Deklan

“I fell,” I tell him. “It was just a stupid mistake. I was trying to reach something up high.”

“Oh, really?” The doctor glances at Deklan. “What were you trying to reach?”

“A coffee cup.”

“Hmm.” He looks me over again. “I think you’ll be fine. You don’t have any signs of a concussion, but I’m sure that smarts. You’re good to go. Just take some ibuprofen for the pain.”

Deklan disagrees, and I think he’s going to insist I get admitted, but he finally takes the doctor at his word after insisting on a script for painkillers and a follow-up appointment for the next day.

“That’s an interesting outfit.” The doctor comments on my apparel with a smile.

“Um…my clothes were all in the wash.” It’s such a ridiculous lie, and the look on the doctor’s face says that he knows it. He glances at Deklan again before handing me a card.

“Well, if you need anything at all, please feel free to call my office.”

I don’t know what else he thinks I might need, but I don’t miss the look he and Deklan exchange. The doctor’s eyes are narrowed, and Deklan is staring him down. I reach for Deklan’s hand, and we head back to the car.

I’m beyond embarrassed, especially when we get home. The smell of burned toast fills the air, and the coffee has gone cold.

“How’s your head?” Deklan asks for the tenth time since we left the ER. He hands me my prescription pills, some fresh toast, and a glass of the orange juice he grabbed from the corner store where we picked up the painkillers.

“It’s still throbbing a little,” I tell him, “but it’s really not that bad. I probably don’t even need the pills. I just feel ridiculous.”

“Take the pills.” He doesn’t leave room for argument, so I comply. My head does hurt but not as much as the embarrassment of Deklan having to take me to the hospital within the first twenty-four hours of our marriage.

Deklan opens up a couple of the kitchen cabinets and glances at the items on the top shelves.

“I guess I need to rearrange some things, shorty.”

I glare at him, and he winks back at me.

“I’m perfectly average,” I say. “You are a monster.”

He raises an eyebrow at me, and I realize my choice of words might not have been the best. I cringe, but he doesn’t appear to be angry as he directs me to the couch and hands me the remote control for the television.

“I’m going to go find you some actual clothes,” he says. “Nothing fancy, just something to get you by for a day or two until we can do some proper shopping.”

“I could just call my mom and have her bring some.”

“No.” Deklan’s eyes darken. “I don’t bring anyone here. I could go get your things, or you can go back to your folks’ place when you’re up to it.”

I find my purse and pull out my phone. I have a few social media messages, but I don’t want to check them with Deklan there in the room. I send my mom a quick text about needing to pick up some clothes and set the phone aside. Deklan stares at it as he rubs his thumb over his bottom lip. The phone chimes with a new message a few seconds later, and his eyes narrow.

Mom: Foley bought you. Tell him to get you some fucking clothes.

I tense at the tone of the message. My mother didn’t write this—I know that. These are Dad’s words.

I glance at Deklan, and he’s staring at me. I look away and try to think of something to say.

“How about we just go shopping?” Deklan says.

He’s perceptive. I have to give him that.

“That might be best.”

He reaches over and takes the phone from my hand, turns it completely off, and sets it on the table next to the couch.

“I can still run out and get you some things, at least something to get you through the next couple of days until you’re healed up.”