by Holly Jaymes
I looked down on the man I was intimately splayed on top of. Tucker!
I couldn’t scramble off of him fast enough as my fear morphed into anger.
“What the hell is wrong with you!?!” I shouted. “Is this some lame attempt to cop a feel?” I stood over him, letting out all the rage and frustration I’d felt since the day he walked into Paradise Java. No, actually since the day I met him at Mason and Willa’s wedding.
After a moment though, I realized he wasn’t moving. He looked a little dazed and then he closed his eyes. Oh God! Was he dead?
I rushed to him and dropped down next to him. “Tucker. Tucker?”
I shook him and he yelled out. “Don’t touch me!”
I jerked my hands back, angry that he’d yell at me. I yanked my art bag out from under his back.
“Ah fuck, that hurts,” he growled.
“What hurts?” I wanted to leave him there in his misery, unless he really was seriously hurt. I didn’t want that.
His left hand went to his chest and he sucked in a breath and then slowly sat up. The back of his shoulders and tank top were covered with dust and dirt. I looked closer and saw road rash on his right side, with small rocks and dirt sticking to him mixed with blood.
“You’re hurt,” I said, reaching out to check.
“Don’t. Touch. Me.” He ground out.
I narrowed my eyes. “I’m trying to help you, you moron. Who goes running around a blind corner like that?”
He looked at my easel, now tipped on its side from ramming into it. He slanted his glare at me. “Who paints in the middle of a path?”
He had a point I suppose. “No one comes out here.”
“Right,” he said in a way that suggested he’d been thinking the same thing when he chose this spot for his run. Then he turned away and looked at his right shoulder. It lifted slightly, but then he winced. “Fuck.” He dropped his head down.
I remembered that he’d been hurt. Didn’t Mr. Mason say something about a separated shoulder? Was that the injury he’d had?
“Do you want me to call 9-1-1?” I asked.
“No. I want you to leave me alone.”
I jerked back. Everyone always said Tucker was a sweet, lovable guy. If only they could see him now. Then again, he was hurt. I supposed I should cut him some slack.
“We need to clean your wound,” I said.
He looked at me and I saw that he also had some blood on his right temple.
“My place is just right there,” I said pointing. I started to help him up, but he held his left hand out to stop me from touching him.
“Please don’t. I can do it.”
I wasn’t sure if he was trying to be tough or was acting like a baby. Either way, I stepped back. I grabbed my art bag, but left the easel and canvas. I’d come back for them later.
At least he didn’t need help as we walked back to my place. I didn’t think I could support the bulk of him if he needed assistance. He didn’t talk either, which was strange. Tucker wasn’t usually at a loss for words.
When we got to my deck, I opened the slider door. “The kitchen is to the right. I’ll get my first aid kit.”
“I need a shower.”
Oh no, he wasn’t getting naked in my house.
He looked at me like he knew what I was thinking. “You’re safe from me. It’s the best way to wash out the dirt from the scratch.”
I nodded. “The bathroom is over there.” I pointed up the hall. “There are towels and soap in it already.”
He didn’t say anything as he made his way to the bathroom. Once again, I felt like a heel. He really was in pain and maybe worried about his football career. I went to find my first aid kit and I poured him a large glass of water, leaving it on the kitchen table with a couple of pain reliever.
I realized that when he got out of the shower, his only choice was to put on his dusty, dirty, sweaty running clothes. I could put them in the wash, clean him up and let him rest for a bit before kicking him out again. It was the least I could do. After all, he did make a heroic move so that he didn’t land on top of me.
I didn’t have anything he could wear in the meantime except an old terry cloth robe. I grabbed it from my room, and then I knocked on the bathroom door but he didn’t respond. I opened it slightly. He was behind the shower curtain, his clothes on the floor. I laid the robe on the sink counter, and picked up his clothes, shutting the door as I left. I went to the kitchen where I had a small stackable washer/dryer unit in the closet. I put his clothes in the washer and started it on a short run.
The water went off and I sat at the table to wait for him.
“Where the hell are my clothes?” I heard him grumble. Maybe washing them wasn’t a good idea.
The door to the bathroom opened and he appeared in the living area. I stood and stared at him. He had the robe on, but he was so big, it couldn’t close in front. Fortunately, he had a towel around his hips.
“Where are my clothes?” he demanded. “Are you planning to force me to walk home naked as some sort of punishment for kissing you?”
“No.” I had a hard time speaking as my mouth had gone dry at the sight of his incredible chest. The artist in me wanted to whip out my sketch pad and immortalize the lines of his torso. The woman in me wanted to drag my tongue across it. “I…they were dirty…”
His eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong? You normally aren’t at loss of words.”
I turned away. “Nothing. I have the first aid kit in the kitchen. And some water. In case you’re thirsty.”
When he didn’t respond, I was forced to look at him again. He was studying me like he wasn’t sure what to think.
“In here,” I said, pointing to the kitchen and forcing my legs to take me there.
When I got there and pulled a chair out, he came and sat. “I don’t like it when you’re not using your smart mouth,” he said.
I felt a stirring of annoyance.
