Page 26 of Brood
“Okay,” I reply in a hoarse whisper, close to tears again. “Thank you. I would… That would help.”
He nods as if the issue is decided. Then he heads to the bathroom.
I expect him to be in there a while to go through his normal bedroom routines. But he comes out almost immediately, holding another length of stretchy bandage wrap.
“Oh.” I rearrange on the bed when he reaches for my left foot. “Dr. Cameron said?—”
“I don’t give a fuck what he said. If you can’t feel the pain, then you won’t know to keep the weight off. And you need the wrap to help the swelling and to keep from twisting it again accidentally. Don’t go back to him for another shot.”
“I won’t.” I’m weirdly shaking as he carefully wraps my ankle again the way he did yesterday.
He’s not tender or even particularly gentle. But he’s focused. Onme.
I tuck my hands under my hips so he won’t see them trembling.
“There,” he says at last, setting my foot back on the mattress. “You’re sore, so we won’t have sex tonight.”
“I could?—”
At his stern glare, I cut off my own words.
Instead, I say, “Since my period just ended, I’m probably not fertile anyway.”
“Either way, you need to rest tonight. We can start trying again tomorrow.”
* * *
The next morning, I feel better. Physically and emotionally. The memory of the appointment with Dr. Cameron still makes my stomach churn, but I’m able to move it to the back of my mind and focus on the new day instead.
I get up right away when the 4:45 chime sounds, and when I emerge from the bathroom, Will is awake, standing and waiting for me in nothing but his underwear.
“Sit down,” he tells me, gesturing toward my bed. “I want to check your ankle.”
I do as he says, letting him kneel next to me and unwrap the bandages. It’s still sore when he gently stretches the tendons. In fact, it’s even sorer than the morning before.
“Why is it worse?” I ask as he wraps it again. I’ve hiked up the leg of my trousers so that the fabric doesn’t get in his way.
“Because of that fucking shot. You couldn’t feel when you were putting too much weight on it or turning it in the wrong way. Just be careful with it today.”
His beard looks lopsided because it’s pressed down on one side the way it always is after he sleeps. He’s got thin, mobile lips and high cheekbones. One of his eyebrows has a faint scar slicing through it. His eyes are a warmer brown than mine.
I like to look at his face.
Impulsively, I run my fingers through the coarse hairs on the smushed side of his beard, smoothing them out so they match the other side.
He grows very still, his eyes searching my face.
“It was lopsided.” My explanation is whispered self-consciously. “I was fixing it.”
“I see.”
We stare at each other for a minute until I finally slide my pants leg back down into its proper place.
Will clears his throat and stands. Because I’m still seated on the bed, I’m in an ideal position to see his crotch. There’s a bulge that’s not normally there at the front of his white briefs.
He has an erection.
I’m so surprised, I stare. Flushed with excitement rather than embarrassment. I don’t know why the sight of his mostly hard penis barely tucked into his underwear makes my pulse race and my stomach jump, but it does.
