A few hours later, I’m driving Aran to her condo. I can’t believe they discharged her, but the doctor said there really wasn’t anything more they could do for her. All she needs to do now is heal. We stop by the pharmacy and pick up her prescriptions. She keeps dozing off in the car and I want to smooth the lines of exhaustion that are etched all over her beautiful face.

I pull into her drive and nudge her elbow until she wakes. “We’re here,” I say when she opens dreamy, sleep-filled eyes. She takes a moment to register that it’s me in the car with her. I bet she’s wondering how this all came about.

I walk around to her side and pull out the crutches that they gave her.

“Well, here’s to new adventures. I’ve never walked on crutches before,” she states matter-of-factly.

“Oh. Well, it’s not easy, but it’s also not the hardest thing you’ll ever do. I promise. How strong is your left leg?” I ask, as she swings them both out of the car, being careful not to bang the hurt one.

“I work out regularly, so I guess they’re about the same strength,” she replies.

“Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do. I’ll pull you out of the car, so hold onto my forearms,” I tell her as she widens her eyes in disbelief and smirks like I’m gonna drop her. “I promise I won’t drop you or let you fall. Just baby the bad foot, and keep it up in the air. Put your good foot down on the ground and push up on it, with all the quad strength that you have. I’ll balance you until I can get your crutches under your arms. Okay?” I ask her.

She nods her head and takes a deep breath. Rolling her shoulders, she’s mentally prepping herself for pain. I brace myself to accept her weight as she grips onto my forearms. I put my hands under her armpits and hold onto her sides enough to secure her body. “Ready, on the count of three,” I say. “1, 2, 3.” She comes into my arms like a feather floating through the air. She weighs nothing, so we end up hugging because I pulled too hard and she slams right into my abdomen. She yelps and her breath rushes out. I momentarily forgot she has broken ribs.

“I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” I ask. “Take a deep breath and hiss it out through your teeth. The pain will go away,” I tell her. I’m still hugging her and talking to the top of her head. I feel her nod into my body, while she reaches to her left to grab one of the crutches. I release her and settle them under her arms, giving her a few moments to get used to the feel of them.

She finally looks up at me; tears are welling up in her eyes. “Aran, please don’t cry. I’m really sorry. I’ve done this a few times. I know it’s awkward and it hurts. I’m doing my best, but we’ve got to get you inside. Don’t break down on me now,” I beg her.

She wipes her tears away and rolls her shoulders again. Good girl. She’s got grit. Most girls would have fallen apart by now. I show her where to place the tips of the crutches and how to swing her body. She gets the hang of it quickly, and we move across the sidewalk in good stride.

I dig her keys out of the side pocket of her purse and we enter her home. My god, it smells just like her. I see a bottle of lotion on the entry table, where I set her keys. I need to get out of here. My dick is hard from holding her in the parking lot. That smell is gonna be the death of me. I can already feel the ache creeping into my balls.

She moves toward a back room, which I guess is her bedroom. I hang out in the living room wanting to give her some privacy. She must be a neat freak, because everything is put away and tidy. It’s a nice place. It’s not too feminine, like I expected it to be. The rooms are bright and open, so she should be able to get around on crutches pretty easily.

It’s too quiet in here. “Aran, are you alright?” I ask, hollering down the hallway. I start walking toward the back room where she went. I open a door, but it’s a linen closet. The next door is already open and I can see it’s a bathroom. The only other door is partially open, so I shove it further open across the carpet. She is lying on the bed, on her side, curled up, with her bad foot hanging off the bed. The crutches are laying on the floor where they landed. She’s in tears, crying quietly.

“Ah, c’mon Blaze. It’ll be okay. The pain goes away a little bit every day,” I promise her. “Let’s get you settled; get some food in your belly and you’ll be as right as rain again.” She smiles, then sniffles. I hand her a few tissues from her dresser, and pull the blanket back so she can climb in.

She sniffles again, and asks me to get her pajamas off the back of the bathroom door. I do as she asks and lay them on the bed next to her. She just sits there staring at them, like she’s not quite sure how to get into them. We’ve already cut off the pant leg to her jogger pants to accommodate the bulky wrapping from the surgery. I really don’t want to cut her pajamas. “How about you just do the pajama top today, and we’ll deal with the pants tomorrow?”

I walk out to give her privacy, and to get her medications and some water. It’s already time to start taking pain pills, but she needs them on a full stomach. Even the inside of her refrigerator is neat and organized. I grunt to myself. Women. Men don’t have time for this shit. I spot some hummus dip and grab a bag of sea salt pita chips, some water and her medicines. This should hold her over until dinner. It’s nothing too heavy.

