Page 21 of Tripp

“Whoa, she’s okay. She’s in the other room with the deputies, playing with her blocks.”

“I still can’t believe the last half hour is real.” I met Tripp’s gaze.

“I know. The only thing to do now is to move forward. It will eventually be okay.”

“Right.” I let out a long, frustrated sigh. “Jesus, take the whole bag of dicks. I’m so over this shit.”

Shelby burst out laughing. “That’s a new one. Mind if I borrow it?”

“Oh,” I laughed softly, “No, not at all.”

“Come on, let’s get you to the doctor’s office.”

I didn’t know why I felt embarrassed by what had happened today, but there it was. That sinking feeling in my gut. Everyone was so nice, it made it worse.

I’d spent years with someone—I didn’t even know who he was. The man I knew—how could things go so wrong?

The trip from the Sheriff’s Office to the doctor’s office was a quick ride. Once in the room, Tripp helped me balance and get my pants off. Whoever invented yoga pants—genius.

Thankfully the damage was only a few busted stitches. Shelby got the pieces out and gave it a good once-over. Her frown had me sighing.

“Let me guess, that slight redness means infection?”

“You told me it felt fine and it wasn’t red,” Tripp admonished, scowling.

“And it was, but I did notice this morning that tiny spot right there.” I used my nail to point at it.

“I’m not sure it’s infected; it doesn’t feel hot, and you’re not running a fever, but I would like to remove the stitches there and reopen that spot.”

“Is that going to hurt her?”

Tripp’s overprotectiveness warmed my heart. I reached out and took his hand with mine. He instantly interlocked our fingers.

“I’ll numb the area and honestly, yeah, it’ll hurt a little once the Novocain wears off. Nothing more than it did initially. Soft spots can lead to worse cases if we don’t treat it. It’s more than likely a spot that gets perspiration on it. Your things naturally press together when you’re sitting. So it might rub as well.”

“Should I start wearing shorts, at home, I mean? And maybe leave it open, without the bandages, while I’m inside?”

“If you can, yes. The air will help keep it drier.”

“Okay, I can do that. I won’t be going back to work until this is healed, so that’s doable.”

I laid back on the table, talking with her as she worked in my gash. My mind was literally rolling all over the place. It felt like there was a squirrel in there running amuck. Closing my eyes, I tried to let it settle.

“How are we doing?”

“I’m fine, just trying to calm my brain down.”

“I have days like that. I’ve found that if I retreat to a quiet place in the house, pop in ear buds, and listen to music or a podcast, I can rein it all back in.”

“I’ll have to try that. I like audiobooks. With a little one, it’s hard to always sit and read. If she gets quiet and falls asleep, I usually do too.” I smiled.

“I’ve had so many people say to sleep when the baby does. Some say that’s when you should get things done around the house. Let me tell you, you do what works for you. I’ve stopped worrying about the messes. We do a reset at night once they’re in bed. Then do it all over again the next day.”

“That’s about what I do. If she’s awake, the moment I put something up, that’s what she wants and all of my cleaning has been wasted.” I laughed softly.

“Parenthood at its best.” She stood, pulling off her gloves. “All done. Same rules as before. If you see the slightest color change, come back in. There’s a chance that there is a tiny piece of debris in there working its way up.”

“Yes, sure. Not a problem.”

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