Page 3 of Coming to Grips
Chapter Two
Once the pizza is decimated and the beer bottles empty, Chase yawns and stretches, his fully functioning arm reaching toward the ceiling and his wounded arm dangling from the elbow, hand flopping around his shoulder. It feels good and weird at the same time. “Man, I’d love a shower, but it seems like a lot of work right now.”
“Yeah, I get that,” says Kyle, glancing over from the rerun ofStargate: Atlantisthey’re watching. “I can help if you want.”
“Help?” Chase looks at Kyle wide-eyed and swallows. He’s not sure that’s such a great idea. He’s going to be naked. “In the shower?”
He ducks his head. Well, duh. His hand doesn’t work. Of course, he’s going to need some help. He’s going to need all kinds of help over the next few months. And Kyle is going to be the one providing it. All of it. No matter how personal. Which is the point, right? Who better than his roommate, who just so happens to be his best friend as well?
“If you think you need help, I’m willing,” Kyle says and shrugs.
His offhand manner eases some of Chase’s anxiety.
“A lot of things we do two-handed in the shower by instinct.” Kyle’s eyes skate up and down Chase’s form.
Chase glances down at himself. Can he even get his clothes off? He’s having a hard time focusing on much. His head hurts, his arm’s broke, he’s beat. “Right,” says Chase, clearing his throat and feeling the heat in his cheeks. He’s just…yeah. It’s a lot. “I’m going to take my stuff to my room.”
Chase drops his bag in the corner to empty later and stops with a hand on the doorknob. Part of him just wants to face plant in his bed and pass out, but he’s dirty and he smells, and, yeah, no. When he does collapse, he wants to be clean and comfy. With a sigh, he heads for the bathroom.
Kyle’s nose is now buried in one of the serializedStar Warsnovels he devours on a regular basis, kicked back in his chair with his feet propped up on the banged-up coffee table. He looks up and waves at the bathroom. “If you need me I’m here, but see what you can handle on your own. I mean, if you can do it yourself, you should. That’s what Tabitha said.”
“Yeah, okay.” Chase nods. Maybe he won’t need any help at all, because being completely helpless would just be too much.
“Leave the door open, just in case,” calls Kyle.
Chase’s heart sinks, but he acknowledges Kyle with a grunt. Kyle’s right—just in case, but fuck. He leaves the bathroom door cracked an inch.
He’d already toed off his boots, so one less thing to worry about. With his working hand, he grabs handfuls of his tee shirt at various spots around his waist and yanks the cotton from his jeans. It takes a bit of doing since his right arm is just hanging there like a deer carcass, but he finally gets it off too.
He stands bare from the waist up, breathing rapidly at the effort. Exhaustion makes his muscles lethargic and the idea of rushing back to his room and forgetting the whole thing is suddenly very appealing.
No. He needs a shower desperately. Even he can admit how rank he is at this point, and he certainly doesn’t want to climb into bed in this state. With a sigh, he keeps going. His belt turns out to be easy one handed. He’ll need two hands to buckle it though. Both the button and the zipper of his jeans turn out to be easy enough. With his left thumb in the waistband, he works the denim down over his hips until gravity pulls them to his shins and he can kick out of them. Dizziness makes him sway when he lifts his foot to remove a sock. Thinking better of the whole thing, he plops his ass onto the lid of the toilet and yanks them off. Getting back to his feet, he sticks his thumb in the waistband and eases the elastic of his boxers over his hips and butt until they too slide to the floor.
Chase cranks on the water and adjusts the temperature. Closing his eyes, he slips into the almost-too-hot spray and hisses. Bliss despite the effort.
Chase lifts his arm to lean against the wall and stumbles when his hand and forearm fail to do as expected. “Dammit.”
A moment later Kyle asks, “You all right in there?” through the crack in the door, and Chase startles in surprise.
“Yeah... I’m fine.” Chase stands there for a moment, processing. How pathetic is it that he has to stop and think about what to do and how to do it? Well, shit—this is his life for the next few months and he’d better get used to it. Okay, so...what’s going to be easiest? Washing himself? Yes.
The soap immediately shoots out of his palm and he grabs for it with both hands, but, lurches sideways. The soap lands on the shower floor, careening into the corner.
Chase falls into the door. It shoots open and slams against the toilet with a crash that echoes through the small space and makes his head pound. He winces at the stab of pain and continues his descent, coming to land on a knee. Pain shoots up his thigh, and he yowls at the sharp zing.
The shower door swings back and slams him in the right shoulder. He slides to his ass on the cold tiles and yelps. His sharp“Dammit”bounces off the tiles and he hisses.
The bathroom door flies open and Kyle’s on his knees beside Chase a moment later. “You all right?”
“Fuck,” Chase barks, smacking the shower floor with his good hand. The initial pain points ebb away, and he’s left with dull throbbing everywhere. He blinks and nods. He’s okay, but he’ll probably have a bruise on his knee and on his shoulder now as well. “I must look like a complete moron.”
“No, hey, Chase, c’mon. You’re injured and you’ve got a concussion.”
“I’m sitting here bare-assed naked on the floor of the shower. I feel like an idiot.”
“It’s just me, Ace. I’ve seen you in worse shape. Hell—you’ve seen me infarworse shape.” Kyle nudges his shoulder. “What happens in this cabin, stays in this cabin, all right?”
Kyle’s right. Injured is a helluva lot less embarrassing than being falling-down drunk and puking in the Jacobson’s pool. “Yeah, okay…”