“It makes me nervous,” he said, popping the two pills and then taking the water in his left hand and drinking.
I took out antibiotic ointment from my first aid kit. “I’m trying to be nice.”
“Don’t do me any favors,” he said, putting the water down.
I pulled the robe down, trying not to let the bulk of his shoulder excite my libido. I squirted some of the ointment on his shoulder and began to rub.
“Fuck. Stop!” he bellowed.
“Stop being such a baby,” I said in exasperation. “You’re going to get an infection and die.”
“My career is dead anyway,” he murmured.
So, his shoulder must be bad. “Should I take you to the hospital? You hit your head too.”
He held his hands out. “No. I’d rather you just…leave me alone.”
I stood back, crossing my arms over my chest. “You’re in my house.”
He huffed out a breath and sat for a moment. Then he said, “How much longer for my clothes?”
“Another fifteen for washing...maybe. Then the drying will be another thirty or so.”
He rubbed his left hand over his face. Then he pulled a cell phone from the left pocket of the robe.
“You were carrying a phone?”
“In my shorts. In case of emergencies.” He glanced at me as he put the phone to his ear after dialing. “Mason. I need you to pick up some clothes for me and come get me.”
I couldn’t hear Mason’s reply.
“I’m at Emma’s. It’s the cabin near the rocks at Pine Rest.” He rolled his eyes as Mason spoke. “It’s not like that. Just, please, bring me clothes.”
When he hung up, he stood and went out onto the deck. I let him go by himself. He needed the space and I didn’t need the grief.
I headed out to pick my easel and canvas.
“Is it ruined?” he asked as I brought them back to the house.
“The painting? Yes.”
“Sorry.”
I brought the items to my extra room that was my art area. By t
he time I had everything away, Mason was at my door.
His eyes looked from me to Tucker, still only in my robe and a towel. “Running accident,” I said by way of explanation.
Tucker took the clothes Mason had. “I’ll be right out.” He headed to the bathroom.
Mason watched him until he disappeared. “He’s hurt.”
“I think so.”
He looked at me. “Why didn’t you take him to a hospital?”
“He didn’t want me to. I think he prefers whining.”
Mason shook his head, and I saw that same disapproval that I’d seen when he told me to be nicer to Tucker.
“Tucker is like a puppy, full of happy energy.” He pointed toward the hall where Tucker had disappeared into the bathroom, “That’s Tucker hurt.” He looked at me again. “Tell me it’s not his right shoulder.”
I bit my lip. “I think it is.”
The look on Mason’s face was devastating. “God, little brother.”
When Tucker re-emerged, he had the robe and towel folded. “I wasn’t sure where to leave them.”
“I’ll take them,” I said, feeling guilty that I might have just accidentally taken away this man’s livelihood. His dream.
He handed me the items then looked to Mason. “Let’s go.”
Mason nodded and started for the door.
Tucker looked back. “I’m sorry about the painting.”
“It’s okay.” I could make more. He had only one shoulder. “I hope you’re okay.”
He gave me a quick nod and then followed Mason out the door.
I sank against the back of my couch, hoping he’d be okay. Mason was right, while Tucker might have been a horn dog, he did have an energy, an effervescence that suggested a love of life. It would be a shame if he lost that.
9
Confusion
Tucker
The pain reliever dulled the pain in my head, but my shoulder was still throbbing like a son-of-a-bitch as I got into Mason’s car. Thankfully, he didn’t say anything as he wove along the wooded dirt road through the Pine Rest Resort property toward the highway. It gave me time to think about how my career could be over and done with. Just my luck that I’d be a has-been quarterback at the age of twenty-seven because a woman who thought I was a shallow sex-crazed jock decided to block the middle of the path while painting.
Not only could my playing days be over, but any chance of endorsements was also gone, unless a condom company wanted me to push their rubbers. At least I’d invested well and I had a college degree so I could get a job or start a business. But still, the idea of not playing football was more than I could bear.
As we reached the highway, I said, “Go left. My car is up at the lookout.”
Mason turned right.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Taking you to the hospital.”
I groaned. “I don’t want to go to the hospital.” It was stupid. I knew I needed to go, but I didn’t want confirmation of what I suspected - my shoulder was out of commission again.
“What were you doing at Emma’s?” Mason asked apparently not taking no about the hospital for an answer. Knowing there was no reason to argue, I simply looked out the window.
“Tucker, I thought you were on board with the plan.”
“I was, goddammit. I didn’t do anything. I was out for a fucking run and she was painting in the middle of the path. I ran into her. I fell on my shoulder.”
He remained quiet for a moment, then asked, “Why were you in a robe?”
I used my left hand to pinch the bridge of my nose. “I wanted a shower to wash the rocks embedded in the back of my shoulder out. She took my clothes to wash or something.” God, could my day get any worse?
Fortunately, he stayed quiet until we arrived at the hospital. He walked in with me.
“I can take it from here,” I said, not hiding my annoyance.
“You’ll need a ride back to your car.” He stared at me with the same steady determined gaze he used when he was pushing me to do one more rep.
