Page 50 of Hidden & Held

“Got it,” I finish. “Exactly.”

Staring back toward Phoenix’s bay, I steel myself for the frozen tundra atmosphere that awaits. The technician walks by me with at least six more color options. I grunt in moderate approval, knowing none of them will fully appease her every day, but it is a start. I pull up my shopping app and purchase, with next-day shipping, an assortment of cast protectors in various colors, as well as protectors for use in the bath.

“The purple one.” I hear Phoenix choose with slightly more enthusiasm than the last presentation of colors. I know it isn’t the right shade; she prefers a softer lilac.

After several minutes, the technician wheels her out in a chair she argues against, purple cast propped, and discharge papers in her lap.

I bring the car around, gently helping her into the backseat, trying not to jostle her. The technician hands me a pair of crutches and leaves quickly, probably hoping to avoid another conversation with me about the low quality of these things.

The drive home is quiet, Phoenix stubbornly holding the pain medicine bottle, wincing at every bump in the road. I let her be with her thoughts, knowing that this short-term physical limitation will impact her well-being. Not being able to tackle all her projects and do everything on her own will be difficult for my independent girl. I know I have no right to claim her as my anything, not after what I’ve done. But I’ll always see her that way.

When we pull up to the duplex, the sky has turned from gold to dark faster than seems fair this time of year. Phoenix glances up the stairs to where her bedroom is, as if doing the math of how she is going to manage the task tonight. I take a steadying breath before I try to go about my next ask tactfully.

“You know the sunroom you renovated on my side of the duplex? I love that room. You made it so bright. A wonderful office and occasional guest space.” I pause to see if she‘s following along. “I haven’t done anything with it. Still very much how you left it. Especially that built-in daybed you built.”

She purses her lips at what I am trying to ask. “It’s right next to the bathroom, giving you a lot more freedom and breathing room than if you went upstairs tonight.”

“I am not staying with you until I can get upstairs, Jackson,” she bites out. Then, slightly more defeated, adds, “That could take weeks.”

“I know,” I respond as understandingly as I can. “Stay in Unit A. You won’t even have to see me. I already have Mack’s number. While you rest, we will set up Unit B’s downstairs sunroom exactly how you want it.”

I am around to her side of the car before she has the door fully open.

“I can manage,” she spits out.

I look at the crutches in the backseat, the steps up to the duplex, and the gravel pathway. “Sugar, the crutches aren’t adjusted to your height, the path is uneven, and it’s almost dark.”

“I can see that.”

“Phoenix.”

“Jackson.” Then she asserts, “I can walk.”

“Not like that,” I reply.

She hesitates long enough that I don’t give her another option.

One arm under her knees, the other at her back—and she’s in my arms before she can argue.

Holding her close, I look down and can’t help but comment. “You do realize this is exactly how trouble starts in those books you like.”

“What? I am being forced into this,” she proclaims, trying not to look at me.

“This is usually the part where the heroine acts affronted, or the hero says something like ‘me thinks thou dost protest too much, me lady.’”

“You can put me down at the door,” she deadpans into my shoulder, but I feel the ghost of a smile.

The gravel shifts slightly under my feet and I adjust without thinking, pulling her fractionally closer to redistribute the weight. Her breath changes, barely, before she goes still.

“I’m not going to drop you,” I promise.

“You already did,” she whispers as if she didn’t mean to say it out loud.

I suck in a breath, but it’s as if the air around me has evaporated. You stupid, careless fool.

I get her up the steps and through the front door to the small sunroom. The evening light is still catching the far window—she chose this room for exactly that reason. She always enjoyed working in here, seeing the evening sun stream through the glass, making the whole space gold.

I set her down on the daybed as carefully as I can manage, making sure the cast clears the frame, and straighten up.