Page 81 of Hung Up
She shakes her head, a light sheen coming to her eyes. “Not at all. This is so sweet of you.”
Faith steps back into the room, and I follow behind her, kicking the door shut behind me. When I turn back to face the room, it becomes glaringly clear that she wasn’t lying to me. There’s Kleenex scattered around the room, Mucinex, Dayquil, and Tylenol lined up on the dresser. She’s wearing a navy blue sweatshirt and black sweatpants, her feet covered in fuzzy socks with her hair in a ball on top of her head. She sniffles a little as she grabs the remote, and only then do I notice the tip of her nose is a little red.
“Are you sure you should be here, though?” she asks, her voice a little softer than normal. “I don’t want to get you sick. You still have to ride tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry, Sweetheart. It takes a lot to get me sick.” I set the picnic basket on the bed and the flowers beside it, fluffing the blanket and setting it on the floor in front of the television between the foot of the bed and the dresser. “Besides, even if it didn’t, I’d still be here, anyway. If I can ride with broken ribs, I can ride with a cold.”
I don’t notice how her expression changes, but I feel the shift in the room as I set the picnic basket on the blanket. I hesitate, a little nervous to lift my gaze and see what kind of look she’s giving me.
“You told me your ribs weren’t actually broken, that Wyatt was wrong.”Shit. “Did you lie to me?”
“Before you get mad at me, I lied to everybody.”
She narrows her eyes, crossing her arms. “Yes, because that makes it better. Jesse, what were you?—”
“I needed to ride, Faith. You know that.”
We stare at each other for a moment, a million words passing in the space between us without even being said. She sighs, rubbing a hand down her face before sitting on the blanket. Itake that as my sign to do the same, the picnic basket putting a little bit of space between us.
“I’ll never tell you that you should stop riding because that’s not fair of me to do.” I listen quietly, knowing that, for once, this won’t turn into a conversation of being made to feel guilty about my decisions. “I just… I wish that you seemed to care a little more about your life, is all.”
“I do.”
She sighs. “I understand you think you can find a way because you always seem to find one whenever you put your mind to something.”God, I hope that’s true. There might be some hope for me yet.“But when you sustain that kind of injury and immediately jump right back into what hurt you in the first place without being fully healed? That’s not really showing much regard for your own life, even if you think otherwise. It’s dangerous enough riding bulls, but riding them hurt? One wrong move and you could lose your life, Jesse.”
I’ve received this lecture countless times from my mother and older siblings, and it always used to upset me. I always thought they never understood, that they were just overbearing and didn’t believe I could do something as dangerous as this and be okay. It made me feel incapable, and I just had to prove them wrong. But hearing it from Faith feels different; it hits me in a way it never has before.
“Like I said, I’ll never try to talk you out of doing what you love,” she repeats, and I suddenly find it hard to maintain eye contact. “But it’d make me feel a lot better if you took some precautions. Are you wearing a brace or a wrap at least?”
I nod, lifting my shirt to show her the wrap I put on before my ride today. She nods, even though she doesn’t seem completely convinced. “Have you gotten them checked out since then?” I shake my head. “If I set up a private doctor to come inand check you without anyone else knowing about it, would you do that?”
Her concern over my well-being—the strained expression—has me caving instantly. “Of course.”
“Thank you.”
I lean forward and cup her cheek in my hand, pressing a soft kiss to her lips before placing one to the tip of her nose. She smiles when I pull away, her eyes landing on the basket between us. Opening the lid, I grab the soup and set it out in front of her, reaching for the crackers next. She beams as she cracks open the lid, the smell of the chicken noodle soup immediately filling the room. I hand her a spoon and she doesn’t hesitate as she digs in, a moan working its way up her throat.
“This might be the best soup I’ve ever had.”
“I’m a little disappointed to know your moans aren’t reserved for just me,” I tease.
She goes for another spoonful, extending it in my direction. “Try it.”
I wrap my lips around the spoon, and the second the soup hits my tastebuds, I’m fighting back a groan of my own. “Okay, I have to agree. This is the best soup I’ve ever tasted.”
“How did you know I like chicken noodle soup?”
“I asked Rylie.”
She opens the crackers and plops one into her mouth. “Is that how you knew what shoe size I wore?” I nod. “Traitor,” she mumbles under her breath.
I can’t stop the laugh from tumbling out of me as I unwrap my sandwich. Once we’re done eating, I throw away the wrappers before extending my hands in her direction, helping her up to her feet. She sways slightly, no doubt a headrush from standing too quickly, and I loop my arms behind her knees and carry her to bed.
She’s got a barely visible crease between her brows as I pull the covers back and tuck her in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead before I walk around to the other side of the bed. If she thought I was just going to leave her after feeding her, she had another thing coming. I climb underneath the covers next to her and raise my arm, and she doesn’t hesitate as she curls up against me.
“How about a movie?” She nods, her arm wrapping around my midsection as I reach for the remote. I begin to channel surf when I hear her breathing grow heavy, and I have to stop myself from laughing at just how quickly she dozed off. Setting the remote beside me, I hug her closer, one hand gently rubbing her scalp while the other grazes up and down her arm.
As we lay there curled up in bed together, I can’t help but pray that I’ve chipped a little further into her walls.
