Page 84 of Trucker
“Oatmeal.” The nurse replied.
“Are you sure?” I used the spoon to scoop some up and let it fall back into the bowl. “It doesn’t look edible.”
She eyed me warily.
“Yeah—I’m not eating that.” I set the bowl of goop back on the roll away table.
“Baby, be nice.” Trucker told me.
I scrunched my nose at him while reaching for the smaller container of Jell-O.
“Trucker.” I called when we were alone again.
“Mm?”
“I’d kill for a burger.” I admitted.
“Soon.” He promised. “In the meantime, eat your goop.”
He handed me the bowl of oatmeal.
I pouted and lifted some to inspect. It didn’t look very appetizing.
Nope.
One day bled into another.
Between visits from the sheriff—which I was sure wouldn’t amount to anything—and Trucker’s cadets, I had someone with me all the time.
I knew what was happening and I wasn’t sure how to feel about all of it.
With someone trying to take me out, Trucker was exercising his Alpha.
I tried to not be irritated with it.
That was the kind of man my grandfather had been—always trying to protect the people he loved whether they liked it or not.
I also knew that come hell or high water, he was going to do what he had to, to make that happen—including having his friends over.
I knew he meant well.
He was worried.
He’d apologized for not protecting me.
The truth was, I didn’t blame him.
As much I’d like to think my man was Superman, Trucker wasn’t. He couldn’t be with me every second of every day.
He couldn’t be in two places at once.
Bad things were going to happen to me and there wasn’t anything he or anyone else in my life could do about most of them.
Another few days passed, and after the doctors checked me out, I was allowed to go home. Trucker showed up early and sat in the hall, waiting for the nurses to finish helping me dress.
When I looked up, he was standing at the door, shoulder against the frame and his arms across his chest.
How long had he been standing there?
