Page 69 of I Knead You Tonight

“Okay, first, I don’t think that’s an actual saying. Second, what do you mean?”

“His recovery after the accident—he wassodifficult. Didn’t want to go to any doctor appointments, didn’t want anyone’s help. He refused therapy, ignored his prescriptions. Didn’t want to do anything. We had to fight hard for him to actually finish physical therapy so he could use his arm full range. I think the only reason he did was to be able to use his camera again.” She shakes her head. “It was a mess.Hewas a mess.”

“I…I didn’t know all that.” I sip on my beer. “How did I not know all that?”

“We were new friends,” she explains. “I didn’t want you to have to witness all our family drama.”

I bark out a laugh. “Oh, Wren. You have no idea what family drama really is. Trust me.”

She shrugs, dipping more carrots into the ranch. “Good lord, these are good.”

“They’re just baby carrots. Calm down.”

I spin toward the fridge, grabbing the bag of veggies to replenish what Wren has eaten already.

My mind is racing as little pieces of the Winston I know today begin to fall into place.

The way he groans whenever he stands. The slow gait he has when he has to walk upstairs. The disturbing pop I hear when he reaches up to the top shelf in the pantry.

I don’t think Winston ever finished physical therapy properly. I think he lied, think he pushed through the pain and fed them all a bunch of bullshit so he didn’t have to go anymore.

He’s still living with the pain from the accident, and he’s using weed to cope with it. He smokes to feel everything, because right now all that’s inside of him is pain.

Which makes me feel like an ass, because I shamed him for it.

If there’s one thing I hate more than admitting I’m wrong, it’s admitting I’m wrong tohim. He gloats too much, like he enjoys seeing me so off-kilter, and the thought of Winston reveling in my mortification drives me mad. But I owe him an apology.

Maybe I was wrong before. Maybe I don’t like Winston.

Maybe I’m just going insane because he makes me that way.

Or maybe I’m just overthinking all of this because I feel indebted to him.

Yes. That’s totally it. I’m confusing obligations with feelings.

I think…

“Wren, can I ask you something?” I dump more veggies into the tray around her quick fingers.

She pauses midbite. “This sounds serious.”

“It’s not,” I promise. “It’s kind of silly, actually.”

“Shoot.” She shoves the rest of the carrot into her mouth, leaning against the counter, ready to be my ear.

“How did you know you liked Foster?”

Her brows shoot up. “Okay, not gonna lie, that is so not what I was expecting you to ask.”

“What were you thinking?”

“I honestly don’t know, but it wasn’t that.”

“If it’s dumb, just ignore me.” I push away from the counter and return the veggies to the fridge. “I’m just having an off day. I think my hormones are still out of whack from the baby. I—”

“I don’t mind answering,” she cuts in. “It’s just a hard question to answer because Foster and I have so much history between us.”

“Well…can you try?”

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