I’d been picturing doing what Mom did, moisturizing her hands. No, this was full body style.
As I rubbed it into her arms and then her legs, I wondered if I’d bitten off more than I could chew. The answer to that query was answered seconds after it entered my head when the towel separated as I was on my knees, rubbing the stuff into the thigh of her broken leg, and I caught sight of her pussy out of the corner of my eye.
Know what the answer was? No, I hadn’t bitten off more than I could chew because I wasn’t seeing the little girl she used to be. I was seeing the stunning woman she’d become.
And I kind of liked that, even though the realization shocked the hell out of me.
Chapter Six
Sasha
Four days later…
Being broken sucked balls. All of the things that I took for granted, like brushing my teeth, wiping myself after I went to the bathroom, hell, even putting a bra on, was a struggle now.
I was one of those people who only used their non-dominant hand for show or to balance things.
Need to hold the pot steady while I stirred soup? Right hand on the handle. Need to brush my teeth? My right hand held me balanced on the countertop. Now that I thought about it, I couldn’t even say what my right hand usually did when I wiped myself after I peed. It was just there, and now I was relying on it for everything.
And I couldn’t walk up stairs, which was why I was being carried again by poor Jackson after my first appointment with the physical therapist. I couldn’t do many exercises, but because I had a broken arm and couldn’t take my full weight off my leg once I was ready to start weight-bearing, they wanted to teach me how to do it properly before it got to that stage. That’s what today had been all about.
As we got to the top and he walked over to his door, I patted him on the top of the head.
“Thank you, bellhop. It was mighty kind of you to carry lil ole me up those burdensome stairs.”
Snorting, he lifted his knee to support my ass, freeing up his hand to unlock the door.
“You know, sometimes I think you open your mouth, and words just pour out of it. Just now being a prime example of that.” Then, after a short pause, he added, “And while you’re sleeping.”
He wasn’t far from the truth. I got verbal diarrhea more when I was nervous or uncomfortable, almost like I was trying to delay something from happening. But my sleep talking was also proof that he was right.
“Was I bad last night?”
“No more than the nights before it,” he shrugged. “Last night, you were yelling at someone to ‘let go of my fucking hair and take the stairs, you lazy asshole.’ It was hilarious.”
Before I could answer, he opened the door, and a deep voice said from right in front of us, “What the fuck’s wrong with your cat?”
Two things happened right after it. The first being that Jackson pretty much dropped me as he raised a hand to hit out at whoever it was. The second was that, thankfully, the owner of the voice caught me and lifted me. Even more thankfully, they did it gently.
And then I was face to face with a mirror image of Jackson.
“What the fuck, Marcus?” Jackson snapped, moving to take me back from his brother.
Marcus, though, wasn’t having that and turned away, giving him his back, and stalked into the living room, where I saw another guy sitting on the couch with a tiny baby asleep on his chest, and a pretty woman sitting beside him staring at me wide-eyed.
“Mom’s having a shit fit because you spent a whack in a store that sells shit for disabled people. Everyone’s been calling you, but no one can get through to your phone. So we decided to come and check on you and discovered that you not only had the stuff throughout your apartment, but you’ve also got a disabled cat,” Marcus muttered, setting me down carefully on the couch.
“Now we see the reason why, but that doesn’t explain…” he trailed off when I looked up at him, squinting as he stared down at me. “Why do you look familiar?”
Looking behind him at where Jackson was glaring at his brother’s back, I swallowed loudly. “Um, because we grew up near each other?”
Rolling his eyes, he crossed his arms over his chest. “I grew up in Florida. Trust me when I say that I grew up around a lot of people, most of whom I wouldn’t recognize for shit.”
Taking pity on me, Jackson made the introductions.
“Marcus, that’s Sasha, Ryan and Sam’s daughter. Sasha, you obviously remember this shithead.”