Page 89 of Love Bound

Even, steady, strong.

Damn, her body is warm.

I reach over and turn off the heating pad.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Claire

They discharge me four days later with instructions to return if anything on a whole long horrible list happens. Regardless, I still have to go back for a chest X-ray in a few weeks just to make sure I don’t have any nasty bacteria in my lungs, festering into pneumonia soup. When I mention maybe not going, Finn gives me a dark glare. It kind-of thrills me.

So, I make an appointment right there before I check out. Second Friday from next, I get to get zapped.

I’m so weak and sore that I can barely move. Even sunlight seems harsh and I squint when the nurse wheels me outside to the waiting Ford half-ton pick-up.

Finn lifts me from the wheelchair at the curb into his truck like I'm made of glass.

Within minutes, as much as I fight it, I'm asleep in the litter of blankets he's made for me.

He installs me at The Inn, which is great since Geo's come up to sub for me for ten days until I get my strength back. In the meantime, he can take over the clinic apartment and his old room.

Finn has turned his bedroom into a sick room, with my clothes neatly stacked in the dresser, my jewelry box on top of it, and pictures of my parents and the family photo of all of us. There are fresh sheets, and sea air blowing in, and the hot sun on the down mattress is like catnip.

Even though he carried me upstairs, by the time I've negotiated the toilet and he's helped me off it, I’m ready for bed. He eases me onto the down mattress, already warmed from afternoon sun, and it’s sheer bliss. Softness curls around me. I instantly fall asleep.

Laurel and Cory come over that first evening, and then Devon. She acts weird as usual. Sweet, but aloof. I can’t figure her out. I think she feels responsible for not calling Finn sooner, or not figuring out the mind of a sociopath. But I wouldn’t have expected her to.

I can’t think about Miller right now. I'm too tired.

Dinner is chicken soup, with the focaccia Laurel made. Devon’s brought sparkling water. No wine or alcohol for a while—not until all my bloodwork is normal. Everything is delicious, though the focaccia is hard to eat. My jaw doesn't seem to work right.

That first night, Finn sleeps in his clothes. He spoons me, alert and on guard, ready for any emergency. Even though he lies very still so I can sleep, I can hear his heart thudding against my back, his arm heavy against my side, holding me tight.

The next couple of days are filled with a lot of banging and wet saws. According to Finn, tiles are going on the back deck—courtesy of the fire station guys, two of whom are in the coast guard and were part of my rescue. I still don’t really want to know what happened right now. Maybe later.

That Wednesday, Nic and Bryce fly up from Boston and we all have an afternoon together. After hugging them both and trying to thank them without crying, my lids are so heavy I have to close them. There are hushed voices talking about affidavits, judges, a court order for information, and as they speak, I sleep in the front room.

I’m frustrated with myself at this point. I can still hardly get to the bathroom by myself. And I’m so sore I take aspirin every day, and toy with the idea of a muscle relaxant.

That Friday, a full week later, Finn coaxes me out of bed and dresses me in my bathing suit. I stand, quivering and leaning on him, as I place one jelly leg into each opening of the bottom of the suit. Then he ties the halter at the back of my neck.

"Finn, what are we doing?"

For the first time, I see him genuinely smile. A smile not framed with pain or guilt.

"I can walk you know," I say, standing at the top of the stairs. But I don’t know if I really can.

He picks me up and descends the staircase, striding through the empty dining room to the kitchen and then out the door, his back steely and his breathing even.

I can tell he's excited about something.

There, at the side of the house, is a pretty large gazebo-looking structure with a door and a peaked roof with open slats at the top. One side is completely open, a barn door pushed back to reveal a square, built-in hot tub.

Steam wafts in the morning air.

"Are you kidding me? How did you do this?" I ask.

"You never got a proper birthday." He sets me down, and I’m able to see jets. He presses a button on the wall and the water begins churning. Once he leads me inside, he pulls the barn door closed but light shines from above. It’s beautiful. Tiny fairy lights wrap around the timbers at the top and sea breezes blow. "In winter, I've got Plexiglass cut to frame those in at the top. We'll be tight and snug in here."