Page 33 of The Sweet Spot
Chapter 11 – Jennie
My heart jumps into my throat, and my ears are ringing.Chris loves me?I know it’s the sedative talking. It has to be! He doesn’t know what he’s saying. “Chris—”
“I’ve loved you for so long I can’t remember a time when I didn’t love you. But you always turned me down, so I stopped asking. I didn’t want to be one of those jerks who pester girls, ya know? And I understood why you didn’t want me back. I mean, what girl would?”
It shocks me to hear Chris speak of himself like this. No, it breaks my heart, and I’m ashamed I played a part in how he saw himself.
“I was a nobody back then,” he continues, his mind wandering. “Still am, to be honest. I’m still just the bastard son of the town whore. A drug addict’s kid.” He turns to face me, his eyes bleak. “I don’t even know who my dad is. My mom didn’t know either. It could be anyone—the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker.” He laughs at his own lame joke.
But then, just as suddenly, his mood changes again, and he frowns. “God, I hope it’s not David Braggart, Sr. That would fucking suck if Dave turned out to be my half-brother. When I was young, David Braggart, Sr. came by our placea lot, so I know he was doin’ my mom. He probably had been foryears. That’s why you could never love me back, Jennie. I am literally a bastard, and you deserve better.”
I try to decide how best to respond. I’m so tempted to tell him how I feel about him, but now is definitely not the time. He probably won’t even remember this conversation tomorrow. “Chris—”
But his eyes are closed now, and he’s softly snoring.
My mind is reeling after the things he said, and I need time to process it all.
He loves me? He always has?
But how do I know he’s telling the truth? He’s under the influence of a drug. He’s loopy right now.
* * *
Sometime later, Dr. Talbott returns to assess Chris’s shoulder. He applies a sling to help immobilize the arm while the shoulder joint is recovering. “You’ll be sore for a few days, but there shouldn’t be any lasting damage. I advise you to take a few days off work and rest.” Then to me, the doctor says, “Just keep an eye on him tonight. Would you like me to prescribe something for the pain?”
Chris shakes his head adamantly. “No!” he replies, way too quickly. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”
“Well, if you get too uncomfortable, you can take something over the counter.”
Chris nods, but doesn’t say anything. I’m not surprised. He has an aversion to takinganymedication because of his mother’s drug addiction. He’s afraid it could happen to him.
When the doctor leaves, I begin the arduous process of helping Chris change into the clothes Micah brought. I help him sit up, being as gentle as I can, and still he grimaces throughout the process.
He chooses to forgo the underwear. “It’ll be easier if I go commando.”
Blushing, I avert my gaze as I help him slip his bare legs into a pair of gray sweatpants. He stands on shaky legs, gripping my shoulder with his good hand as I work the sweats up to his waist.Once he’s seated again, I help put on his socks and sneakers. Getting his T-shirt on is just as difficult because of his sling and his immobilized right arm. Fortunately, the nurse comes in at that moment—bringing a wheelchair—and she helps me. He grits his teeth and closes his eyes, so I know he’s in pain, and yet he never says a word. He never complains.
After the doctor officially releases Chris, I wheel him out to my car and help him get settled into the front passenger seat of my Honda Civic. “Sorry,” I mutter as I lean across him to buckle his seat belt.
“S’okay,” he mumbles.
I catch him observing me a couple of times, but each time he quickly looks away. Obviously, something is bothering him. On the drive back to Bryce, he stares out the passenger window at the passing scenery, saying nothing.
I feel the need to break the silence. “In case you’re wondering, I’m taking you back to my house to stay the night.”
He winces as he rotates his right shoulder. “That’s all right.” He can barely meet my gaze. “You can drop me off at my house. I don’t want to inconvenience you.”
“Humor me, please. Stay with me for at least one night. Your doctor said the sedative won’t wear off fully until the morning.” I can’t help wondering if he remembers any of what he said to me earlier. Does he remember spilling his guts, and now he regrets it? “Chris, please. It’s just one night.”
“All right,” he says reluctantly.
“Thank you.”
* * *
It’s evening when we arrive back at my house. I unlock and open the door for him so he can step through.
Dawn, who’s putting dirty dinner dishes into the dishwasher, scans him from head to toe. “How’re you doing, Sheriff? I’m glad to see you’re all in one piece. I heard what happened.”
