Piece of My Heart (Fostering Love 4)

Knee’s no big deal. I can grab something on my way over.

Seriously? Thank you! I’m staring at my fridge and it’s pretty much empty.

On my way.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed without thinking and let out a string of curses that would have made my mother blush. Dammit. I took a few minutes to breathe through the pain, then got up and dressed. I was really grateful that I’d taken that shower earlier, because there was no way I could take one now. I was definitely going to medical tomorrow.

I thought about going to a drive-through since walking to my truck was so painful, but at the last second, I turned toward Mr. and Mrs. K’s restaurant. I wasn’t sure what Sarai would want for dinner, but I knew they’d never steer me wrong.

I took a deep breath as I parked in the restaurant’s parking lot, then gritted my teeth as I climbed out of my truck. My knee seemed to be getting worse as I moved around, and I probably should have stayed home, but I was determined to see Sarai.

“Alex!” Mr. Krakowski called out as I pushed my way through the front door.

“Hey,” I replied, smiling. I’d never get tired of the greeting I got when I walked through the front door. As I limped my way toward him, he frowned.

“What’s the matter?” He hurried toward me. “Are you hurt?”

“Messed up my knee tonight,” I said, grimacing as I shifted my weight to my good leg. “No big deal.”

“It looks like a big deal,” he replied, staring at my leg like he could see the swollen knee through my jeans. “We’ll get you seated quickly.”

“Actually,” I said before he could walk away. “I was wondering if you do to-go orders? I’m bringing over some food to Sarai since she’s studying.”

“That girl studies too much,” he said firmly, shaking his head.

“I agree. I was hoping you could pick something she likes?”

Mr. K grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. “Yes,” he said with a happy nod. “Mama made some matzo ball soup tonight. Perfect for the rainy weather.”

“Sounds great.”

“You go sit. I’ll get your food.” He turned on his heel and made his way toward the kitchen as I sat down in a chair near the front door.

It took only a few minutes for Mrs. K to bring our dinner out, but by the time I’d made my way to Sarai’s apartment, my knee felt as if it were on fire. Sweat had made my back clammy, and I could feel my shirt sticking to it.

“Hello,” Sarai sang happily, opening her door as soon as I’d knocked. She smiled until her eyes reached mine, and then her face fell. “Are you okay?”

I can’t explain how badly I wanted to tell her that I was fine, not to worry, no big deal. But as I felt a bead of sweat run down my back and into my waistband, I grimaced.

“My knee’s killing me,” I said, gesturing to the place that was currently throbbing with every beat of my heart. “It’s swollen as hell.”

“Oh no.” She reached for my arm. “Come in and sit down.”

I followed her inside and set the soup on her countertop. Her front door opened into the kitchen, and I glanced around, taking in the little potted herbs on the windowsill and the fruit bowl in the middle of the counter with a solitary apple set in the center. We made our way into the little living room area, and I grinned at the ugly couch that looked like it was at least thirty years old and the expensive and very large TV. The woman had her priorities in order. Sarai gestured to the couch and waited for me to sit down. Then, without a word, she leaned forward and pulled off my shoes so she could gently lift my foot onto the ottoman.

“Is that okay?” she asked when she was done.

The pressure on my knee was already a little better, and I sighed in relief. “Yeah. That helps. This couch is more comfortable than it looks.”

“I know, right?” she said, smiling huge. “I found it at a garage sale. It’s not pretty, but it feels like a warm hug when you sit in it.”

I laughed at her description.

“I can’t believe you came over when you were in so much pain,” she said as she swatted my shoulder. “You should be at the hospital or at least home in bed.”

“I wanted to see you,” I replied, grabbing her hand. “And it’s not that bad.”

“You have”—she pointed to her temple and tapped it, grimacing—“sweat. Right here.”

“Shit,” I mumbled, reaching up to wipe off my face.

“I’ll get our dinner,” she said with a small smile. “What did you bring? Would you like some water?”

“You don’t have to serve me,” I argued, leaning forward to move my leg off the ottoman.