Page 67 of Crushed By Love

I lay back on the counter, my feet dangling over the edge, and stare up at the light fixtures, right into the bulb, letting it blind me. It’s barely a distraction, but it’s enough to keep me from running my foot under cold water. But he must know what he’s doing because already the pain is less than it was.

He returns and gently rubs the cream into the wounds. I stay laying back on the countertop, tears pooling into my ears. Then he lifts me up again and carries me upstairs to his bedroom. Lying me down in the center of his king bed, he tucks me into the blankets but leaves my foot exposed to the air. He pours me a glass of water and gets me three ibuprofen, and best of all, an ice pack wrapped in a dish towel.

“You can ice it but don’t get it wet.”

I agree and he wraps it up with the ice pack, the pain instantly being numbed by the chill. I moan in relief and he smiles softly, though I can still see the grim sense of regret in his eyes. He blames himself and is not going to forgive himself for this one, even if I don’t blame him for it. It was an accident. A stupid one that could’ve been avoided, but an accident all the same.

There’s a television mounted to his wall and he turns it on, finding a movie for us to watch. I find myself sinking into the bed. And into him. He’s laying right next to me, his body pressed to my uninjured side. I try to get lost in the movie but it’s hard, not only because of the pain, but because of his proximity. Because of the kindness he’s showing me, the tenderness I haven’t seen in him before. Because of how good his body feels being next to mine. And because of the bathroom door that’s hanging open and the shower I can see beyond—the memories that won’t let me go. The things I’ve seen. The things I wouldn’t mind seeing again, even though I know better.

When I woke up this morning, I was determined to get off this island, but right now, laying in this bed that smells like Ethan, I have to admit the truth. Minus the jellyfish sting, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. And that’s more terrifying than anything else that’s happened today.

Twenty-Seven

The rest of the day is spent watching movies and getting treated like he’s the doctor and I’m his patient. It’s strange to let anyone take care of me, let alone Ethan. After my near-drowning incident, he left me alone once I got the all-clear. Today has been entirely different with him at my side nonstop and I don’t know how to feel about it.

And he called me baby again. Twice.

When Conrad demanded I pay for the repairs on the Brazilian rosewood, I did it without saying a word to the twins. I assumed they would have sided with their dad considering all evidence pointed to them hating me. But now I’m starting to think Ethan might’ve had my back. I decide never to tell him. It’s over and paid for, so there’s no need to admit my failings.

We finish up another movie and he clears the dishes from the dinner he prepared. He’s no Camilla, but the tacos weren’t half bad and my belly is full and happy. Best of all, my foot is feeling a lot better. It still hurts, especially to walk on it, but the pain has gone down drastically thanks to his care.

“Have you ever thought about going into medicine?”

We’re laying on his bed and he’s staring up at the ceiling as if it’s got the answers to life. His face falters and he looks at me sidelong. “How did you know that?”

“You have a healer’s touch.” I search his eyes, drawn in by the brilliant blue rings around his iris. I suddenly have the urge to kiss him but I push it down like I always do, swallowing hard.

“The healer’s touch, you say?” He smirks. “That’s nice.”

Saying it sounds a little silly, but I’m being honest. I can easily picture him in an office boardroom, taking control and leading the way to increased profits, but I can also picture him in a hospital setting. I see him healing people, helping them feel better, or at least come to terms with the hardships they’re facing.

“When I was a kid, I wanted to be a doctor,” he says nonchalantly. His tone reminds me of how someone might talk about believing in Santa Claus as a child, knowing better as an adult that the magic wasn’t real. My own experiences with Santa are mostly fraught with confusion and disappointment, but like always, I push them from my mind.

“So why don’t you go for it?” I ask. He has everything at his fingertips. I’m sure he could go to a top tier medical school and build a successful career.

“Conrad.” He answers like it’s obvious.

“Your dad doesn’t want you to go into medicine?”

His mouth slips into a self-deprecating smile. “Cooper and I have been raised to take over the family company.”

“Both of you? Couldn’t you go into medicine and he can do it?”

He looks at me for a long moment. “Have you met Cooper?”

I snort. “I think he’s probably more capable than you’re giving him credit for.”

“That’s true,” he sighs. “But it doesn’t matter because that’s not the plan our father has for us. He doesn’t want anyone else taking over his company but his own flesh and blood and he’s got the board in line with his way of thinking. There’s no other choice for us.”

“So is that what you’re doing now? Taking over for him?”

“Not yet. We’re going to work for him until retires in a few years. At that point he’ll step down to become chairman of the board, so he’ll still have a lot of power. I’ll become King Media’s next CEO and Cooper will be the CFO. Our pay and workload is structured to be equal, but I’ll handle operations and he’ll take on financials.”

“And what happens if you reject this plan?”

His voice hardens. “Then we lose our inheritance.”

I blink at him. “I thought you already got access to your money?”

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