by Brea Viragh
He glanced down instead of meeting my gaze. “Unless you care to show me your medical degree, I don’t have to listen to a word you say. You have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“No, but your doctor does.”
“You called my doctor?” Finn cocked his head to the side and considered me. “Maybe you’re not stupid.”
He’d thought I was stupid? My Bachelor of Science degree said otherwise. Hung on a bent nail in the corner of my room where I could get up in the morning and stare at my expensive work of art.
“A glowing commendation, coming from you.” I pointed to one of the larger tomes I’d brought. “I spent the last few nights reading up on broken legs. By the way, have I mentioned my cousin works for the hospital? I think I have. She took some time to enlighten me about the number of exercises you should be doing to restore your mobility. It’s a wonder someone hasn’t come to give you physical therapy.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. It was becoming a habit. “Who said they didn’t come? I kicked them out on their ass.”
“Yes, with your two broken legs. Let me clap for you.” I needed a different tactic. “You must like being an invalid. Don’t you want to get out there and be a normal person again? Maybe ride your bike again?”
A shadow fell across his face. “My bike was totaled.”
“I’m sure there are places to rent one around here. Not to mention insurance money, if you had insurance. I’m saying you can’t be bedridden for the rest of your life. You’re too young to get some kind of oh-poor-me complex.” I dropped the sympathetic mask and let him see the determination there. “You’re going to have to get up sooner or later. Otherwise I’ll never uphold my end of the deal.”
“Let’s make it later,” Finn mumbled.
In my current state, his constant excuses were unacceptable. Acid reflux began to carve a trail along my esophagus. “What are you so afraid of?” I burst out. “You’re a grown man. Get up out of bed and put the work into it. Don’t be apathetic.”
My head shook and annoyance spoiled my mood. There was nothing worse than a silly man who insisted on holding onto his malaise.
I’d come here to help him. To win our bet. This was time I could be using to find a job and maybe, finally, move out of my mother’s house.
He looked surprised at my outburst. “Fighting spirit, Ros?”
I gently touched the top of his hand. Startled, Finn shot back and nearly knocked his head on the wall. “Stop fighting,” I soothed. “Let me help you.”
His frown would have burned holes through my bones if I hadn’t expected it. I took hold of the sheets and drew them away from his lower half.
He’d been out of hard casts after eight weeks of healing and visits from the doctor. I couldn’t tear my gaze from the wounds, the lines of bumpy, knotted tissue where bolts and rods were surgically placed beneath the muscle. Angry red scars rode the length of his thigh, shiny in places where the skin had recently healed.
Finn fought to drag the sheets closer. His throat worked convulsively. “Don’t look at me. You don’t know what you’re asking me to do.”
I continued as though he hadn’t spoken. As though I hadn’t been affected. As though I could ignore the rush of feeling. Pushing up my sleeves, I vowed to work harder for Finn. “My cousin is a nurse,” I reiterated softly. He struggled for breath when I slipped my hand through his and squeezed. “She works at the Heartwood Community Hospital in the internal medicine division. The doctor she works under explained a few things to me, and that was before I gave your primary physician a call. You’re off the pain medicine, so you might experience a little discomfort. The bones are reset but your muscles have started to atrophy from disuse.”
He wrenched away. “Yeah, I can fucking see that. Stop looking.”
I kept my touch gentle, tugging the sheet out of his grip and placing it down beneath his knee. “You’ll be fine if you start physical therapy. You’re getting to a point where if you don’t start working your muscles, you’ll lose your ability to walk for good. I’m not asking for much. Just a little movement to start off.”
I spared a glance upward and stopped at what I saw. There was terror there, a cold, dispassionate terror which I could only assume came from the prospect of never walking again.
So why was he being hostile?
“I know facing an unknown is hard,” I said. “Your parents are gone and you need to rely on yourself. You’ve suffered long enough. Let me help you face your fears and put them behind you so you can move forward.”
“Is this a new requirement to our continued understanding?” he asked nastily.
“Swing your legs over.” I gestured to the edge of the hospital bed. “Come on, let’s go.”
A flash of pain darkened his gaze before he steadied his shoulders. I hesitated before moving closer. I saw myself in his wary look, in the haunted hesitation there. Like my hands were a weapon instead of an opportunity.
I wasn’t sure what was worse—how much he reminded me of myself in the past, or that I’d been through as much shit to warrant the look.
His expression had the unsettled feelings in my gut getting worse.
“Don’t you listen? I said not to touch me,” he argued.
“No, you said I should stop looking at you.”
We played tug of war with the sheet, until he lost balance and let his grip slip. His top half loomed over the bed for a brief moment before he grabbed the side rails to steady himself.
Finn pointed a finger at my face. “This makes me rethink helping you.”
“I haven’t seen any of this so-called mystical knowledge. First, we’ll work on you.” I held out a hand, ready to help him slide over to the edge. “Come on, Finn. I know you can do this. You need to put your feet on the floor.”
He refused to look at me. Instead, he bit his lip and stared staunchly at a branch tapping against the outside window.
“What?” I spared another glance down at his scars. “Your legs?”
“They’re disgusting,” he bit out.
