Page 42 of Trial By Fire
I'm imagining the way she looks at me sometimes. The interest I see reflected back at me.
That's it, isn't it?
Lindsey doesn't feel she can return to Bronwyn's now that Bron and Gabe are getting married and spending every available moment together.
If I make a move and I'm wrong, I'll ruin everything. Lindsey might think of me as a creep who's taking advantage of our living situation. Feel pressured by me to respond a certain way. I don't want that.
More importantly, I don't want her feeling as though she has to choose me or survival.
If I were to show an interest—and if she were to reciprocate that interest—would she also feel trapped due to her circumstances?
I take my frustrations out on the weights and exercises in physical therapy, but I'm as undecided as ever at the end of my workout. My body is exhausted, but my mind races like a thoroughbred.
I am glad to have Lindsey in the house with me. Living with me. Not just because of her caring for me and the girls, though that's no small thing.
Dani's mom had been the type to throw some meds and water bottles onto the bedside table whenever I got sick and then disappear for a few days until she knew the worst was over.
And while I have dated some amazing women in the past, something about Lindsey just…hits different. The way she's encouraging and murmurs things like, "You've got this, big guy."
Telling myself that I shouldn't feel so appreciative of her praise? Shouldn't be noticing her?
Not working.
She's smart and funny and so patient with the girls. And me. Not to mention beautiful. Though her thinness worries me. She should be gaining weight, not losing it. And I swear I think she's lost a few more pounds since that night.
The hollows of her cheeks are more prominent than when we first met, and her clothes seem baggy rather than getting tight.
I want to help her, no strings attached, but until I can get on my feet and figure out my own life, I have nothing to offer. Right now, I'm not even a man but a patient. Her patient and someone she's taking care of because of an agreement. Nothing more.
I want to pamper her. To be the protector she needs to fight off the fear and anxiety I see sometimes when she's deep in thought. I want to be able to cradle her when she's sick and not worry that it'll be crossing a line. I want to tell her that everything is going to be okay, but how can I say that to her when I'm not even sure of it myself? I'm so far removed from my career at the moment that I don't know what the future holds.
And the fact is—my girls come first. Always. What kind of dad would I be if they didn't? Dani's still having nightmares about me dying. And Mads is one bad mood away from bolting. That girl is getting angrier by the day. Every day that her mom stays gone, even though her last words before she'd hit the door were, "I, uh, have to go get something. I'll be back."
I was busy cooking dinner for us at the time and thought she meant she had to get something from the car. I hadn't expected to hear the car start and for her to peel out of there.
Madi and I had looked at each other before we both hurried to the door. We got there at the same time. That's why I was close enough to hear Mads suck in a breath that bordered on a sob.
I looked at her, not understanding. Until I watched her push open the screen door to walk out to the duffle bag and a few other things her mother had tossed out.
Madi's stuff. Thrown out like trash.
Left behind like her.
"You look like you're chewing on nails," a voice says nearby. "What's got you fuming?"
I turn my head and see Gabe watching me, arms crossed over his chest. He's in casual clothes, so I'm guessing it's his day off. I've been out of the game so long I've lost track of the shifts. "What are you doing here?"
"Lindsey mentioned dropping you off before bringing Madi to work, so I offered to pick you up."
"He was done twenty minutes ago," my therapist says from the desk. "Get him out of here before he undoes everything we've accomplished."
I wince at Gabe's assessing expression and lower the weights without clanging them. "They're light. No biggie."
"Tell me that tomorrow," my therapist draws, shooting me a hard stare.
I didn't over do it. Much. But I had to work off some frustration, and since Lindsey hadn't arrived yet…
"Sorry I'm late. Traffic," Gabe says.
