Page 49 of Beach Cottage Kisses
“You’d sleep better. Which would help you heal better.”
“No.”
Irritated, but resigned, too, Iris collected used ice packs as timing required. Put them back in the freezer and went back to the chair she’d decided to use as her bed just for that first night. The only way she’d seen herself being able to nod off was to know that she was close enough to hear Scott if he needed her, to reach him instantly if necessary.
And the chair, a recliner, with her own pillow and blanket, let her keep guard over a man who would try to fend for himself rather than call out to her, too.
* * *
Three in the morning and Scott had to pee. So bad he couldn’t keep holding it. Pain throbbed and shot whether he was lying still or moving, so he sat up, keeping a watch on the woman sleeping a few yards away. She looked beautiful. So much younger with her features relaxed in sleep. Oddly so. As though, awake, she carried a heavy burden.
He’d never have known the lifelines in her expressions weren’t just effects of years lived, and constant exposure to the California sun, if he wasn’t looking at the evidence.
His need to pee reared. A reminder to him. And he pulled the chair he and Dale had devised the foot or so necessary to bring it to the edge of the couch. Where he could use his arms to lift and slide, leaving his bad leg on the couch until last. Using his arms to help lift the leg to the chair.
The back pain would be intense for a few.
Less upsetting to him than peeing his pants would be.
“Tell me you aren’t actually planning to tackle that on your own.” The voice shot through him. Almost as painfully as the jerk her sudden conversation caused him to sustain in his lower back.
He didn’t bother responding. The truth was clearly obvious, right there, in front of them. Continuing with his plan, he raised his weight off the couch with his arms. And felt Iris’s hands slide beneath his pits, helping to glide him smoothly to the chair without wrenching his back. And before he could reach for his left leg, she was there, too.
Handling it completely by herself.
As much as he hated the helpless feeling she’d just injected into him, he was relieved, too. And without a word, used his good leg to wheel himself to the hall bath and, once inside, shut the door behind him.
Wise woman that she was, she let him.
* * *
Iris waited right outside the bathroom door. The nurse had told her to be sure not to leave him alone that first night. Most particularly during bathroom runs, if he refused to use the urinal. According to Nurse Windsor’s experience, falls, tears, further injuries, happened most often during the night in the bathroom.
She heard something pour into the toilet. Heard it flush. Heard water run.
Heard him swear.
And her eyes filled with tears. Crazy, uncalled-for, foreign tears.
What the hell?
The doorknob turned and she blinked quickly. Rapidly. Giving her psyche a sharp reminder that she was in charge of her own life, and was herself, ready for Scott, when the door opened.
Or thought she was. Until she saw him somewhat balanced, half on the desk chair, and half off, hanging on to the sink to keep himself from falling to the floor.
The beads of sweat on his upper lip were a hint to how much pain he was in. The steely look in the glare he gave her kept her mouth shut.
At least while she swept in, slid her forearms beneath his armpits and lifted his weight until he could get his good leg firmly underneath himself.
Then gently lifted his bad leg back to the board that would support it for the journey back.
“I had a muscle spasm in my back,” he bit out as he wheeled himself slowly back to the couch.
She wasn’t surprised. Didn’t bother expressing herI told you sothat she was forcing herself to call up to distract from the sympathy threatening to overwhelm her. But calmly asked, “You ready for a pain pill?”
“No.” The word was as much growl as English.
Saying nothing more, she assisted as he got himself back on the couch. Handed him the blanket he’d tossed at the end of the couch sometime before she’d woken up.
