"We can get you a cane," Ethan jokes with me. "Or you know, those walker things with wheels." He walks beside me just in case I go down.
"Fuck you," I say, lifting my hand and giving him the bird, but everything in my body hurts now.
I hear the soft music playing when I get to the opening of the family room attached to the kitchen. "Is there a blanket somewhere?" I look over at Ethan. "The whole couch is white, and I’m afraid I’ll bleed on it.”
"In the hallway," Chelsea says, pointing toward a white door. "There are some in there, but it’s not necessary. I live here. It’s not a museum, so things are bound to get dirty."
I look over at the L-shaped white couch with gray throw pillows with a black coffee table in the middle. Two big single white couches face the L-shaped couch with a little gray table between them, and she has a vase of tulips on there. I walk over, sitting down, and I’m not going to lie. I let a big sigh out. "Do you want water or juice?" she asks, and I look at her as she kneads the dough with flour on her face as she sings along to the music.
"I’m good for now," I tell her, and she claps her hands, then rubs them together and comes over to me. "Here you go," she says, handing me the black remote. "You can watch television. I’ll turn off the music."
"You don’t have to do that," I tell her, and I smell her citrus smell. She turns, and I see her use her heel to walk.
"I have to run out," Ethan says, coming back from the back room. "Gabriel just got called into the office. The kid is in the principal's office in pre-school."
"Oh, no," Chelsea says. "Is everything okay?"
"He stuck up for a kid that was being bullied," he says with a smile.
"Then I think he deserves ice cream," Chelsea says, smiling.
Ethan nods and walks out of the house, slamming the door behind him. Instead of turning on the television, I watch Chelsea. "You watching me is weird," she says, cutting the biscuits with the round silver cylinder.
"I didn’t know you cooked," I tell her.
"There is a lot about me that you don't know," she counters. "Every single time you’ve been around me, you have said a total of maybe five words."
She is not wrong. "I’m sure I said more than five words," I tell her, but I know I didn’t. Every time I saw her, and she was next to me, my tongue got suddenly heavy and my throat closed up. It was the weirdest thing. I also got a hard-on every single time, and then I had to remind myself that she was six years younger than me, and I was a dirty animal.
“I mean, when you did meet me, you said, ‘It’s great to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you,’” she says, laughing. “I remember because all I kept thinking was who was the hot guy.” I swallow now.
“I remember seeing you across the lawn and then thinking how beautiful you were,” I tell her. “And then Ethan told me your name, and I just felt like an old creep,” I admit to her.
"Oh, wait," she says, turning and putting the tray in the oven. "Once, we did have an in-depth conversation." I look over at her. "Do you not remember? It got pretty heated."
My heart speeds up, and I just shake my head. "There was no way in fuck we had a conversation, and it was heated," I tell her, trying to remember when this happened as I sit on the couch watching her.
"It was, and it was over pizza." She folds her arms over her chest. "It got heated when you didn’t get off my ass about pineapples on pizza."
I put my head back and laugh, but the pulling in my side makes me wince. Her face goes white as she looks at me, and I hold up my hand to stop her from coming over. "I remember that. Pineapple is not supposed to be on pizza."
"Yeah, well, we can agree to disagree." She laughs, turning, and I see her take a pan out as she starts the gravy.
"So why did you want to become a nurse?" I ask her, trying to make it less awkward between the two of us.
"Gabriel," she tells me without skipping a beat. She walks to the stainless steel fridge, grabbing stuff in her hands. "The minute he was born, I had this fear that if something happened to him, I wouldn’t be able to help him." I watch her talk. "The fear grew, and I just decided to volunteer at the clinic in the next town. Dr. Gabe is a family friend, and he made me shadow him, and I just fell in love with it. Knowing that you are helping someone is just…"
"It’s a rush," I tell her, my mouth watering as she whisks something on the stove. My stomach is suddenly rumbling.
"I never thought about it like that." She looks over. "If you weren’t in the military, what do you think you would be doing?"
"That’s a hard question," I tell her honestly. "I’ve thought about it, especially when I was on tour. You are stuck with hours and hours of waiting. Your head plays your life over and over.” I shrug now. “I never stayed in one place long enough to want to do anything else. I would stay in my cabin and wait for my next deployment. In the end, I think the military saved me."
"Everything happens for a reason," she says, and I see her pouring milk in the pan. "Every single thing has a chain reaction."
"You really believe that?" I ask her. "You think my father shooting and torturing me was for a reason?"
She turns down the stove and turns to look at me. "Yes. You joining the military and going on those tours. You were meant to do that. You save people. You serve and protect. That is your reason." She walks over to the sink and washes her hands. "Just like me being home when you showed up. I was supposed to be home next week," she tells me, and my heart speeds up. "But I come home early so I can spend time with my family." I listen to her words. "So even though what happened to you was the shittiest thing that can happen, there was a reason for it."
"Yeah," I tell her, swallowing the lump, "and I have an even bigger reason to find my father and kill him."
Chapter 12
Chelsea
His face goes hard, and I can see the shift happen before my very eyes. "And I have an even bigger reason to find my father and kill him." His voice is cutthroat, and I believe every single word.
I want to say something, but the timer dings, and I turn around, opening the oven door. The heat hits me right away as I grab the oven mitt and pull out the biscuits. The golden brown color is perfect. "I’m going to whip you up some broth." I look over at him, and I see him trying to get up off the couch. I walk over to the fridge, taking the broth I made yesterday for him. I scoop some in a bowl and pop it in the microwave.
"I hate that you have to cook a different meal for me," he says to me. "I’m good with the biscuits and gravy." I stand here looking at him. The ink on his arm is so bright in the light as the sunlight comes into the windows, and he walks into the yellow light.
“How about you wait three days, and then I can make it for you then?” He just nods his head.
"I wish I could help you set up the table or something." His brown eyes turn a soft green as he stands with the sun on his face. His beard is thicker than it’s ever been before. "Where are we going to eat?"