Page 25 of Healing Hope

11

Paul woke uncomfortably, but feeling a little rested. He was uncomfortable because he was still wearing his prosthetic, which he never did in bed. Glancing at the window, he tried to gauge what time it was, but the blanket was still blocking out the light.

Sitting up at the edge of the bed, he tried not to groan. His ribs were fucking killing him, and he needed to take a piss. Staggering to his feet, he crossed to the bathroom. He pushed his boxers down and sat on the toilet, wondering if he could climb in the shower. Jess would have to help him remove his prosthetic. Then she’d have to garbage bag his splinted arm.

No. Fuck that. The woman had been hired to take care of his daughter, not him.

Determined, he used his teeth to rip the velcro open on the splint, then did the same with the bandages. His knuckles were raw, and it hurt to make a fist, but it was less painful than he expected. The splint had been causing some of the pain. If he was careful, he thought he could get in the shower and do what he needed to do.

Moving very carefully, he unfastened the prosthetic and left it on the vanity.

The water felt incredible, or his skin was extra-sensitive. Whatever it was, it felt good, and it improved his mood immediately. Things needed to be taken care of, and he wasn’t getting any of it done lying in bed and being sore.

Once he showered, he stepped out onto the towel. It hurt like hell to bend over, so he lifted the towel with his toes to his hand and sat on it on the lid of the toilet. He dried what he could reach without bending over, then sat there and air dried for a few minutes.

He supposed it was good that he was hungry. There was a sense of unreality, because he had no idea what time it was since Jess had covered the window. Was it breakfast time or dinner time? He did not know. And he did not know where his phone was.

Mounting the prosthetic on his right shoulder took double the time it normally did because his good hand was so sore, and it was hard to manipulate the straps and buckles. The scalding water had limbered up the muscles in his hand and arm, though, and he managed. It also took him longer than normal to get dressed in sleep pants and a t-shirt, but whatever. It was done. He was clothed.

When he walked out of his bedroom, it was to the sound of silence, and for a moment he worried. He could now see that there was sunlight streaming through the windows, and the clock on the oven read three forty-five. Had he really been asleep that long? It had felt like mere moments, and he didn’t remember Jess coming in to check on him at all. He knew she had to have.

Paul peered through the drawn blinds on the French doors. There they were. Carefully, he let himself onto the back patio.

“Daddy!” Hope cried, running up to him.

“Remember what we talked about, Hope,” Jess called.

Hope skidded to a stop in front of him and looked him up and down. “Ms. Jess said I had to be careful of your broken bones. Are you broken, Daddy?”

Paul snorted. “Well, in a way, but I can take a hug.”

Hope pressed herself very carefully against his side, with an arm around his waist. She gave him the gentlest of squeezes, then stepped back, looking up at him with tears in her big, blue eyes. Oh, it about killed him. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“I’m sorry you got broken for me,” she said, a single tear rolling down her cheek. Then a stream of them. This had to have been terrifying for her.

“Oh, baby, it wasn’t your fault. I’m okay, really,” Paul assured her. He went down onto his knees in front of her, though it about killed his ribs. “Look, he hurt my hand a little, that’s all.”

It was a total lie, but he held his hand out for her to look at. Tentatively, she reached out her little fingers, barely brushing against his purple and abraded skin. Then she focused on his head. “And there, too,” she said.

“Yes,” he agreed. Since he’d taken the bandage off before his shower, she could see the stitches, so there was no sense in lying about it. “But I promise you I’ll be okay in a day or two.”

Maybe he would call Dr. Waters and see if she could fit them in for an emergency counseling session. “How’s Sophie? Have you been pampering her?”

Hope nodded, smiling like the sun had just come out. “She’s doing better already. We put her in the grass and she walked around and did her business. She’s using her leg, already!”

“That’s fantastic news,” he said, standing, trying to breathe shallow so that his ribs wouldn’t scream at him. He crossed to the patio table and settled into a cushioned chair, his gaze connecting with Jess.

The woman looked beautiful today, though a bit subdued. And tired. She looked like the first day she’d arrived, her clothes a little haphazard and lines around her eyes. As Paul thought about everything she’d done for them for the past two days, his appreciation swelled. None of this was her issue, but she’d taken them on like a champ.

“How are you feeling,” she asked, her gaze so much sharper than Hope’s. His daughter was tucking Sophie into the padded basket on the far chair, and he gave Jess a wry smile. “I’ve definitely been better,” he admitted.

Jess held out her hand across the table and he knew she wanted to see his damaged knuckles, so he held his own hand out. It was truly a rainbow of colors. Every purple from lilac to eggplant, and a few greens and yellows in between. Then, of course, the red scrapes on the knuckles. It looked especially incongruous against her narrow-fingered hand.

Jess sighed, her eyes incredibly sad. “Probably not a good idea for a one-armed man to get into a fistfight.”

“Agreed,” he grumbled. “Makes life even more difficult for said one-armed man.”

Paul didn’t mind the brush of her fingers over his skin. Actually, he enjoyed her touch. More than he should.