They weren’t mangled, as I’d been led to believe from consulting with his doctor. Scar tissue riddled the area, skin bunched and bruised and broken. Purple still fanned out from the area where the screws held his bones in place. Both legs were a testament to his fight. No longer beautiful or perfect. Honorable.
“They’re fine,” I said sympathetically. “You survived, didn’t you? That has to count.”
He shook as though chilled. “If I ever get out of this bed, people will stare at me like I’m some kind of freak. Like I can’t see the stares. Especially from the little girl behind the counter.”
“Her name is June.”
“I don’t give a shit.”
He was scared; I could see it in the taut lines of his body. The white of his knuckles when he refused to let go of the rails.
“I understand you’re embarrassed, Finn, but this is life. You were in an accident and you came out on the other side. You should be proud.”
“I’m hideous.”
“What?” I joked. “Are you afraid you won’t be able to find another woman willing to sleep with you? Suck it up, buttercup. There are plenty of eager and ignorant bimbos in the world.”
“You can’t understand. Look at you.” He flicked an open hand in my general direction, voice breaking.
“Oh, sure. Look at me.” I cocked a hip. “Because I wasn’t bullied in middle and high school because of this face.”
It took several more seconds. Finn finally shrugged and caught my gaze. “What about it?”
I drew a zigzag pattern in the air above my nose with my finger. “I’m no beauty queen. I’ve got a pointy beak and a chin you can see from a mile away.”
“You’re fine.” His voice held a wealth of irritation. The sheet slowly made its way back to cover his knees before I tugged it down a second time. “Most girls I’ve come across would kill to look like you. You’ve got those great tits and long legs.”
“Or else what?”
I thought for a moment, then smiled. “I’ll call June in here and let her see you in your hospital gown. All your glory and unimpressive package. If she hasn’t helped you to the toilet already.”
My teasing did the trick. Funny how I knew he’d respond. Men could either be a serious prick about their, well, pricks, or they could josh around with the best of them.
The mocking light returned to his eyes and I was rewarded with a long sigh. I’d done well distracting him. Effectively taking the focus away from his scars and forcing him to focus on something, anything, else.
“No wonder your boyfriend wanted to get rid of you,” he growled, rolling his eyes. “You’re a pain in the ass, Ros.”
His smile had my stomach muscles tightening in a stupid, nervous quiver. There were dimples hidden beneath the stubble. They lent an unexpected masculinity to his features.
Expression conflicted, emotions worse, I allowed a small chuckle to rumble in my chest. I kept my arm outstretched and waited for him to reach out.
“Take my damn hand and stop stalling.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Finn shook his head to clear the cobwebs. He stretched to complete the connection and stopped short of contact.
“Some people say the handshake originated as a gesture of peace,” he told me. “Both parties demonstrating that neither had a weapon in their hand.”
“The pig can not only speak but converse about history. I’m impressed.”
He eyed my hand like it was a poisonous snake after my comment. A battle went on behind his eyes, a weighing of options along with a healthy dose of worry, anxiety, fear. And, to my surprise, embarrassment.
“I doubt a little thing like you can hold my weight,” he said, stalling for more time.
“You’ll never know until you try.” I shook the offending appendage.
His palm slapped against mine and I hooked him fast. Bracing my weight on the balls of my feet, I nodded.
Inch by inch, Finn slid to the side of the bed until his legs dangled over the side. Getting his knees to bend took effort. The joints refused to work smoothly after being stuck in the same position for so long. Though he could sit in the wheelchair, Finn spent most of his time bedridden. It hadn’t done a thing for his recovery.
I wondered what kind of muscle-bound freak they kept on retainer to lift him to the toilet. Was the facility hiding the Incredible Hulk in a closet somewhere?
Pain was etched into the lines of his face. Digging trenches his skin would remember. “What if my bones don’t hold?” he offered at last. “What if I try to stand and I fall?”
“Then I’ll catch you. I’m a lot stronger than I look, trust me.” I tightened my fingers around his. “Go slow.”
It said something about his character when he didn’t offer up a mocking retort. It said something about me when I didn’t, either.
Together we maneuvered him into position. Joints cracked when his knees bent, eyes rolling into his head. Discomfort took the words from him and we stood there, seconds ticking by, ready for the next move.
“Go easy. You can do it.”
He grimaced. “I’ll deal with it without the motivational clichés.”
“Sorry.” I steadied my stance and tugged him forward. Though agony twisted his features, I saw more hesitation than anything. Fear transformed men into heroes or cowards. I waited to see what it would do for Finn.
“A few more inches and you’ll be there.
Scooting forward, sheets bunched around his hips, unflattering hospital gown tied around his neck, Finn’s feet made it to the floor. The clock ticked by while he sat there, numb. It took effort not to haul him up. To let him do what was needed at his own pace.
His fingers tightened around mine and I shifted my stance to accommodate the extra weight. Elbows locked, I let Finn use me to steady himself, until slowly, so very slowly, he stood.
It was more work than he wanted to admit. A thin layer of sweat beaded beneath the dirty blond locks falling across his forehead. I concentrated on the way his mouth puckered. How his teeth worked the plumpness of his lips in a nervous habit I now recognized.
