Page 42 of The Bright Side of Christmas
“I can take care of myself, thank you.”
He stares at me, and that flicker of a smirk has melted away. He lets out a breath, then shrugs, though I can tell my lack of agreement is annoying to him.
“Suit yourself.”
I watch him for another moment, expecting him to go back inside, but he doesn’t. Instead, he gives me a shooing motion with his hand, and I roll my eyes before turning back around.
The next piece takes three hits, the second of which sends fragments flying off the stump, but by the third split, I think I’m getting the hang of it.
I should know better than to get too confident, though.
“Shit!” I shout, grabbing my hand and shaking it as my finger throbs. It was pinched between the handle and the wood because my aim apparentlysucks, and I can already feel my pulse in it. I hop on one foot as if that’s going to help, then shake my hand out. The cold made it even more painful, and I could feel cold tears pooling in my eyes.Stupid freaking wood. Stupid freaking storm. Stupidfreakingneighbor watching me.
“Jesus, Wren,” I hear, but barely register it, too lost in my pained dance. But the next thing I know, I’m scooped up into increasingly familiar, strong arms and being moved away from my backyard.
“What are you doing?!” There’s no response. In fact, the only sound is the sound of Adam’s shoes crunching on the soft snow.
Towardhishouse.
“Take me into my house, Adam. I’m fine!” I shout, slapping at his chest with my good hand.
He doesn’t respond.
Instead, he takes the four steps up to his back deck two at a time, despite the inches of snow coating them, until we’re at his back door.
“Let me go!” I shout, but he just holds me tighter, somehow managing to open the door without dropping me.
It’s impressive, but I’m annoyed.
“I’m serious, Adam. Put me down!”
He listens to me this time, but not the way I want. Instead, he moves through his kitchen, setting my ass on the island, then moving to grab my hand. He knows the exact one, I realize, not because it’s obvious, but because he was watching. Gently, with reverence I don’t expect, he pulls off my gloves that are wet with melted snow before softly grazing his fingers over the small dent where my finger was pinched. It will bruise, but otherwise should be fine. It’s not so bad now that my hands are warming up, to be honest.
“Bend it,” he demands.
I glare at him. He glares back.
“I’m serious, Wren. I need to make sure you didn’t fucking break your finger.”
“If I had a broken finger, you’d know, Adam. I’d be screaming.”
“No, you wouldn’t, you’d be pretending it doesn’t hurt so as not to freak anyone out.” I glare at him, and he raises an eyebrow in a challenge I can’t fully argue because he’s not completely wrong.
I try anyway.
“I’m a baby when it comes to pain. I’d be bawling, trust me. He doesn’t break his glare, doesn’t smile, so I sigh but do as he asked, carefully bending my injured finger. It’s tight, but it doesn’t bring any extra pain, which seems like a good sign.
“Not broken,” he confirms under his breath, then runs a gentle thumb over the spot I pinched. “You’re lucky.” He takes both of my hands between his, rubbing to warm them. They get tingly with the warmth, but neither of us says a word until all of the feeling returns to my fingertips. Once they’re warm, his hands shift again to look at the finger, turning it to look at other angles before he steps back. Instantly, I miss his warmth.
His hands move to the zipper of my jacket, sliding it down before helping me to shrug off the wet article of clothing and hanging it over one of the stools. Then he picks up my hand once more, staring at it as if the absence of my jacket would change anything.
It doesn’t.
“Stay here,” he says. I glare, but I nod. Now that I’m in warmth, I don’t have the energy to argue with him. My arms are tired, and I know tomorrow they’ll ache like I did one of those barre arm workouts Hallie loves to make us do.
After a moment, he returns with a white box that I quickly recognize to be a first aid kit. He digs through it before grabbing out a bandage.
“Adam, I don’t need a Band-Aid. It’s not bleeding or anything.”