When I re-enter her bedroom, she’s tucked under the covers in her pajama top with her TV on. I set everything down on her nightstand, and settle myself into the chair in the corner. “What are you doing?” she asks.

“I thought I would hang around for another hour. You’re gonna need to go to the bathroom, and I need to clear that plate away when you’re done,” I explain. “Now might be a good time to go over what your brother, Jenna, and I discussed regarding your recovery while you were in surgery.”

“Oh, please, do spill it. I can’t wait to hear this,” she sasses at me.

I relay the plan to her and watch her face turn red. She’s pissed that we have decided this all for her. “Please bring me my phone?” she asks me in a calm but guarded voice. “It should be in the same side pocket of my purse, where the keys were.”

I trudge out to get it, not sure who she plans on calling, but I know I probably don’t want to hear this. I hand it to her and she proceeds to dial someone. She stabs at the keys like she plans on bringing death to the number pad.

“Jenna, what the fuck is going on? Kyle just explained “the recovery plan” to me and I don’t like it. I want to re-negotiate the terms on my own behalf.”

I can’t hear anything being said, but I know a fast-paced voice is on the other end and it’s raised. Aran’s face falls and her eyes linger on the phone, not looking at me. Her rant has been defused, and she is defeated. She agrees with whatever was said, says good-bye, and blows an air kiss before hanging up.

“So, are we agreeing with the plan now?” I ask smugly.

“Jackass. I’ll be nice to her because she’s pregnant and we’ve been through hell together. You on the other hand, have to earn my goodwill,” she says, pouting. She reaches over and takes her pills without argument, at least. I turn toward the TV and we sit in silence for an hour. A very long fucking hour.

“C’mon, Blaze. It’s bathroom time, and I need to get back to my apartment for my overnight stuff.”

She grunts and growls, but throws the blanket back and swings her legs to the floor. I show her how to use the crutches to get up off the bed and she maneuvers well by herself. She’s determined not to accept my help, or apparently talk to me. Fine by me, then.

She resisted when I tried to help her to the bathroom, and then back into bed. We traded barbed words as I wrapped the ice pack around her ankle to help with the swelling. She’s like a puppy and I’m her chew toy. I just know she’s going to attempt to get up and move about while I’m gone. Visually, I memorized her condo and where most things were. She’s gonna get a piece of my mind, if I find one thing out of place. She promised me she would rest. We’ll see if she lies to me.

I swear, she’s gonna be the death of me. Just being within five feet of her overloads my senses. My nose fills with her scent, and the urge to inhale every inch of her gets stronger. She messes with my head. I want to take care of her, even though I know she won’t let me. Her stubbornness frustrates me. I leave for my apartment, but not before looking at that bottle of lotion. I open the lid and sniff at it. Yup, that’s it. The label reads Japanese Cherry Blossoms. Fucking Japanese.

Luke is at the apartment playing video games when I get home. He offers me a controller, but I tell him that I have some things to do first. I can’t concentrate on a video game right now. My mind is fucked up over her and this situation. Can I take care of her? Do I really want to take care of her? She’s got family that can do it for the most part. I take my duffel bag out of my closet and start slamming clothes into it.

Luke knocks on my open door frame, leaning against it with his arms folded while I load more stuff into my open bag. I stuff my school shit into my book bag.

“What are you doing? Are you going somewhere?” he asks.

“I’m gonna stay with Aran for a few days. Help her out while she gets back on her feet,” I explain, as I shoulder around him and enter the bathroom.

“C’mon, man. You’re joking right? Doesn’t she have family?” he asks.

“Yeah, she’s got family, but I’m the one that hurt her. She’s my responsibility until she’s better.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Man, you need to stop and think about this. Can we talk? Or, can I talk and you listen?” he blows out a breath and runs this hands through his hair.  I just keep on packing, because he’s not stopping me. “Man, I get it. I really do. You grew up in a household that takes in the hurt and distressed. I know that deep down inside, you’re a helper. It bothers you to see another person struggle. You’re like your Mom, but that doesn’t mean you should take in every stray that crawls to your door.” He’s lecturing me while I continue to pack.

“I know, Luke. She didn’t crawl to me for care. She doesn’t even want me there, but I did this. Man, I really fucked up her life right now. I’ve gotta do this!” I tell him. “And don’t worry. I’m not getting involved with her other than helping her out until she’s on her feet without pain. I’ve got a life, and she’s most definitely not in it.”

“Alright. You know I support you in everything you do, because that’s what brothers do. You’ll let me know if you need me, right?” he asks, holding out his fist for a bump.

“I always need you, man,” I say as I meet the gesture. “And don’t tell anyone where I’m at since I’m not supposed to be “friendly” with her, per Coach. Whoever needs me can call my cell.”