Page 30 of Fractured Grief
Maybe that wasn’t all there was to it.
“I understand, Indy.” I couldn’t keep my hands to myself any longer. I grasped his hand in mine, caressing the back of his fingers. “I would like to k-keep you as my physical therapist, but if you’re open to it, I’d like to be your friend, t-too, and get to know you b-better. What do you think?”
Color flooded his face as he gazed at our joined hands. “I’d like that. I could really use a friend.” He looked up and finally shared his sunshine smile.
My chest expanded with affection. How could someone, who’s been through so much and was still grieving, shine sobrightly?
Indy smirked. “But don’t think friendship means I’ll go easy on you. We’re going to keep working hard to get your body back in tip-top shape.”
“Deal.”
With that, we got to work.
My first week home was done and dusted, and I was more exhausted than I’d been since my first week in the rehab center. But not in my body, it was my mind and emotions that had been put through the wringer.
I’d been sleeping so much better in my California King, but thoughts of Indy had plagued my dreams to the point where I’d wake up with a raging erection and was torn if I should do anything about it. He said he liked me, too, but we couldn’t be more while I was his client. I felt guilty indulging my body’s needs.
This, in turn, made me less than pleasant to be around in the mornings, and poor Lyric was copping the brunt of these frustrations.
It was Saturday, and I’d been tossing and turning since three o’clock this morning. I needed coffee. I shuffled into the kitchen using my cane after doing my morningstretches and set the Keurig to brew. I leaned against my stone counter and rubbed my tired eyes.
“Phew, you look rough. Bad night?” Lyric asked.
I glared at him until I noticed he didn’t look all that great, either. “Speak for yourself. Are you okay?”
I’d been so thankful to Lyric for moving in with me and helping me adjust, but he was still being cagey about why and how he could be here with me. Something was going on with him, and I needed to know he was all right.
“P-please talk to me.”
“I’m fine.”
I wasn’t buying that for a second. “I’m your brother. If you can’t talk t-to me, then who?”
“I’m super fine.”
“Lyric,p-please.”
“It’s nothing. I am fine. What time is your appointment today?” He was a master of deflection, but I was too tired to deal with this. I took the few steps toward him, in frustration, forgetting my cane, and felt the world tilt as I took my third step.
“Fuck! Damn it.” I went to my knees in front of Lyric, grabbing his shoulders to try and find my equilibrium.
“Shit, Seb! Are you okay?” Lyric tried to hold my weight and keep his balance, but it was a losing battle, and he fell on his ass. We froze, staring at each other.
We both burst into laughter as I lowered myself to the floor next to Lyric. I laughed out of tiredness, frustration, pain, worry, and the comedic stylings of my little brother.
Gasping for breath and wiping tears from my face, I tried to calm myself down enough to speak. “I needed that.”
“I’d say.” Lyric wiped his face with his T-shirt.
“Jerk.” I swatted at him from my position on the floor, but he managed to dodge it.
“I bruised my butt,” he said, wincing as he shifted to put his legs together.
“You okay?”
“You want to check my butt for bruising?” He quickly scooted away from me, waggling his eyebrows. “It’s a nice butt, I know, but you’re my brother, so no looksies for you.”
“You’re an idiot.” I shook my head, a common response when dealing with Lyric. “Come here.” I pointed to the spot next to me.
