Page 93 of Bad Attitude
“Thank you, Doctor. I’ll see you out; I need to get our helmets.” I give Declan a last look, then walk him to the elevator.
Steven’s quiet as we descend, but turns to me before the doors open. “When I said no riding, you know I meant it, right?”
“I’ll pass it on, but Declan will do what Declan does.” I pause. “How long until he’s well enough?”
“Two days in bed, three more ofgentleactivity, up and about in a week. Two before he rides.” He shakes his head. “I am completely aware you will both ignore thatexcellentadvice.”
That’smuchbetter than I thought it would be. “Thank you again.”
He gives me a smile, gets into his car, and drives away. I collect our helmets, along with the keys to Declan’s bike that we somehow managed to leave in the ignition.
Declan doesn’t move when I walk back in, and Ithink he’s asleep. He’s taking up half of my bed, but there’s room for me too. It’s either that, or sleep on the couch.
I find a shirt and underwear and climb in next to him, careful not to touch.
The excuse I tell myself is that he might need my help during the night.
But the truth is simpler: I don’t want to be away from him.
Nineteen
Declan
Ispend two days lying in Raven’s bed, barely able to move.
The doctor comes back on the first day, checking the dressings, removing the cannula and taking away the IV, and leaving me warnings to rest. Along with a pair of crutches that lean against the wall, mocking my incapacity.
They’re going to stay there, unused.
My side aches, but my thigh throbs like hell. Getting shot isn’t fun, but being this close to Raven? It’s almost worth it.
She’s a distraction in all the right ways. She brings me homemade chicken soup, moves the TV in on day two, and spends most of the time dressed in nothing but a too-long T-shirt with the occasional hint of panties below.
So much for keeping my blood pressure down.
It’s the diametric opposite of when she stood meup for our Saturday night date, pretended she’d forgotten, then admitted she pulled back because of how close we were getting.
Best of all, I can’t go anywhere else, and I’m right where I want to be: proving to Raven that wecanbe close.
By Tuesday night, I’m in desperate need of a shower. Two days I’ve been sweating while I heal, and I can smell my own stink. The bathroom is across the hall, and I’ve been dependent on her to get me to and from the toilet—not the degree of closeness that I was looking for. I badly need a wash, and not merely because Raven’s been sleeping in here too. It’s not fair on her.
She’s in the kitchen, making us dinner, but some of my strength has returned, and I can hop-limp if need be, a hand on the wall. Standing from lying is the hardest part, and I pause for a moment while my blood remembers how to get up to my head. Then as little weight as possible on my left leg, a hand on the wall. Each step small, steady progress.
I make it to the hallway before Raven notices.
“Thehellare you doing, Mister?”
I don’t miss the way she glares at me, while also giving my body an appreciative once-over.
“Taking a shower.” Another step, focused on my destination.
“Now?” She gestures at the range where a large pan simmers. There are smells of cooking meat and savory scents that I was too fixated to notice before, but now that I have,my mouth waters and my stomach rumbles.
“That smells amazing. How long until dinner?”
“Twenty minutes.”
“I can be done in that time.” I hop again, sliding my hand against the wall.