Then he shifted, broad shoulders straightening and the crown of his head reaching toward the sky. His full height, and damn if it didn’t send a prickle of something indescribable shooting through my midsection.
I was a tall woman, standing a good inch or more over most of my dates. Finn topped my height and then some. Except for Weston, I’d never known a man tall enough for me to fit my head beneath his chin. It was exhilarating.
Then my attention returned to his eyes.
Disbelief. Finn’s face registered the sensations, the coolness of the floor tiles and the pressure on his feet, then he tilted his head down to meet my eyes.
“Don’t be so sure you’ll win this bet,” he told me quietly.
Still, his words brought a flash of joy. “I won’t.”
His discomfort wasn’t from the movement. It was from my intervention. He didn’t want me there. Which was fine. However, we’d come far enough I didn’t want to back down now. A few more seconds, another breath or two, and he could take the first steps toward healing.
Somewhere along the line, I’d made it my mission to get him walking. And it wasn’t for the bet. It was for me. For him. A real victory I could measure.
Finn opened his mouth to speak again and our eyes locked.
June chose that moment to breeze through the door. She clapped her hands to her mouth in surprise. “Oh! You got him up! Are you kidding me? He’s up! This is great.”
And Finn shut down. It was like a wall slamming over his face, taking it from open to barricaded in the time it took to split an atom. His shoulders slumped, giving him the appearance of an inflatable object with a fast leak. Rear hitting the bed, he tilted his head to the window and refused to look at either one of us.
I bent to lift his legs, discretely maneuvering the sheets to cover his scars. The sheets were a shield, I determined. Like Superman’s cape. They brought him a sense of normalcy, a way to hide something he thought of as a deficiency.
I let him have his shield today.
“It was a trial,” I said to June. “It took a lot of coercion, but I muscled him into position.”
“I’m amazed he listened to you. You must be a miracle worker.” Her appraising gaze warmed the longer she stared.
Whatever progress we’d made had shattered. I knew it the moment June came around the corner. I tried not to let my disappointment show as I helped Finn situate the sheets.
“I wanted to let you know your boyfriend called and left a message. He says he tried your cell and it went straight to voicemail. He’ll be at the office late because he’s having difficulties,” June stated, using air quotes. “His words.”
Finn didn’t want her in the room. June had no idea. Instead, she leaned against the doorjamb and smiled at the both of us.
Finn snarled a warning. “How delightful. Now shove off.”
“Not sure what you mean.”
“I mean get the fuck out.”
June simply waved him away. “Oh, you’re rude.” Her gaze shifted to me. “If Weston has canceled dinner plans on you, let me know. There’s a new Chinese restaurant in Cedarville I’m desperate to try. We can go if you want. I’d be happy to take you out and show you the sights.”
“I’ll let you know,” I answered. “Thanks.”
She shot me a quick salute before turning to stride down the hall. I purposely kept my eyes locked on the floor, afraid to see whatever thunderous emotion had broken across Finn’s face.
My heart pulsed in time with the silence. One. Two. Three seconds. More. “I’m sorry she—”
“Don’t,” he snapped before I could get another word out. “Don’t say anything.”
“I don’t want you to fee
l embarrassed.”
“I said stop. It wasn’t your fault.”
I straightened, adjusting my shirt. “I think we’ve made good progress today. I’ll let you rest now.” I made to turn away, and shock kept me rooted when Finn reached out to catch my wrist.
“Hold on, Ros. We’ve done me. Now it’s your turn.”
I fought to remain reasonable, normal, when the heat from his fingers sent frissons of awareness through my body. Obvious as the proverbial elephant in the room yet delicate as a spider’s web.
To lighten the mood, I shook my foot at him. “You can see I have no trouble walking.”
“Quid pro quo.” Seeing the reaction I tried to hide made him tighten his hold. He enjoyed watching me squirm.
“You mean it’s your turn to act superior to me? It’s not like you don’t practice that on a daily basis.”
“Your boyfriend is having trouble at the office, right?”
Something about the way he said the word boyfriend had a swell of irritation muscling to the forefront of my mind. “It’s none of your business.”
Finn sneered. “Hold on. I’m here to improve your standing within the community. I have a way for you to fix this issue.”
“I don’t think it’s a problem I can solve by simply strutting into his office.”
Finn responded with, “I don’t care. I just know how to deal with fighting men.”
“How do you know they are all men?”
“Testicles and politics go together like peanut butter and jelly. Trust me, it’s a bunch of dudes fighting over who has the bigger wiener.” He winked. “I can guarantee it’s not our precious mayor.”
“You don’t have to sound so proud.”
Finn motioned me closer. “You have to act like you have no clue what the deal is. No matter what it is. Go in and settle down on his desk. Say you forgot where you left a pair of panties and you think you might have left them in there.”
“Sounds like someone has an issue with sexism,” I said, settling down on the bed and crossing my legs. It was easy to feel comfortable with him. The rough exterior aside, the easy rhythm of his voice lulled me into a sense of complacency. I didn’t agree with his approach, most days, though I was prepared to hear him out.