Page 31 of I'll Keep Her Safe

But honestly, I’m in too much pain to argue. Part of me is relieved she figured it out. Did I really think I could hide it from her? I can barely stand.

“It’s…” God, this is so humiliating. “Yes. I threw my back out at work.”

“Oh, shit.” She reaches out as if to touch me, then withdraws her hand. “Okay, come sit down.” She motions to the living room sofa, which feels about a million miles away. “Do you need help—”

“I can do it,” I snap, then hate myself as I shuffle over to the couch with a grunt. I think of the way she broke down in my arms a couple days ago when Kurt left, and as I manage to ease myself onto the sofa, I relent. If she can be vulnerable around me, there’s no reason I can’t do the same. Sugar leaps onto the pillow beside me, and I stroke her fur, mumbling, “Sorry, Poppy.”

“It’s okay. I’ll get you some painkillers.”

“There’s some—”

“In the medicine cabinet, I know.”

She disappears up the stairs and I breathe out in relief. I’ll be honest—the thought of having to climb those stairs to get to the Advil was daunting, but I’ve done it before. I’ve managed. Like I’ve managed to cook myself dinner every night—or at least order takeout—without help. I’ve managed just fine for years.

My entire adult life, in fact.

But how nice it is, I realize, as Poppy hands me a glass of water and some pills, to have someone care. To not have to do it all alone.

“Good,” she murmurs when I swallow the pills. “I also found this…” She hands me a tube of muscle rub called Deep Heat that she must have found in the medicine cabinet. I didn’t even know that was in there. “My dad always said this stuff worked wonders.”

God, the sooner she stops comparing me to her father, the better.

I reach for my back, realizing that I can’t easily reach the spot, and that twisting to try will only cause me more pain.

Poppy notices and says, “Maybe I could…” then trails off, letting the suggestion hang there. She’s offering to rub Deep Heat into my back. I’ll have to take off my shirt and let her touch me.

And if it didn’t make me feel utterly ashamed, I’d admit I’ve already imagined what that might feel like, albeit under very different circumstances. I glance at the tube in my hands, aware of how suggestive the nameDeep Heatactually is.

“I don’t mind,” Poppy adds. There’s a tinge of pink in her cheeks, the espresso-brown of her eyes darker than usual. “If you… if you think it will help.”

Wordlessly, I hand the tube over and maneuver myself around so she can access my back, but when I reach up to tug my shirt off, my back spasms in pain, and I let out a groan.

“Here.” Poppy takes hold of my T-shirt, pulling it carefully over my head. It ruffles my hair, and I resist the urge to reach up and comb it back into place. Her breath stutters as she tosses the shirt aside, and I glance at her with worry, only to find her eyes traversing the skin on my back.

Ah, right.

Ink covers my entire back, much like the rest of my top half, but this one is in color; a huge maple tree, the trunk following my spine, branches reaching out across my shoulder blades, leaves red and yellow as fall approaches. It’s the tree I had in my backyard growing up, the one I learned to climb as soon as I was able, and the one I planned to teach my own kids to climb one day.

Of course, when I got the ink at twenty-eight, I didn’t know I’d missed that chance completely.

“Where does it hurt?” Poppy asks, a husky edge to her voice I’ve never heard before.

I press my eyes shut, willing my body not to respond.

Stop being such a fucking creep. She’s trying to help you.

“Uh, my lower back.”

Her fingers brush my skin, tentatively at first, then firmer as she begins to massage the cream into my aching muscles. Sugar watches with interest from the sofa beside me, and I pretend not to notice.

“Here?”

“Lower,” I rasp, hating myself for the way my blood heats at her touch.

Her fingers move down, massaging gently, until she finds the spot. Then, with expert precision, she presses firmly into the tightness, the heat of the cream beginning to soothe the ache.

“Is that okay?”

---