“Hospital gown?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I’m not wearing that thing ever again. I’ll just leave the towel on.”
He seemed to think about that for a long minute, and then he leaned forward and tugged the back of his shirt collar, pulling the garment up and over his head.
The breath stalled in my chest as I got my first really good look at the man shirtless.
His tattoos didn’t go onto his chest. Not at all.
They stopped at the line where his shoulder met his arm and didn’t cross even a scant inch in either direction. Then I let my eyes wander to the smooth, ink-free skin of his chest.
I studied his nipples. His pectoral muscles. His abdominals.
And finally, the V that led down to his…
“Arms up, darlin’,” Pace said. “Stop worrying about the scar it’ll leave.”
Scar? What scar?
Then my eyes went to his scar. The one that he’d gotten for me, and I felt things inside of me shift into guilt.
“I’ll be fine,” he promised. “We’ll have matching scars.”
Once again, I lifted my hands and he worked the shirt into place.
This shirt was much better, but I wasn’t sure if it was because it was looser, or because it smelled like him.
Likely both, but I was leaning toward it smelling like him that I wanted to keep it on forever and ever.
“Sweatpants next, then we’ll take a rest,” Pace said.
He had a light sheen of sweat on his face, and I knew that he was hurting.
I shook my head. “No, just the shirt is fine for now.”
He looked skeptical, but let me do what I wished, helping me stand up one last time to get rid of the towel.
His eyes went to my upper legs where the t-shirt hit me about mid-thigh.
“You didn’t look that small,” he admitted.
I snorted.
“I’m five-foot-five,” I said. “You’re over six foot and muscular. I’m not surprised.”
He didn’t disagree with that.
Instead, he helped me get back in bed, covered me back up with the covers, and then took his place next to me in the uncomfortable chair.
It was only when he was reclining it back that I realized he’d probably overdone it.
“Are you okay?” I asked, feeling my belly twinge.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “But I think I need some medicine.”
I laughed and pressed the call light. “You and me, both.”Chapter 7Happy Father’s Day to fathers everywhere. The real mother fuckers.
-Coffee Cup
Pace
It was two days later that I drove myself home from the hospital.
Kind of.
Ford had done me a solid and acted like he was giving me a ride. He’d gone downstairs and pulled my truck around for me to get into, and drove it out of the parking lot and into the side entrance just a few feet away from the emergency exit.
After switching seats, I thanked him, drove to Walgreens to fill my prescription, and then drove myself home.
By the time I arrived, I was more than happy to do nothing more than pop another pain pill and go to bed.
In fact, that was my only intention.
Which I accomplished without a hitch.
It was only hours later when I woke up from my phone going off that I realized I should’ve probably picked up some food.
After attending to business in the bathroom, I walked out of my bedroom and headed to the kitchen. After staring at the empty fridge for a whole two minutes, it was only then that I realized I’d never looked at the text message that’d woken me.
Frowning as I closed the fridge, I pulled my phone out of my sweatpants pocket and opened it up.
Maybe Viddy: Hi, this is Viddy. I’m bringing you some food. Don’t argue. I’ll be there in five minutes.
Before I could fire off a text in reply, there was a knock at my door.
I opened it without looking and smiled at the woman that was on the other side.
Then I saw the man behind her, as well as all the groceries that were overflowing from the back of the SUV, I could see that was backed into my drive.
“Move, darlin’,” Viddy said. “We have cold stuff.”
I moved, surprised to see another man appear from the side yard holding a box of what looked to be Gatorade.
He nodded his head as he moved past me.
“Uhh,” I said as I followed them into the kitchen. “What’s going on?”
“I recruited the men of the club’s help,” she said. “And I also saw your yard needs mowed. I asked Ford to take care of that…” The sound of my lawnmower starting up had me whipping my head around to stare out the window. Ford was, indeed, mowing my lawn. “Viddy…I really appreciate it but…”
Her eyes sliced to me.
“You saved my daughter’s life,” she said. “Let me just say that this is the least that we could do, okay?”
That was when a rather large man entered with a mohawk. He had a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a bottle of Coca-Cola in the other.