Page 70 of A Love That Broke Us
I’m being pulled up, but I don’t want to be. I want to stay here. I want to keep staring at the nothing.
Strong arms wrap around me, and gut-wrenching sobs deafen my ears.Are thosemine?
Hands cup my face, thumbs swiping away my tears. I’m on the couch now, a body beside me.
“Jesus, Al. Talk to me. What’s going on? Where’s Jensen?”
The soft sounds of shushing fills the air as my head presses against a chest, my tears soaking the shirt beneath me.
Then, slowly, everything calms.
It numbs.
I blink and take a deep, shaky breath—one that feels like my first in minutes. My pulse steadies, and my breathing begins to even out.
Chapter Twenty-Two
JENSEN
THEN—TWO YEARS AGO
SEPTEMBER
The door clicks shutbehind me, and I make a beeline for the kitchen. My knee’s been killing me all day. We’ve been back from our honeymoon for two weeks, and it’s been giving me hell ever since that hike. I took the last ibuprofen I had in my car this morning, and the throbbing’s been shooting up my leg like a damn lightning bolt ever since.
I yank open the medicine cabinet and start rummaging through the bottles. Ibuprofen, Advil, Aleve—hell, I’ll take a Tylenol, even if it’s only going to scratch the surface. I finally find one of those regular strength Tylenol bottles, twist off the lid, and stare inside.
One.
“Shit,” I mutter, huffing out a breath.
That’s not going to touch the pain.
I take it anyway, chasing it with a swig from the faucet. Then I grab an ice pack from the freezer and limp into the living room. Dropping onto the couch, I kick back against the arm and stretch my leg out, balancing the pack on my knee.
I point the remote at the TV and flip on whatever game’s on. College football—don’t even care who’s playing. I just need something to distract me from the dull, relentless ache that’s been dragging me down for three goddamn weeks.
Thirty minutes later, between the ice and the Tylenol, the pain’s manageable, but barely.
I pick up my phone, swipe up, and type out a quick text.
Hey babe, can you grab some ibuprofen before you head out tonight?
Alley’s working till eight, and the hospital pharmacy’s right downstairs. I set my phone aside, knowing I probably won’t hear from her until her shift ends.
By six p.m. the ice pack’s lukewarm. I’ve already done two rounds—twenty minutes on, ten minutes off, but the relief didn’t last.
Groaning, I push myself off the couch and hobble to the kitchen, ice pack in hand. My knee barks with every step of the twenty-foot trek. I toss the pack back in the freezer and open the liquor cabinet, reaching for the tequila. Maybe that’ll take the edge off.
I pour a shot neat and take a slow sip, exhaling as the burn coils down my throat.God, I needed that.But then it hits me—I took a Tylenol an hour ago, and you’re not supposed to mix that shit.
I let out another groan. “Ah, fuck.”
My hands rake through my hair and stay there, fingers gripping tight. I tug at the strands, frustrated, completely at a loss. I hate bitching about this, especially to Alley. She keeps telling me to go in, but for what? So they can tell me I need another surgery? Prescribe pain pills?
No fucking thank you.
I’ve got a life. A job. A wife. I can’t be popping pain meds like candy. I need to function. That shit never really fixes anything anyway. I just need to manage the pain and give it time. Rest. That’s all.