It was probably just as well that he stayed since I wasn’t left-handed, so he had to help with the paperwork. Finally, I was called back by the nurse who cleaned up my shoulder and head scrapes. The doctor finally came in and started to poke and prod. He was a young guy I didn’t know, but who had a hard time hiding his excitement at meeting me. I wondered if he realized that he was about to give me bad news for my career? It didn’t seem so. He sent me for an x-ray. Then I waited. And waited.
Finally, he returned. “Good news. It’s just a contusion. You should rest and ice it for the next few days. I think you’ll be alright without a sling, but don’t work it. I’ll prescribe some anti-inflammatory and pain reliever meds for you.”
I stared at him not sure I heard him right. “When can I throw again?”
“Let’s see how it is in three days. I think you’ll need a week or so before you start working it again.”
God, I wanted to kiss him. “So, it’s not separated again?”
“You hit it pretty hard but nope, not separated. I’d also keep antibiotic ointment on that scrape. You can continue to do normal activities that don’t require you to use the shoulder. Avoid running for the next several days. We can get you a sling, if that would help. I don’t think it’s severe enough to need one, but it can be a helpful reminder to go easy.”
I let out a breath. It felt like the first one since I hit the ground. “I’ll be alright without a sling. Thanks, Doc.”
“No problem. I’m looking forward to watching you play this season.” He handed me a prescription. “You should have your doctor take another look in a few days. If you’d like you can come back here, unless you’re heading back to L.A.?”
“No. I’m in town to train.”
“Well then, you can make an appointment to see someone here in a few days.”
I hopped off the exam table and headed out.
Mason’s brows lifted when he saw me. “Good news?”
“Contusion. I just need to rest and ice it for a few days.”
He let out a breath, which told me he was worried too. Then he grinned. “That’s good news. The best.” He patted my left shoulder. “Thank God.”
I picked up the prescription at the hospital pharmacy and then Mason drove me to my car.
“Do you want to come for dinner tonight?” he asked as I got out of his car.
“Nah. I’m just going to go home and rest.”
“Do you have an ice pack? I’ve got a bunch I can give you,” he said. I had the feeling that he didn’t want me out of his sight. Sometimes he could act like such a parent.
“I’m fine, Mason, really.”
He looked down for a moment and then back at me. “Stay away from Emma.”
I rolled my eyes. “I was. She’s the one that got in my way.”
He must have accepted that I was over my infatuation with her as he nodded, said goodbye and drove off. Of course, I wouldn’t have said I was over my infatuation. I had half a mind to go see her just to apologize for my surly behavior. But I was tired. My shoulder still hurt, and I knew I shouldn’t take the prescription pain reliever and drive. So, I got in my car and headed back to the condo.
Once home, I drank more water as I took the pills. I pulled an ice pack from the freezer for my shoulder and ate a sandwich. By then I was exhausted, so I lay down and was out like a light.
I woke to a knocking. At first, I thought it was my head, but then I realized someone was at my door. I looked at my watch. I’d been out for several hours.
I sat up and took a moment as my shoulder reminded me that I was hurt. I made my way to the door and peeked through the peephole expecting to see Mason. I swear, sometimes he was like a mother hen. But it wasn’t Mason.
I opened the door. “Emma?”
She gave me a sheepish smile and held up a bag. “Your clothes are clean.”
I blamed the medicine for being a bit slow on the uptake. “My clothes
?”
She nodded. “I washed them, remember?” She studied my head and then looked at my shoulder. “Are you okay? Will you be able to play again?”
“Yes. Contusion.” Why was she here? Then I noticed she was still holding out the bag. I reached out and took it. “Sorry, I’m a bit groggy.”
“It’s okay. You need to rest. I should go.” She bit her lower lip.
I nodded, but she still stood there.
Finally, she looked down for a moment and then stared me right in the eyes. “I’m so sorry, Tucker. If you’d lost your dream…that would be the worst.”
“Luckily, it’s not that bad. I just need ice and rest.”
“Good. I’m glad.” She looked like she meant it too. “Do you need help? I can cook.”
I felt like I was in a fog, especially with Emma offering to help me. The woman I’d thought I knew up until that moment would have revelled in my pain, I was sure.
“This isn’t your fault,” I finally said. “I should have been paying attention when I came around the corner. I was looking at the lake.”
“It was lovely this morning, wasn’t it? The way the light and mist mixed.”
I nodded as I realized she’d been out there capturing the beauty of the lake. I also realized that I was leaving her on my doorstep.
I pulled open the door. “Do you want to come in?”
She surprised me by coming in and looking around. “Is this your place or are you renting?”
“Ah…I own it with Mason. I stay here, or our folks sometimes do when they’re in town. Can I get you something to drink?”
She turned to me, her eyes filled with determination. “Point me to the kitchen and I’ll get it. I’ll get something for you too. Is it time for you to take some medicine?”
My eyes narrowed as I tried to figure out if this was some trick. More likely it was a dream.
She laughed. “I know. You’re wondering why I’m being nice. I feel terrible that you got hurt.”
“Like I said, it wasn’t your fault.”
“I was in the middle of the path.”
“I’m not blameless,” I said.