Page 69 of Sing For Me

“I’ve been out of work for fourteen months.”

Her gaze remains steady. “Eva, we both know hip replacement is in your future. Pushing it back could cause further loss of mobility, not to mention the pain you’re still experiencing.”

I close my eyes. Why hadn’t I asked Will to wait outside? Hell, why had I agreed to him coming here at all?

“I’ll talk to Dr. Bedi,” I mutter, watching the way my knuckles whiten as I grip the arms of my chair.

Beth’s face softens. “If you’d like me to have a word with anyone at your label—”

“It’s fine.” I reach for my purse, desperate to get out of there. “Is there anything else?”

“You know the drill—ice when you get home.” Like I wasn’t going to do that already—I spend half my life under an ice pack. “I want you to hit the hot tub, too. If we can keep the surrounding muscles from tightening, your swelling won’t be as severe.”

“Got it. Thanks, Beth.”

She holds out a hand for Will. “Come back again soon,” she tells him, winking. “You seem to motivate her.”

I don’t bother telling either of them that he most definitely will not be coming back again.

We’re mostly quiet in Will’s truck on the way back to my house. My hip is screaming at me, the entire side of my body throbbing. It’s almost enough to drown out my embarrassment at him having witnessed all that.

Once we reach my house, I turn to thank him and say goodbye but he’s already removing his seatbelt. “You probably have to get back to work,” I say, but he shakes his head.

“Nah. Let’s get you settled.”

“Will, I really don’t need—” But he’s out of the truck, coming around to my side to open the door.

“Out you go.” He places his hands on either side of my waist and lifts me from the seat. I would probably enjoy the sensation of his hands on me a lot more if I wasn’t so distracted by the pain. When he slings an arm around me, I don’t have the strength to object, leaning heavily on him as we walk up to the house.

Once inside, he eyes the steps. I can tell he’s debating whether or not to pick me up so I tug on his arm. “There’s an elevator.” My cheeks feel like they’re on fire. I hate how spoiled that must make me seem—an elevator in a two-story house. But Will doesn’t make a joke and that almost seems worse. He teased me about my driver after our first date. Now he obviously must realize how screwed up my situation really is.

In the elevator, I shrug out from under his arm and lean back against the wall while I try to think of a good way to tell him to leave. All I want to do is collapse on the couch with an ice pack and I’d prefer not to have witnesses to what will probably be my self-pitying tears.

“Why don’t you sit down,” he says, reaching for me again, but this time I manage to stay upright on my own. I can’t help the limp as I hobble my way to the couch.

Will disappears into the kitchen, returning a moment later with an icepack from the freezer and a bottle of water. “I’ll grab you a pillow.”

“I don’t need—” but he’s already heading for the bedroom. I squeeze my eyes shut and lean my head against the back cushion, willing myself to keep it together.

I don’t realize that Will has come back until I feel the soft cushion of a pillow as he arranges it against my side. I open my eyes and find him very close, face only inches from mine as he adjusts the pillow. He meets my eyes and I can see the worry in his. I hate that expression—it’s too close to pity.

“Do you take anything for the pain?”

I clench my hands into fists against the couch cushions. “Maybe just an Advil?”

He studies me. “Is that really strong enough for this?”

Apparently, I’m doing a shitty job of hiding just how much pain I’m feeling. “I try not to take the stronger stuff too often.” In fact, I usually only take it after PT but I’m not going to tell him that. “It makes me sleepy.”

“Maybe a nap would be good,” he suggests as I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, trying to breathe through the pain. “You look really pale.”

Because my entire side is on fire and I’d like you please to leave so I can lose it in peace.

“Where’s your medicine, Eva?” he murmurs, voice close to my ear.

Any strength I had to argue has crumbled. “Medicine cabinet. In the bathroom.”

It feels like only a second before he’s back, his gentle fingers pressing a pill to my lips. “Here’s some water.” I don’t bother opening my eyes as he holds the bottle to my mouth. Then he’s pulling me down with him onto the couch, helping me to stretch out and arranging the ice on my side.

“Just relax,” he says softly, his arms wrapped around me. He slips the pillow under our heads, his chest to my back, and begins to rub slow circles over my side.

I should tell him to leave. Tell him I can handle this just fine on my own. But he feels so good behind me, so solid and warm. Already the ice is starting to numb away some of the pain, and his fingers dancing gently over my side have me melting back into him.

I’ll just lie here for a minute with my eyes closed. Long enough for the pain to ease a little. Then I’ll get up and let him go.

In just a minute.