Page 52 of Trusting You
I stand, wincing at the sudden, crushing pain in my left leg. I should’ve stretched before I went prone, but I didn’t expect to fall asleep, and now my knee will make me pay for it.
I limp over to the door and press the button to open the downstairs entrance. Soon, I hear clomping steps and the creak of my apartment door as Carter steps in.
She took the stairs too fast and didn’t give me time to settle. I’m still favoring my leg in an attempt to get back to the couch.
“I knew you were doing too much this morning,” she says as a greeting and shuts the door. “Let me help.”
“I don’t need it.” I brush off her helping hands.
“Quit being so stubborn—”
“I said I don’t need it.” My halting arm is coupled with a glare and Carter gets the message.
Kind of. “Fine. Then I’m getting some ice.”
Groaning quietly, I lie back on the couch, lifting my leg to rest on a pillow.
“Do you have any pain meds anywhere?” she asks as she approaches with ice wrapped in a towel.
“No.”
“Seriously? With an injury like that?”
“No pain meds.”
“Not even ibuprofen—?”
“I said no, Carter.”
“Okay, sorry.” She raises her hands in surrender, looks to the nursery, and, seemingly satisfied, takes a seat in the chair I never slid back to the table when Asher left. “Did I do something?”
“What? No.”
“My paintings.” Carter’s distracted, at last noticing the stack of cardboard propped up near my head.
She heads over, bringing with her a wafting scent of roasted coffee beans and fingers a loose strip of tape. “You opened it.”
“You had it shipped to my home, and it was blocking my hallway. I wanted to know what it was.”
I’m being a dick. I don’t care.
“That’s fair. I just…it’s kind of embarrassing. I don’t show a lot of people…”
“I can see why.”
She blanches, and I ignore the punch it causes to my gut.
I forge on. “It’s a little dark, isn’t it? And dreary. Will the coffee shop really want something like that?”
“I…” Carter’s looking in every direction but at me. “I don’t know. I’ve never tried to showcase my work before.”
“You have anything happier in there?”
Her brows come down, shadowing her eyes, as she caresses the corners of the packages. “Probably not.”
“Well, it was a lot to ship over here. I hope it works out.”
I lay the bag of ice on my knee, grateful she brought it but refusing to say thank you. It would mean I have to look at her again, pretend I don’t see the hurt fissuring through her wide eyes.