Until We Fly (Beautifully Broken 4)

“Yes.”

“And two, do you know how to cook?”

She rolls her eyes again.

“No. Not really. But how hard can it be?”

I snort. “Well, I can make eggs and frozen pizza. Did you get any pizzas?”

She shakes her head and now she’s looking hesitant. “No. I didn’t think of that.”

The look on her face makes me smile. She’s not used to not knowing how to do something, I can tell. And apparently, she’s not used to taking care of herself.

“So, you can’t cook, and I can’t cook. And I can’t walk,” I make these observations with a smile.

She sniffs, turning up her nose before she walks away. “I also bought a cookbook.”

She hears me laughing because her spine turns ramrod straight as she disappears into the kitchen. I’m still chuckling as I study my leg in the sun.

My knee hurts like a bitch. Obviously. Apparently, it turned backward and practically inside out.

My ankle throbs like a motherfucker too. It’s swollen to the size of a football.

My pain medicine is in the kitchen, where Nora is putting away all of those groceries alone, and right now, it looks like a hundred miles from here to there.

Suck it up, Buttercup.

With a groan, I grab the crutches next to me, and heft myself up, managing to not put weight on my leg.

Fucking-A.

It takes me five full minutes to make the trip. When I round the corner, Nora is stretching up on her toes to put food in the cabinets. Her shirt has pulled up, showing her flat stomach.

“Hey,” she looks up, yanking her shirt down. “You shouldn’t be up.”

“I’ve got an injured leg. I’m not an invalid,” I tell her grumpily, because invalid or not, my leg is throbbing like hell. I eye my pain pills, which are mocking me from above the sink, twenty painful steps away. I start my slow hobble toward them.

“Did you need something? I could’ve gotten it for you,” she tells me quickly, setting down a jar of spaghetti sauce, and heading for me.

I’m already shaking my head.

“You’re not my servant,” I tell her. “I’m not sure why you wanted to be here so bad, but you’re not going to wait on me hand and foot.” My words are sharper than I meant for them to be, but shit. My fucking leg hurts.

Nora’s mouth snaps closed and she looks like I slapped her. I feel guilty, because I know she only wants to help, but I don’t say anything. I’m tired, I’m in pain, I’m pissed at the world. It’s probably best that I just keep my mouth shut.

Without another word, I reach for the pills. Unfortunately, I’m not used to my crutches yet, and the left one rolls out from under me.

I lose my balance, and in my effort to not land on my leg, I slam into Nora, effectively pinning her to the counter.

She looks up at me, her eyes wide.

She’s so small compared to me, as I tower above her. Awkwardly, I shift my weight so I’m not smashing her, but I don’t move completely away.

Because my pelvis likes being pushed into her pelvis.

Her heat emanates into me, and she stares up into my eyes.

“You don’t want me here?” she asks breathily, her fingers curled around the counter edge. Her knuckles are white.