Page 9 of Sinners Keepers
Wordlessly, he pulled a bottle of bright red nail polish from his pocket. He grasped my foot gently, uncurled my toes and began brushing it onto each nail. He was meticulous in a way that told me he'd probably never done this before and I didn't even try to bite back my grin at how cute he was.
Thiswas why I missed him so much during the moments he needed to be away. These simple gestures of his meant everything to me and I was starting to wonder why I was always surprised that he inexplicably continued to be there for me.
He was my new constant—my person, even—and that scared the shit out of me because nothing good ever lasted for me.
CHAPTERFIVE
Hunt
The bullet having somehow missed any vital organs, I’d undergone minor reconstructive surgery to stabilize my collarbone and shoulder while I was out. After those six weeks of inpatient rehab to help reduce pain and inflammation and gain my full range of motion back, I was finally released to go home.
Home.
Not a place I had to return to these days.
But Alec had spent every waking moment with me over the last six weeks, so when he asked me to stay with him until I was ready to be on my own again, there was never really a question in my mind whether I should or not.
I was desperate for some independence—something I’d never actually been afforded in my life—but I wasn’t stupid. I knew how to accept help when it was offered. And truth be told, I didn’twantto be alone yet.
He was an unwavering presence during my hospital stay, helping me with the mundane everyday things and gently encouraging me through each day. His patience and understanding were unbelievable, and I couldn't understand why he was so devoted to someone he'd barely known before that point. I incessantly wondered what his motivation had been, but I quietly appreciated having someone in my corner regardless.
The only other person I could have turned to was probably somewhere on the other side of the world, and all of my friendships from the past had been thoroughly extinguished the day I was forced to marry Mattia.
Alec was literally the only person I had.
And I was falling for him.
The more time I spent with him, the harder it was to deny my growing feelings. But I wasn't ready for another relationship; no matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise, my heart was still uber fragile from Ijah's betrayal. Every time even a single thought of him slipped into my mind, I felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over my insides.
In the rare moments I chose to be honest with myself about how I felt, I still missed him.
And I hated myself for it.
My eyes focused on the vase of dahlias perched on my bedside table, everything else in the background blurring. The varying shades of pink were a welcome contrast to the rest of the room. I’d been fighting off waves of depression brought on by spending the large majority of time alternating between watching police procedural drama reruns with Alec and staring at the wall while overthinking.
Dahlias had always been my favorite flower, and I was certain Alec had no idea, which made the fact that he’d been the one to purchase them for me even sweeter. Once every four or five days I’d notice they’d start to very slightly wilt, and when I’d wake the next morning the vase would be filled with fresh ones in a new color.
I smiled to myself. Maybe everything would find a way to be alright.
“You ready to go, baby?” Nelia’s kind voice snapped me out of my reverie.
I’d grown attached to my nurses during my time here, but Nelia most of all. She was so motherly and was always sprinkling little tidbits of sage wisdom into everyday conversation. She encouraged me through the worst parts of my recovery and I’ll always be grateful that our paths crossed, even if the circumstances were less than ideal. I was going to miss her.
I sat up on the edge of the bed, dressed in sweats and a loose-fitting crewneck. Pulling my high-top sneakers on, I replied, “Yeah. I guess I am.”
“Where’s that guy of yours?” she asked.
I glared at her playfully. “We’ve been over this, girl. He’s notmy guy.”
“Maybe I’ll make himmyguy then,” she shrugged. “You have seen him, yes?”
I rolled my eyes, standing. “Yes. I haveseen him. And I imagine he’s holed up in the hospitality room shotgunning an espresso or something.”
“Should I go get him for you?” She was always ready to help me out however she could. Leaving today would be more bittersweet than I’d originally thought.
“Nah,” I said, walking toward the door. “I’ll grab him. I could use the exercise.” Understatement of the century. I couldn’t wait to get back to moving around and doing all the things like a normal human being.
I trudged down the hallway, taking my time. The antiseptic smell of this place would not be something I would miss. It already reminded me of when my mom was sick, and now I had this fresh new miserable experience of my own recovery to add to my trauma-infused, odor-linked memories. I cringed at the saline taste in my mouth. I never knew if I just imagined it or if I could actually taste it in the air around me, but anytime I set foot in a clinical setting, I always felt like there were traces of it on my tongue.
