Page 34 of The Lucky One

He stretches his leg, a wince flashing across his face. I almost didn’t see it in the dim light.

“Do you think we can call it a night?” he asks.

I slide ungracefully off my barstool and close the distance between us. “Youarehurt!”

“I’m fine. Just sore and tired and want to go hang out at home.”

His eyes lift to mine and my insides do a weird little flip.

Home.

It’s strange how one word can shift your world. We’re still staying at the house because after days of trying, we gave up on finding a vacancy anywhere.

Granted, we’re living in completely separate areas of the house and the only time our paths cross is when we’re in common areas like the kitchen or living room.

But that’s happening more and more, and I don’t hate it.

“Okay.” I allow myself to touch his face, even though it’s terrifying. But something deep inside me wants him to know that I’m here. Even though I’m afraid and unprepared for how he makes me feel, I’m here. “Let’s go home.”

twelve

WESTON

My knee is sore.

That might be an understatement. Itreallyhurts.

It was worth it to see her laugh, but I definitely overdid it. As soon as we walk in the door, I make a beeline for the couch. Bailey immediately senses something is off, and I grumble at him to stay out of my way. I don’t want to trip over him and tear something else.

The enchantment of this place is finally on my side for once, because as soon as I reach the couch, there’s an ottoman that wasn’t there before.

“You need ibuprofen. And ice. Maybe compression. Should you ice before you put on your brace? Where is it? I’ll grab it.” Bridget is on my heels, and wrings her hands as she stares down at me with round eyes.

“I’m fine,” I say, stifling a groan as I lower myself to the cushions. Bailey immediately leaps onto the couch, pressing his nose into my neck for reassurance. I absently scratch him behind the ears.

“It’s my fault. I told you I wasn’t great at dancing?—”

“Bridget.”

Her eyes lock onto mine, an undecipherable emotion flitting through them. “Yes?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not though,” she insists, and as much as I refuse to admit it to her, she’s right. I’m hurting and would love everything she’s offering.

“There should be ice in the freezer and ibuprofen in my bathroom. The house replenishes as needed.” I tell her, giving her a half smile.

“That’s awfully handy. Be right back!” She rushes around the couch to the kitchen, a thud following soon after as she opens the freezer.

I let out a long breath as she heads to the bathroom.

Technically, I’m approved for things like swimming and jogging—so I figured dancing would be fine. Which was probably true until the point where we fell. The second my facade cracked, and I showed any pain, Bridget mother hen’d me.

And I don’t hate it.

When I was recovering from surgery, my teammates all chipped in and helped make sure my kitchen was stocked with food. Holly and Cade were at my apartment way too often for newlyweds, making sure I wasn’t in pain and that Bailey was fed and taken out on schedule.

My parents were dealing with their own mess, since my dad had an unexpected double knee replacement.

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