“What happened?”
“I tripped and fell.”
He looks at the blanket and pillow scattered around me and his questioning eyes land on me once more. “What were you doing down here?” he asks with accusations in his tone.
With those watchful eyes zoned in on my own, I feel ashamed of myself. Picking a fight tonight wasn't a good decision and it's like karma pushed me down the steps because of it. Thankfully, Jake is coming down, hiding my zebra print bra behind his back.
“Drake, I forgot my keys. They're on my nightstand, go grab them please.”
He does as he told and I seize my bra, putting it on underneath my shirt before he can return.
“Alright. Let's get you standing.” Jake bends, removes the ice pack, and I wrap an arm around him as he secures his around my waist. “One, two, three,” he counts and lifts. “Try putting some pressure on it.”
His voice is easy and soothing. Delicately, I touch my foot to the ground and pain consumes me. Shaking my head, I tell him that it's not going to happen. Drake has returned and he's watching with disapproval. Jake orders him to open the front door and then he tells me that he's going to pick me up and carry me to the car. I nod.
“Shit,” Jake mutters. “Where are your keys?”
“On the counter in your bathroom.”
&n
bsp; “I'm on it,” Drake says, going back into the house after opening the passenger door to Jake's Mustang.
“We can just take my car,” I say, since Jake's going to have to move it anyway.
“It's fine,” he curtly answers as he sits me in the seat. Once I'm placed, he shuts the door. Drake has returned and hands him the keys before getting in on the other side. After he moves my car, we're off to the hospital.
Three hours of awkward silence and a broken ankle later, I'm making my way into the house on crutches. Jake has barely spoken a word to me as if this is all my fault. I'm hoping it's just because we weren't alone. That's possible, right? As I try to go up the stairs, he huffs.
“Let me just carry you,” he insists.
“Fine.”
Drake takes the crutches and easily, Jake lifts me, walking up the stairs sideways and doesn't stop until I'm on his bed. All I can do is observe as he takes the crutches, leans them against his nightstand and ushers Drake back to his room to tuck him into bed. While he's gone, I remove my bra, toss it to the end of the bed, and scoot over to my side. It's during my staring-at-the-ceiling session that Jake returns.
“Because of your over dramatic performance, you do realize that if it had of been your right ankle, I would have had to make additional arrangements for Drake because you wouldn't have been able to drive.”
He's scolding me? With no shirt and basketball shorts, he gets in the bed and stares at the ceiling with me.
“Sweetness, what in the hell was all that about?”
32
Jake
When she doesn't answer, I roll onto my side, prop my head up with one hand and rest the other over hers, which lays on her stomach. She blinks slowly, her lips part, but no words swoosh out. While I wait, I swirl my forefinger over her hand. Yes, I'm angry, but I feel like I let her down too and I guess I did. I don't know which I should tackle first. How can I chide her one minute and then apologize the next?
“First off, how could you fall asleep not once, but twice?” Finally, she peers at me.
“I don't know. I thought we were done talking.”
“Seriously, Jake?”
“I can't read your mind. How am I supposed to know what you want me to do?”
“Because!” She returns her gaze to the ceiling, exasperated. So quietly that it breaks my heart, she says, “Because it's supposed to be mutual. What I want you to do should be what you want to do for me, just like what you want me to do, I should want to do for you. I should be what you want me to be for myself and for you and you should be what I want you to be for yourself and for me. We should be and do what the other would want. I guess it's not like that.”
“Sweetness,” I start, but she stops me quickly.