Chapter Five

Atlas

I wasn't a good patient.

I'd been told that many times in my life.

My mom used to claim I would fake being well even when I was really sick because I was always in a hurry to get moving again, to explore the world that was our backyard or neighborhood.

Kingston and my other siblings practically had to tie me to my bed when I was injured and refused to just keep my ass still and heal.

The less I was capable of doing, the grumpier I got.

I'd been given a long-ass lecture from Kingston when AJ went into the kitchen to eat her dinner. About watching my tone, about being nice, about calling him or someone else in the family if I needed more help.

Without a doubt, he felt like crap about inconveniencing AJ. I did too. It wasn't her fault I fell down a mountain and needed to come and disrupt her quiet little life.

Sure, she'd been a trooper about it. But a part of me thought it was simply because she was someone who never really put her foot down about things, who struggled with setting and keeping boundaries.

So, yeah, when I woke up and needed to get to the bathroom, I'd attempted to do that shit myself, since she was still out cold in her room. I'd sat and listened for ten minutes to make sure she wasn't moving around before I reached for the chair, set the brake, pushed the coffee table out of the way, and tried to pull myself onto it.

Tried being the operative word here.

I managed to get myself off the couch and onto one foot, movement only made possible by the pain pills still working through my system.

But the second I tried to twist my body around to drop onto the chair, blinding fucking pain screamed through my side, enough to make me try to sit back down on the couch, but I misjudged the distance, and felt my stomach bottom out as I realized I was going to fall, and there was no fucking way to try to stop or brace myself thanks to a bum leg, shoulder, and braced fingers.

"Fuck," I growled the second my ass met the hard ground, the impact sending another wave of pain through me as I knocked over the chair in the process, making it crash down onto the floor.

Distantly through the sound of my own ragged breathing, I heard the dog, Samson, barking at the disruption.

Then the sound of the bedroom door slamming against the wall as it was thrown open, and the slap of bare feet on the hardwood as AJ came running.

Looking over, I saw her rushing toward me.

Without any goddamn pants on, her shapely legs on display under the hem of her t-shirt. A t-shirt that was doing little to hide the bounce of her tits under the material as she ran toward me, her dark hair flying out behind her.

And, fuck, she was even prettier not all made up for the day. With pillow creases still on her face, her hair a little tangled. Her brown eyes all sleepy.

"Oh my God," she cried, righting the chair, but only because it was in her way, then dropping down onto her knees next to me.

And I had a serious silent conversation with my body, begging it not to react to her. Especially when I was going to need her help getting off the damn floor.

"Are you okay? What happened?"

Fuck, she smelled good too.

Something kind of sweet, but not overly perfumy. Maybe lotion she'd put on before bed or something.

It wasn't helping.

I sucked in a deep breath, forcing my mind back to my pain, not all her pretty.

"Tried to get on the chair," I told her. "Overestimated my ability to twist without nearly blacking out in pain."

"Why didn't you call me?" she asked, sounding genuinely hurt that I hadn't.

"It's five in the morning."

"So?" she said, shaking her head. "If you need help, you need help. Don't be so proud," she said, moving to stand.

And flashing her pretty pink panties with the little white hearts in the process.

What the hell was the matter with me?

It wasn't like I'd never been around a woman in a tee and panties before. And so what if she was gorgeous? I'd known many gorgeous women in the past. Had seen them in far less clothing, even.

"Okay," she said, back on her feet, and reaching down to grab my forearm.

"Sweetheart, I'm too heavy," I told her, shaking my head.

"Boys," she said, rolling her eyes at me. "Always thinking girls are so weak and fragile. I have moved that couch at least half a dozen times since I moved in," she told me. "If I can lift the couch, I can lift you."

I wanted to tell her that it was one thing to shift a couch around and a complete other to deadlift a full-grown man.

But given the circumstances, what choice did we have but to try? It was that, or call and wake up one of my siblings at this hour.

"Okay. We can try. But the only way it's gonna work is if I put an arm around your neck, and you put yours around my waist, then we can kind of pull against each other."

"Right. Okay," she said, dropping my arm. "We can do that."

"Don't bend over. You'll just fall on top of me. Here, do a lunge toward me," I said, trying not to watch as she did so. As soon as she was close, I let my arm go around her neck.

She slid hers around me, arms going upward for more leverage without putting pressure on my screaming ribs.

"Okay, on three," I said, trying to tighten my core against the coming pain.

"Three," she said, then pulled with everything she had.

And fuck if she didn't get me back far enough to get my leg up under me to help push up, take some of the pressure off of her.

It wasn't easy for her, for sure. She grunted and hissed through it. And by the time she lowered me onto the chair, she was panting for breath.

And my pervy fucking ass had to force my gaze up from her chest.

"See? No sweat," she said, though she was totally fucking sweating in her hairline. "But for the record, it would have been a lot easier to just, you know, help you off of the couch."

"Noted," I agreed, taking slow, deep breaths before trying to scoot myself.

