Page 87 of One Last Thing Before You Go

“I guess you’re right,” I tell him, and for some reason my answer makes him beam.

Though I’m sure I’m imagining it.

He kisses the tip of my nose and smiles. “Good. Now, tell me what you need.”

“I don’t need anything,” I grit out, my hands fisting the sheets below me, trying to hold back a groan as another wave of pain runs through me.

“You’re such a bad liar.” He laughs softly. “Do you need help getting to the bathroom? Need me to get you some painkillers?”

My entire body lights up at the suggestion. God, pain killers and a shower—better yet, a bath—sound unbelievable right now.

Knox watches my expression shift with a satisfied smirk. “Shower? Pain meds?”

“Bath and pain meds.” I groan, trying really hard to stay in the moment and not think about how nice it is to have someone around. This situationship with Knox is a one-time thing; him taking care of me is a one-time thing. In just a few weeks’ time, he’ll be off to god-knowswhere and I will have used the money from the sale to move back to New York and rebuild the old life that came crashing down years ago.

“Let me help you to your feet,” he offers. But I throw the covers off, toss the heating pad onto the ground, and make to get out of bed. He stops me in time, scooping me up and into his arms. I squeal in fear and mortification—I am not a dainty girl. I have real curves and can gain up to ten pounds while on my period. Yet Knox scoops me into his arms as if I were as light as a stuffed animal. “What are you doing?” I ask, mildly terrified as he carries me to the bathroom.

Ignoring my question, he takes me to the bathroom and sets me gently on my feet. “Sit,” he commands softly after putting down the lid of the toilet seat. I do what he says partly because I don’t have it in me to argue, and partly because it’s been years since I let someone take care of me and… it feels nice.

“I’m going to run you a bath and get some water for you to take your meds.” I watch him in awe as he kneels by the tub and adjusts the knobs on the wall until he gets the temperature just right. Once he plugs the tub, he gets to his feet and disappears out of the bathroom, only to come back with a glass of water. “Pain meds? Ibuprofen?”

“Naproxen,” I point to the orange container.

“One pill?”

“Two.” He hands me the pills and the glass, which I take with a happy sigh. Partial relief is coming. I pop them in my mouth and down the hatch, keeping my wide eyes on him as I let the cool water lower my heated skin.

“Do you need help getting undressed?” he asks as I hand him the empty glass.

His question is genuine—not a hint of a suggestive tone in his voice—but the tenderness of the moment, the way it’s rocked the foundation of whatever the hell it is we’ve been building, shakes me. “Of course you’d say that,” I snap back. “No, I don’t need any more of your help. You can go now.” The words are like ice and venom and a sharp blade all at once, and I regret them as soon as they leave my lips. But I don’t take them back. I can’t let myself accidentally hope for something more—not with Knox, and definitely not when I’m wanting to leave this place, too.

He stares back at me for a beat, both of us quiet without saying a word, before he nods in understanding. “Gotcha. I’m gonna head out, then, if you don’t need help in the tub.”

“I don’t,” I say, my voice cracking, my eyes stinging with the tears I know I’m going to start shedding the moment he walks out that door, maybe to never come back again. Knox leans down to press his lips to my forehead, and nods once before leaving the bathroom. I wait until I hear footsteps walk toward the front door, open it, and close behind him.

A wave of grief washes over me, of despair and disappointment at myself for being so cruel to a man who only wanted to take care of me. God, I’m such an idiot. I wipe my nose with the back of my hand and undress myself, easing into the hot water with a heavy heart, wishing with every bone in my body that I could just let myself be happy for one second.

CHAPTER THIRTY

KNOX

Iuse the same key from under the mat to unlock the front door once more, knocking a few times, as I do just in case she's naked in there or something. But as I slowly push the door open, all I hear is a surprised “Knox? Is that you?”

“Yeah,” I say, moving into the loft, my eyes searching for Lottie. I find her laid out on the bed, right where I first found her just an hour ago. This time she looks better, though. There's more color in her face, more light, and while I can tell she's still in some pain, she doesn't look consumed by it anymore.

Phew.

I exhale the breath I seemed to be holding the entire time I was out shopping.

“You look cozy.” She’s perfect and beautiful, wrapped in her comforter like a cocoon.

“I am. But. I mean, what are you doing back?” She sits up in bed, gnawing at her lower lip. Guilt. Guilt is all over her face. “Not that I’m not happy you’re back, it’s just—” “I just left to get more supplies for you.” “S-Supplies?” Her lower lip trembles.

“Yeah. I didn't know whether you use pads or tampons, or which brand, because I didn't get the chance to ask you. So I got a bunch of different ones. I got a sales lady to help me out with that, though. So don't worry.” Her jaw drops slightly. “You… what?”

“She got a kick out of it, too.” I laugh but stop abruptly when I see her start to cry. “Hey, no. What’s wrong?” I run to the side of her bed, showing her the contents of the bag. “Don’t cry—I brought some snacks, too!” But that only makes her start crying harder.

“You’re so sweet and I was h-horrible to you before. I’m s-so s-sorry.” She wraps her arms around my neck, pulls me into a tight hug. “Thank you for coming back.”