I'd Rather Not (KPD Motorcycle Patrol 3)

He led me into the bathroom and turned on the shower for me, using one hand on my upper arm to hold me steady, and the other to twist the shower knobs.

“They have a chair in here,” he said. “She said you could get your incision wet?”

I shook my head. “No, I can’t. But she put a piece of tape-like stuff over everything that can’t. I’m free to take a complete shower.”

He grinned and helped me maneuver my sore body until I was sitting in the chair under the spray.

I groaned as the hot water hit me.

He was right.

This was definitely the better choice.

He had no idea how disgusting I felt.

I could feel the hospital gown I was sporting start to soak through, absorbing the water.

“I should’ve taken my hair out,” I mumbled. “It’s a rat’s nest already.”

Then I felt nimble fingers adeptly removing my hair tie.

“You’re really good at this,” I found myself saying.

He ignored that and handed me the hair tie. “Put that on your wrist so you’ll have it for later.” He paused. “Did you bring shower stuff?”

I pointed at the small bag in the corner of the bathroom.

“There,” I said. “My mom went and got it for me. All trial size stuff, but it’ll work in a pinch.”

He set that stuff on the small ledge in the bathroom, then his eyes met mine.

“Do you need help with anything?” he asked.

“Not yet,” I admitted. “I might need help getting out of this…and into other stuff.”

He pulled a towel off the rack next to the door and set it on the ledge next to the shower.

“Call me if you need any help at all…and I can go get a nurse,” he said.

I smiled then.

“You wouldn’t help me get out of the shower?” I laughed.

He looked me up and down.

“I’m a virtual stranger to you,” he said. “I met you literally a few days ago. But yes, I would easily have no problem helping you out of the shower. Anything you need, I’ll help…I just thought you might be a bit uncomfortable with that.”

He was right.

I should be.

But I wasn’t.

“Let’s see how I can manage myself, first,” I told him.

With a wink, he left, leaving me to my hot shower.

I washed, rinsed, soaped up, shaved my armpits, and brushed my teeth.

By the time I was done, I was a shaky mess.

I’d contemplated shaving my lower legs, but I had nowhere to prop them up, and my abdominals were not happy with me as it was. I was sure holding my leg up to shave it was a really bad idea.

Therefore, instead of doing that, I turned the shower off and managed to stand up.

I got the towel underneath me and was standing near the door, when I realized that I’d done all that I could do on my own.

I couldn’t bend over to put panties on, let alone sweatpants.

And I was getting really, really tired.

“Pace?” I called out.

Pace arrived in the room moments later, his eyes fastened on my face and not the rest of my body.

“All done?” he asked.

I nodded my head.

“Yes,” I whispered, pain filling my voice. “But I need to get dressed…are you comfortable helping me do that?”

He didn’t blink as he said, “Yeah, no problem.”

Except his eyes said something different.

Before I could call him on that ‘different,’ he walked up to me and helped me from the shower, leading me back into the hospital room.

“The nurse-assistant-chick came in and changed your sheets while you were in there. She left you a fresh hospital gown…”

I shook my head. “I don’t want a hospital gown. I want sweats.”

He grinned and led me to the bed.

“Figured as much,” he said. “I’ll get you sat down on the bed, and then find you the clothes.”

That’s exactly what he did, too.

He easily helped me back onto the bed, and then he went in search of my bag that was surprisingly exactly where you would think it would be—the small bureau in the corner of the room.

After pulling out a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, he came back in my direction, wincing when he did.

“You’re overdoing it,” I found myself saying.

“I’m just sore,” he said. “Moving certain ways really reminds me that I just had surgery.”

“I can have the nurse help me…” I offered.

He shook his head. “I’m going to sit in this chair right here and help you once I get your t-shirt on.”

I didn’t bother to argue. He looked like he was more than capable of taking care of himself, and if he was anything like my father and brothers when they were hurt, he wasn’t going to stop until he was done with his task.

The t-shirt went on, and I immediately grimaced.

“Ow,” I mumbled, hating how it was so tight on my belly.

He seemed to understand almost immediately, and helped me back off with it, all the while I managed to keep the towel firmly wrapped around my chest. Barely.