"Oh, for God's sake. I can push you," she said, rolling her eyes at me before moving behind the chair, and pushing me into the bathroom. "Do you need me to—"

"I swear to fuck if I ever need you to help me in the bathroom, just take me out back and shoot me," I said, shaking my head at her.

"Hey," she started. "Bodies get hurt and they sometimes start to fail. And it's not exactly dignified, but it happens to all of us eventually. So there's no reason to be embarrassed about it."

That was a surprisingly deep comment for five in the morning. But she was right.

"I got this," I assured her.

The bathroom was snug, with the counter easy to grab if I needed some extra support.

"Okay. But I'm not going back to bed until you're on the couch, so if you change your mind, call me."

With that, she walked out, closing the door, and I could hear her letting out the dog as I finished up in the bathroom, taking a minute to brush my teeth with a spare brush she had in the drawer. Then pulling off the braces on my fingers, and using some tape I had in the drawer instead. They'd do just about as good a job but wouldn't be so bulky.

Finished, I looked at myself, seeing how pale I looked from the pain.

It was a nonstop shooting pain from my leg, ribs, shoulder, and neck now. And I was suddenly thankful that Shane Mallick would get me an appointment at his doctor, because I was going to need more pain pills sooner rather than later.

I hoped it would ease up in a few days.

The reality was, though, that I had no idea.

I'd never been hurt this badly before.

If the pain in just one of the areas—ribs, shoulder, fingers, or neck—would get better, I could deal with the leg and other pains better.

"Gonna need a sign of life in there," AJ called from the hallway, making my lips curve up as I reached for the door, pulling it open. "Oh, good," she said, and I was suddenly ridiculously disappointed that she'd put on pants. "What'd you do to your fingers?" she asked, giving the braces on the counter a meaningful look.

"They'll be fine with the tape," I assured her. "I've hurt my fingers plenty in the past. You can trust me on this one."

"I'm doubtful given that you thought you could get up by yourself, but okay," she said, coming in to slide the chair behind me again, then holding it still, so I could get on it. "I kind of want to make zooming noises," she said as she started pushing me down the hall toward the couch.

"You really know how to make a man feel good about himself," I teased, but wanted to suck it right back in when I saw the look on her face.

Like she was, I don't know, scared?

The hell was that about?

"Joking, AJ, joking," I said, giving her a smile. "Why don't you leave me here?" I suggested. "That way I will already be up. Go back to sleep."

"Oh, I'm up now," she said, waving me off. "I usually get up around six anyway. So… how about I make breakfast?"

"You cook?" I asked, intrigued. When was the last time I had a home-cooked meal? Last Christmas?

"I do," she said with a sweet little smile that made me think she was not only good at it, but proud of it, but didn't want to boast.

"Good. ‘Cause I'm fucking starving," I said, watching her light up.

"Do you have any restrictions?"

"Basically just how much my stomach will hold," I said, getting a little laugh out of her. It was a good sound, too. A little tinkling sound.

"Coffee?"

"Fuck yes."

"I'll get that going first," she said, all smiles and bright eyes.

Almost like she enjoyed having company. Maybe she did.

And in that case, I went ahead and very slowly rolled my ass into the kitchen with her, moving over toward the table, and out of her way.

"Puzzles, huh?" I asked, finding a piece, and pushing it into place.

"New hobby, I guess," she said. "Helps the time pass on the long nights."

"Any other hobbies?"

"Not any that aren't going to make me sound like I'm eighty years old and hiding sewing equipment in old cookie tins," she said, shooting me a smirk over her shoulder. "You?"

"Got a lot of hobbies."

"Like what?"

"Skiing, for one," I said, waving at myself. "Jumping out of planes or off of bridges."

"I've always wanted to do a bungee," she told me as she turned the coffee pot on. "I mean I'm absolutely terrified by the idea, but I want to do it anyway."

"The fear is kind of the point," I said, nodding.

I ran across a lot of fellow adrenaline junkies in my travels. The majority of them, come to think of it, being men. It was intriguing to find a woman who wanted to dip her toe into it.

"Exactly," she agreed. "I want to make myself do it. Have some stories to tell the grandkids one day. I don't think they'd want to hear me confess I spent most of my twenties doing puzzles and birdwatching."

"Birdwatching is kind of lit, though," I said, shrugging. "The world has some cool-ass birds."

"I always wanted to see the Umbrella Cockatoos in Australia," she told me as she dug an armful of ingredients out of the fridge. Eggs, little bits of veg, some cheese, milk.

It looked like an omelet was in my future.

My stomach let out a painful grumble at the prospect.

"They're loud as fuck," I told her. "And daring. They'll walk right up the railing at a restaurant and pluck food off of your plate. Cute as hell too. Got pictures of them I can show you once I get my phone back. Actually, prolly have a video of them on my channel."

"Channel?" she asked as she grabbed a bowl.

"I post videos of my travels. The views pay for them and the house."

"Oh, interesting. Is it all extreme sports stuff?"

"Nah, it's a little bit of everything when I travel. The sports shit gets the most views, but I post it all. A scrapbook of all the shit I've seen and done for one day when I can't anymore."

