Chapter 12: Chelsea

My head was still wrapped in gauze and throbbing when the doctors finally discharged me. The venom had worked its way out of my system, but it was going to take time for the entrance port at the base of my skull to heal. Cooling packs were wrapped around my head to keep any swelling from the concussion under control, and the doctor was rattling off many different things to Flynn.

She gave him a list of the things I couldn’t eat, gave him a rundown of the types of activities I needed to stay away from, and then gave him a rundown of how long it should take for the severe concussion to dissipate before we needed to be getting nervous. The worst was behind us, but I still had a long road to go, and I was secretly glad my work was letting me off the hook for a month. No, I wasn’t the happiest when mom had informed me that she called them, but they had promptly filled my hospital room with flowers and bombarded me with emails telling me they would take care of my designs and my show until I could get back.

Flynn helped me into the car before he slung the brown bag of medications in the back and my parents followed us to his home. My dad, as slow moving as he was, helped me get into the house and up the stairs while mom unpacked me in the room Flynn had set up for me. I could smell the cabbage soup the moment I walked in, and my mouth started to salivate, and once mom got me unpacked and dad got me working with the television Flynn had put in his guest bedroom, he gently laid a bowl of soup in my lap.

“There’s plenty more where that came from, and you can eat as little or as much as you want,” Flynn soothed.

“Alright, I’ve got your clothes in here, your toiletries in there, your bath stuff by the tub, and your blanket at your side. Dad’s working on the television, and I’ll be by later tonight to check on you before I go to bed.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I smiled lightly. She squeezed my arm slightly and left me on the couch. I tried to spoon the soup into my mouth, but my hand was trembling too much, and before I could protest or try to figure it out myself the spoon was hovering next to my lips.

“For once, just go with it,” Flynn smirked.

I parted my lips and took in the beautiful cabbage liquid, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw my dad smirked. He wrapped his arm around my mother and escorted her out of the room, and I saw her take one last look down the hallway before she started helping my father down the stairs.

“Your father’s really lucky to have her,” Flynn said as he scooped another spoonful up to my lips.

“And she’s lucky to have him,” I mused. He helped me eat in relative silence, and when my head started throbbing, I closed my eyes and sighed.

“Here, let me get you something.”

I heard a bag rustling before some plastic started clinking together, and before I knew it, Flynn had taken my hand and dropped a couple of pills into it. I heard a bottle of water crack open, and I threw the pills into my mouth, and Flynn held the bottle of water up to my lips while I gulped it along with the pills down. I gulped so hard, droplets of water started to drop onto my chin, and I felt Flynn tip the bottle down before his thumb ran across my skin. My head was throbbing, and it was keeping my eyes closed, but the warmth of his hand was so comforting. My mind flashed back to the night we spent in his trailer and how good it felt to have his body rolling into mine again, and my hand shook so badly Flynn picked it up and brought it to his lips to kiss.

“You need to rest,” he murmured into my skin.

The truth was, I was nervous about being alone in his home with him. All of my confidence in explaining to him what had happened before seemed to have disappeared with the accident. I mean, I knew he wouldn’t hurt me and I knew he would take care of me, but my body was already succumbing to him. My skin puckered at his touch, and my thighs involuntarily squeezed whenever he had kissed the back of my hand, and I knew that if I stayed here longer than I needed to, I would be second-guessing my flight back to Paris in a month. I’d already almost made that mistake once, and I wasn’t going to make it again.

I wasn’t going to throw away my dream life for my dream cowboy.

But most of all, I was scared he would ask. I was petrified that he would ask me why I left, and I was petrified that he would ask me where I went to. I was absolutely terrified that he would ask me why I didn’t just tell him or, better still, why I didn’t ask him to go with me. Part of me was scared he would ask me to stay because I knew I would go in a heartbeat for him, but part of me was petrified that he would ask me to take him, because I knew I would do that, too.

The difference was that leaving him here meant he could stay in his element and pursued what he loved. If I stayed here, I would’ve been miserable and always asking myself “what if,” and eventually I would’ve grown to resent him. But, if he would’ve gone with me, it would’ve been the same ordeal. He wouldn’t have had any rodeos or buckin’ broncos or anything to occupy his time, and there weren’t many rodeos happening in the city of Paris, France.

I didn’t want him to ask any of the questions I knew he wanted answers to, but I knew if we were alone long enough, he would.

I laid down when I got the pain medication in me and when I woke up there was a fresh bowl of cabbage soup near my bed. I picked it up to my lips and began to slurp, not caring about using the spoon, and just as I finished the silky broth that poured over my lips, I heard a little knock at the door.

“Just me,” Flynn said. “How ya feeling?”

“Better,” I sighed.

“Soup good?”

“Very, yes. Thank you.”

