Page 97 of Hot Damn
“And your mom and dad decided staying here would be better because we can be here with you all the time. Not that you need a babysitter.”
“Seems like I do lately,” I mumble.
I can’t believe my life is turning into a soap opera again. I thought I’d put that behind me years ago. The idea of going through the drama Andrea made my life makes my skin crawl, makes me feel dirty.
“Can I take a shower?”
“Of course.” Beckett jumps to his feet. “Let me help you.”
He’s gone, striding toward the bathroom before I can protest. I hate that he’s being forced to look after me a second time. But I can’t deny the feeling his attention gives me.
I like it.
I want it.
“I’ll wait until you finish to make your toast.”
I glance up at Whitney. “Are you okay?”
The smile she gives me is filled with relief. “Yes. I’m fine.”
I can’t peg what her expression is. And I don’t have to because her next words spell it out for me.
“I’m so glad you’re okay. I wanted to cry when I saw you passed out in Dad’s arms. And I knew, justknew, it had something to do with me, but no one is saying that. Except everything started when I made that post at the beginning of pre-season. If I hadn’t done that, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt. Twice! And Dad wouldn’t be freaking out about keeping us both safe.”
There’s a lot to unpack in her words but I go with reassuring her about her dad’s behavior first. “He’s not freaking out. He’s just being careful.”
“Oh no, he’s definitely freaking out.” Her gaze moves to the bathroom door before coming back to me. “I know him and he might not be showing it, but he’s scared. I wasn’t there, but I bet when you fell into his lap out cold you took years off his life.”
She’s right. It had to have freaked him out. I don’tremember it. Can’t remember anything clearly past being in the owner’s suite at the end of the game. And honestly, that’s a little scary.
I’ll have to look up the side effects of Zolpidem. See if memory loss is one of them.
“All right. The water is warm and I’ve laid a fresh towel out close to the shower. Do you need help getting in?” Beckett strolls back into the bedroom, a frown on his face. “How’s your hip?”
“It’s fine.” It’s not, but I don’t want to impose any more than I have.
“Right. I’ll go get the cream and the heat pads ready.”
“I don’t nee?—”
Beckett holds up a hand. “I saw the bruises again last night when we got home and got you into bed. I’ll get the cream and the heat pads, and you’ll use both.”
“Uh oh, that’s his Dad voice. Better do what he says.” Whitney grins at me.
“Fine.” Emotions war inside me. I feel equally determined to take care of myself and yet strangely comforted by Beckett’s brand of looking out for me. Pushing to my feet, I ask, “Where’s my bag?”
“In the closet.” Beckett points over his shoulder. “What do you need? I’ll get it.”
“I need the whole thing. It’s got my toiletries and clothes in there. Wait. My bag is here?” So much of the last… “What time is it? Whatdayis it?”
“You’ve been asleep about fourteen hours.”
“Oh.” Why does it feel like more of my life is missing from my memory?
“And Whit helped your mom pack up your hotel room and brought your stuff home.”
If Whitney helped Mom, why am I here and not at home?
