Page 67 of The Last Love Story
He goes back to reading his magazine like he didn’t casually drop all that on me.
I love that he sees it all, and I hope he’s right that Jade does too. That she sees me and wants it all.
God knows I want her.
A nurse escortsme back to the recovery room where Jade is resting, so they can monitor her before she goes home. The nurse said the procedure went well and Jade did great.
When she pushes the door open, Jade’s relaxing in a big, comfortable recliner, her arm wrapped up and tucked in a sling. Her eyes pop open, surprise filling them.
The nurse shuts the door behind me, and I walk over to Jade and kiss her forehead.
“Hi.”
“Hi. I… wasn’t expecting you. They said they were calling someone back. I guess I just assumed it would be my dad.”
My heart drops, but I keep a calm face.
“If you want me to go grab him?—”
“No. That’s not what I meant. I’m glad it’s you. Sometimes this still feels like a dream. I’m glad it’s not,” she breathes. “I like having you here.”
“Then this is where I’ll be.” I drop into the chair beside therecliner and wrap my hand around her good hand. “How are you feeling?”
She sighs, her exhaustion palpable. “Okay. Tired. They gave me some medicine to relax me a little, then numbed me up and did the thing.” She grimaces at her hand. “I’m mostly fine now, just hungry and need a nap.”
“Your dad brought a cooler of food with him for us to take home. We’ll be well fed, and I will make sure you have a nice, comfortable spot to sleep.”
“Might have to be on the couch. I’m worried I’ll roll too much in bed.”
“We can make that work.”
She closes her eyes as she leans back against the chair. “Good.”
I stroke my thumb over the back of her hand, and she smiles, not opening her eyes.
“I like when you take care of me.”
I lift her hand to my lips and kiss it. “Then I always will.”
She brushes her thumb over mine, then lets out a long breath. Hopefully, this is a good sign that everything is going to go smoothly.
“You need to take the hydrocodone.”
Jade sniffs and wipes at her face with her left hand.
Her right hand is perched on a stack of pillows while she sits on the couch.
The doctor said the worst of the pain would be in the first forty-eight hours, and about an hour ago, it hit her. The ibuprofen she took earlier didn’t help, and she’s been sitting in the corner of the couch, crying for the last half hour. I can’t take it anymore. Seeing her cry makes me want to kill someone.
“Baby, I’m worried about you.” I kneel in front of her. “Please just take it. If you don’t rest, you can’t heal.”
She didn’t want to take any narcotics if she could avoid them, but she needs something to get her through this.
“Okay,” she whimpers. “I thought I could handle it.”
“Some things aren’t meant to be handled alone,” I say as I walk to the kitchen.
Finding the prescription, I read the label carefully, then pull out one of the pills and cut it in half before taking it back to her.