“I’m gonna go in here and run you a bath. Figured you’d wanna clean up, but standing up in a shower probably won’t help nausea.”

“Probably not,” I responded.

I heard him retreat into the bathroom and turn on the water, and I took the chance to open my eyes. The room was still spinning a bit, but my head wasn’t pounding, so I swung my legs over the couch and tried to stand.

“Hold on a second, Chelsea,” Flynn warned. “Lemme help.”

I felt his arm snake around my waist, and his body felt so strong against mine. Images of his lips caused me to shiver into him, and for the first time since that night in the trailer, he pulled me close.

“Let’s take it slow,” he murmured lowly.

We made our way to the bathtub, and he sat me on the edge, and it was sweet how he closed his eyes to I could get out of my clothes. He held onto my legs so I wouldn’t fall anywhere, and when it came time to take my pants off, he raised up his hands and held onto my shoulders. Without opening his eyes once, he helped me into the bath, but when he opened his eyes, I saw something that frightened me.

I saw a question rolling around, and Flynn was never one to censor himself.

“I wanna be with you, Chelsea,” he said lowly.

I sighed and closed my eyes before I sank into the bubbles. Flynn was taking wonderful care of me, but I should’ve seen this statement coming.

“Flynn, we can’t,” I whispered.

“Why not?”

“Because we just can’t,” I groaned.

“Look. Ya left me, and I get that. But ya came back, and that’s a thing that happened. Ya don’t go knockin’ on someone’s trailer and experience what we did without feelings behind it. I care for you, Chelsea. I never stopped.”

His words wounded me to my core. My entire body buzzed for him, and something inside of me wanted to tug him into this bathtub and hold him close amidst the hot water and the soap suds. But, it wouldn’t work. I know I’m a country girl at heart, but a man like him doesn’t care about fashion and a woman like me doesn’t live where rodeos are constantly a thing.

Not if you want a career in fashion, that is.

“We can’t,” I whispered.

“Yes, we can,” he urged.

“No, we can’t,” I bit. I opened my eyes and caught his wild stare, and for a split second, I almost caved. I ran my eyes along his strong jaw line and took in the wild tresses of his hair. I scooped along his strong frame and locked my eyes onto his strong, dexterous hands, and my stomach churned at the idea of having him pressed against me again.

“We’re just… so different now,” I shrugged lightly.

“‘Different’ don’t mean ‘incompatible’.”

“We can’t,” I whispered. I cursed myself when I felt tears rise to my eyes, and I cocked my body away from him in the tub. My head hurt and my back hurt, and my heart hurt, and my soul ached. I wanted him. I’d always wanted him. Nights in Paris that were lonely while all the other designers were out drinking. Nights at home when I didn’t seek him out but still longed for him to throw rocks at my window. Days when I heard a funny joke or experienced a funny moment, and I wanted to call him up and tell him about it.

It wasn’t just love that makes a relationship work, and Flynn and I… we didn’t have nothin’ else but love. One of us would have to eventually give up something to be with the other, and I wasn’t about to do that to either of us.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“I’ll be back to check on ya soon,” Flynn murmured. His hand landed on my shoulder, and my body jumped at his touch. He smoothed his hand over the small star tattoo I still had on my left shoulder, and a tear slowly barreled down my cheek. I remembered the day I got that tattoo. It was actually a dare I lost to Flynn. We were walking through the apple fields on the edge of town, hand in hand while the winds of fall were blowin’ us every which way. I kept telling him I was fearless and bold, and he kept bringing up my incredible fear of needles.

I kept insisting that it was just a one-time deal, that cortisone shots hurt like hell and it was the pain of the shot, not the needle, that freaked me out.

He then challenged me to a contest: if I could successfully get a tattoo that he chose for me on the part of my body that I chose, then he would not only drop the subject, but he would take me to the neighborhood hoedown taking place at his parent’s barn that night.

Flynn had never been a dancer, and he promised he’d dance with me that night.

So, we went into the first tattoo shop we came to in town, and he picked out this little black star. It wasn’t much-- no bigger than the pad of Flynn’s thumb-- but at the time it felt like I was getting an entire back tattoo. I remembered biting into his arm while the man traced it onto my shoulder, and I suddenly realized in that very moment why the tattoo artist tried to talk me out of getting it right on my shoulder.

Because it fucking hurt.

Flynn took me to the hoedown that night and tripped over his feet the entire time. We actually ended up just swaying in the corner for the rest of the night while we smiled and talked in our own little world, and that was the first night Flynn, and I would have sex with one another.

It was a night I’d never forget, but the memories came rushing back when I felt Flynn rub his thumb over that tattoo on my shoulder.

But before I came to from my memories, I heard the bathroom door quietly click shut, and I was left alone to silently bathe in my tears.