Page 92 of Time Stops With You

Cullen fastens his eyes on the doctor as if he expects him to rob us.

“Ms. Davis,” the doctor says cheerfully, “how are you feeling?”

“Great, Doc.” I point to my bum wrist. “Think I’ll be able to walk this off in a few days?”

“Unfortunately no.” The doctor explains my results and prescribes two weeks of rest.

“Two weeks?” I balk.

“Define ‘rest’,” Cullen says, his eyebrows hunkering low over his eyes.

“No driving, no house chores. Nothing that requires use of the wrist. Since the injured hand is your dominant one, you’ll find it uncomfortable for a while. Bear with it. Wrist sprains don’t take long to recover from, but you can’t move it for a while or it might get worse.”

“But what if I have a really important catering gig?” I ask. “Can I at least do a few tasks then?”

He frowns. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

I tug on the hem of my T-shirt. Two weeks issucha long time to be out of commission. I don’t think my work even offers that kind of PTO for contract employees.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take responsibility for her and make sure she doesn’t disobey your orders, Doc,” Cullen says.

Annoyance hits me hard and I immediately want to jump out of bed and push him out of the room. Who does he think he’s taking responsibility for? Shouldn’t he save all that energy for Jenna?

“Ignore him. I’ll be taking care of myself,” I clarify staunchly.

Cullen glares over the doctor’s shoulders with a look so full of quiet threats that I immediately know he intends to shadow me every day of the next two weeks by any means necessary.

It’ll be a blood bath because I don’t want Cullen anywhere near me and I, too, intend on making that happen by any means necessary.

“Alright then. Let’s bandage that wrist up and you can choose a removable wrist splint in a pretty color.” The doctor laughs.

I don’t laugh with him.

Cullen sulks too.

The doctor clears his throat and gets to work. After my wrist is properly bandaged, he sets the wrist splint around me. Despite the pain meds that dull the ache, I still feel discomfort every time he touches my wrist.

“Sir,” the doctor stops in the middle of wrapping my wrist up, “you might want to sit down, if you’re feeling faint.”

I shoot a quick look at Cullen. He does seem paler than usual. Is he suffering from vertigo again? Did he strain himself carrying me to the car?

“I’m fine,” Cullen says to me as if he can read my thoughts.

“Does he need to get checked out too?” I ask the doctor, wondering if I should let him know about Cullen’s medical history.

“Oh, it’s not that. He’s flinching every time you flinch.” The doctor grins. “I normally notice behavior like that from husbands with pregnant wives.”

I stiffen as a memory I’d locked away resurfaces, tearing at a wound I thought had healed.

‘I’m sorry, Ms. Davis.’

‘Please… please don’t tell my boyfriend.’

A cold sensation washes over my body. I went to great lengths to block out what happened that year. Yet, the memories keep leaking out when I least expect it.

‘Don’t worry. You’re protected underdoctor-patient confidentiality. We won’t tell him.’

‘Thank you. I just… I just need some time.’

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