Page 48 of If You Never Come Back
I nod because he’s right. Diving back into work, distracting myself from this mess we’ve currently found ourselves in is exactly what I want. And to do that, I need to be well.
“Okay,” I say, my voice rough in sound but soft in volume. “You can help me.”
“Let me take you to get checked out then.”
I catch myself before I nod my agreement. I deserve some answers first. “Wait.”
“What is it?” he asks, frowning.
“Why are you so hell-bent on helping me?”
“I upset you last night with my sorry-ass excuse for an apology. It’s what caused you to run off and get hurt. I owe it to you.”
“It’s more than that. I can tell.”
He rubs his hands over his jaw. I let my gaze linger over the beautiful angles and hard edges that make up his face, that deliciously well-groomed beard. I’m silently, shamefully admiring how ruggedly handsome it makes him.
“Honestly?” he asks.
“Honestly.”
This time when he looks at me, his gaze is piercing, like he can see right through me to my insides, to all the feelings and emotions swirling inside of me.
“Because I spent months missing you so hard, I ached from the inside out. I’ll take any excuse to see you, even though I don’t deserve it. Even though I know you hate me.”
I respond with silence, my head spinning. Not once does his stare leave mine during the few quiet seconds we share.
“And honestly Shay, I have the tiniest suspicion that despite everything you say, despite how you feel about me right now, you want me here, too.”
He moves past me to my dresser, leaving me speechless.
Chapter Sixteen
“It looks like you’ve got pretty severe sprains in your left wrist and left ankle,” the doctor at the urgent care says.
He studies the x-rays of my wrist. A second later he switches it out to the x-ray of my ankle, resuming his serious face.
“But they’re not broken, right?” I ask.
“That’s correct.”
Wes clears his throat. This whole time he’s been by my side as I navigated the waiting room, the paperwork, the two-hour-long process of taking x-rays, and waiting for the doctor. He’s dialed back his instinct to pick me up and carry me everywhere, thankfully. Instead, he’s just hovering close by.
Half of me is annoyed. We’re not together and he’s acting like a protective bodyguard—like a boyfriend.
But half of me appreciates the thought. Because what he said earlier was true. As much as the other half of me still resents him for how he left all those months ago, my other half—the half that instinctively relaxes at his touch, his voice, his presence—is happy he’s here.
“But she’s okay?” Wes asks.
The doctor nods. “Other than a few weeks of taking it easy while recovering, Shay will be just fine.”
My ears perk up at the mention of “a few weeks.” I squirm while sitting in the exam room bed, my movement causing the paper lining underneath me to crinkle so loudly, it echoes in the tiny exam room.
“What exactly does ‘taking it easy’ entail?” I ask.
The doctor pulls a couple of ace bandages from a nearby drawer and hands them to me. “For starters, keeping your wrist and your ankle wrapped. And keep them elevated as much as you can. It also looks like you have a slight avulsion in your wrist.”
“Avulsion?” Wes and I say in unison.
