Page 52 of Opening Strain

“Better,” I rasp.

She assists me down to the chair. It’s wooden, but it gets my weight off my thigh, which is all that matters.

“I’ll be right back.” She disappears into the kitchen, presumably to get another ice pack. I don’t think I’ll ever order another drink on the rocks for as long as I live.

Sure enough, she emerges with another one in her hands. She hesitates before handing it to me.

“You need to take off your coat.”

My fingers reach the buttons, but it seems like my fine motor skills were left in the car. I drop my hands. She takes over, making quick work of opening it and helps me slide it down my arms. She stares at my pants, then glances deeper into her house.

“I hate to say this, but you’d be more comfortable with your legelevated. Do you think you could make it to the living room? I promise you’ll appreciate it.”

I’m so tired. I want this pain to stop. If she thinks this is a better idea, though, I suppose I can manage it. “My last move.”

Smiling, she replies, “You got it.”

Jenna helps me get to my feet. I leave my coat on the chair, and with unsteady strides, we walk into the living room. She has an upholstered sectional against a window facing a large-screen television. The walls are painted grey with orange and yellow pillows. “I like it in here.”

“Thanks. I do too.” Before I collapse, she instructs, “Take off your pants.”

I smirk. “While I’d love to, I have it on good authority I’m not allowed to have sex until I’m healed. With the way I’m feeling?—”

“What’s your pain level now?”

“About a nine.”

“Meaning a twelve.” She bites the inside of her cheek. “We have to get these pants off you so the ice will be directly on your thigh.” Her fingers open my buckle.

While I want to tease her, I don’t have the energy. Dealing with the fucking paps and driving zapped all of my reserves. I help her roll my pants down my legs, then lower my boxer-brief-covered ass onto the sofa. With efficiency, she removes my shoes and socks as well as my pants from around my ankles. An instant later, the ice pack lands on my thigh. Followed by a throw blanket, I presume for my modesty.

Coldness seeps into my bones. “Fuck!”

“Ice is good for you.” She pauses. “Unlike me. I’m sorry, again, for how I froze back there. And for making you drive me home.” She hangs her head.

With my leg outstretched, and the bloody ice pack on it, I feel better already. If we were close enough, I’d tilt her chin up toward me.Maybe more.“Just a temporary setback.”

“If I were a responsible therapist, you wouldn’t have hadanysetbacks.” She takes a seat across the room. Too far.

I pat the cushion next to me. “I’d feel better if I didn’t have to raise my voice to speak with you.” She slumps, then stands and crosses the great expanse—truly, mere feet. She sits beside me, though not close enough. “Better.”

Jenna plucks at her pants. “I had a wonderful birthday, Bennett, the ending notwithstanding.”

“I’m glad. I did too. Your mother is very nice.”

Her expression lightens. “She’s my best friend. We’ve been through so much together.”

Because I need to touch her, I reach over and slip my hand over hers, entwining our fingers. “I’m happy you have someone so close to you.”

“You have that too, with the band.”

I don’t contradict her. Why bother? While I’m suffering actual pain, she’s the one who dealt with an undeserved onslaught this evening, one for which she had no preparation. “At least your mother didn’t witness it back there.”

She nods. “You’re right. I don’t think she would’ve handled it as well as I did.”

I can’t stop myself. “Like the professional therapist you are?” I squeeze her hand, letting her know I’m teasing.

Her head tilts toward mine. “Not everyone is used to people chronicling their every movement, from where they buy coffee to when they go to the gym.”

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