “He didn’t see you and was going at such a speed that he sent you reeling. You fell on the pavement and hit your head. You have a concussion, a broken arm, and bruises and scrapes, but you’re very lucky.”

“Am I going to be okay?” I ask anxiously. I wriggle my toes, relieved when they cooperate.

“You’ll be fine.” His fingers tremble when he touches my face. The touch is as delicate as a butterfly’s wing, and now that I look properly at him, I can see the tremors running through his body.

I frown, wincing as it pulls at a sore spot on my face. “You look terrible. Are you okay?”

“It was bad,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “I saw it happen.” He swallows convulsively. “You went flying, and when I got to you, I thought you were de—” He stops and swallows again.

My gaze sharpens. I’m becoming more alert and noticing things. He looks sick, and even as I watch, he draws himself inward, and his gaze shutters, as if a wall has suddenly gone up between us. An alarm bell rings in my head.

“Jed?”

“I’ll go and get the doctor,” he says abruptly. My hand hovers in the air as I reach for him, but then drops to my side as he strides away, relief to be away from me written all over his body.

I swallow hard, feeling the headache pulse at my temples and nausea churn in my stomach. But my mind focuses on the way he just left me. I have a horrible feeling that my accident has just brought back Mick’s ghost, and now bad memories will be front and centre in our marriage again.

Two Weeks Later

jed

The knock on my door drags me from my blind contemplation of the view outside my window. I spin my chair around to find Joe hovering with an anxious look on his face.

“Yes?” I stop to clear my throat. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

“I just wanted to say I’m going home. Are you locking up?”

I look at my watch, startled. “God, is that the time already? I didn’t realise.”

The anxious look deepens. “I thought you’d be home by now. Eager to get back to Artie.”

Unspoken is the question as to why the fuck I’m still here, when my husband is at home.

“He’s fine now,” I say defensively. “The headaches are gone, and he’ll be back at work next week.”

He holds up a hand. “Whoa, I never said he wasn’t fine. He couldn’t have been better looked after. We all know that.”

I shake my head. “Sorry for jumping down your throat.” I hesitate before admitting, “I just feel a bit guilty.”

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