"Keep having accidents like this one and it might be sooner rather than later. Sorry!" she said, whipping around with wide eyes.

At what? The possibility that she might have offended me? What was that about?

"Nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart. You're right about that. I don't usually get very hurt. This was out of the norm."

But now I would have to be even more careful than usual. Because everything was going to be weaker than before. Even if I went through all the physical therapy offered to me. Some shit just never got back to one hundred percent.

"Well, that's good. It must suck being so hurt all over," she said as she started to add shit to the bowl that I was reasonably sure wouldn't make an omelet. Not that I was an expert at this sort of thing, since most of my meals came cooked to me by restaurants. But the flour seemed more like a baked thing.

"It's not great," I admitted. "It'll be better when the shoulder and ribs ease up. I can deal with the leg if every movement doesn't make me see stars."

"I wish I could offer you an icepack or something. But I don't… oh, actually," she said, abandoning her concoction to rummage through the freezer, producing some sort of… I don't know… band. "This might be better than a normal icepack," she said, coming over toward me. "May I?" she asked.

"Sure," I said, scooting forward to let her drape it around me, then fasten it with the velcro on my good side. "Oh, nice," I said as the cool started on my ribs immediately, dulling the pain. "What's this for?" I asked, then watched as her eyes went round and her cheeks went all pink. Which was cute as fuck. "Oh," I said, figuring it was a period thing. "Right. Well, I'm glad I ended up with a girl looking after me, then," I said.

"I actually have some CBD cream too," she said. "I will leave that with you when I head out today to see if it helps. I think it does, but maybe that's just a placebo thing. Oh, and I have a heating pad. Would that be better? I know for me, it can go either way. But that's not, ah, my ribs, I guess."

"It's all soft tissue," I said. "It might help. But, fuck, did the numbness the cold caused bring some immediate relief.

We talked about little things then. Like the doggy daycare she worked at, and how Samson liked going to work with her. About how she met Kingston and Savvy.

By the time she was pulling the muffins—that was what she'd been making with the flour—out of the oven, the omelets and breakfast potatoes were just finishing up too.

"This is fucking amazing," I told her after digging in, hungrier than I'd realized as soon as I got a taste of the food.

Omelets with mushrooms, onions, spinach, and mozzarella. Muffins with chocolate chips because she said she didn't have any fresh fruit. And the potatoes that were crispy as fuck.

Hell, she even made good coffee.

"So, are your cooking skills exclusive to breakfast food, or…"

"I can cook lunches and dinners too," she said.

"In that case, you can fucking empty my bank account to buy groceries if you can produce more of this," I told her, pointing my fork at my food.

Her smile was big, but she ducked her head, like the praise embarrassed her.

"So, if you could have anything for dinner, what would you want?" she asked.

"Sweetheart, whatever you think your best dish is sounds good to me," I told her, polishing off the muffin that I saved for last.

"I could even start to pack some lunches for you," she offered. "To eat while I'm gone."

"That's asking a little too much," I said, shaking my head. My sister and sisters-in-law would likely be dropping by for lunch anyway. But AJ's face fell at that. "I don't want you getting burnt out doing too much," I added. "Better just to stick to the two meals. And maybe a dessert here or there."

"That I can manage. I don't make a lot of dessert because I don't usually have anyone to share it with, and knowing me, I will eat a whole tray of brownies meant for twenty people by myself."

"I can definitely help you polish off some brownies," I said, already salivating over the thought, even though my stomach was pushing the boundaries of full.

AJ was just gathering up the plates as I squished down the guilt I felt at not being able to help, when there was a loud rap at the door.

And AJ dropped everything in her hands into the sink with a loud clatter, her whole posture going ramrod straight.

Interesting.

"Who the fuck could that be?" I asked, half to myself. "Push me to the door," I said.

"I'll answer it," AJ said, but she looked like she'd rather be covered up to her eyes in tarantulas than do that.

"Push me to the door," I demanded, starting to scoot myself.

"Yo, it's Mark," Mark Mallick, my brother-in-law's voice, called from the other side of the door.

"Christ, you scared the fuck outta us," I told him as AJ opened the door.

"Sorry," he said, giving AJ one of his charming smiles. "You look like shit," he said to me.

"Thanks, man. Nice seeing you too. What's all of that?" I asked, nodding behind him.

"Kingston said you could use some adaptations to make life easier for a while. I got a bunch of rails for the bathroom. And some other shit. I know it's early, but I wanted to get it done before AJ left for the day. Hey, AJ," he said.

"Hi," AJ said, gaze lowering. "I, ah, I'll get out of your way," she said, rushing back off to the kitchen.

"She's real pretty," Mark said with a devious little smirk.

"Don't even fucking start," I demanded.

Mark Mallick was known for a few things. Being a loanshark enforcer. Running his own lawn service and handyman company to wash the dirty money from the loansharking thing. And, of course, running bets. Only within the family. Usually about who was gonna get hooked up next, or who was gonna have a baby, or what gender the baby might be.

Mark had a pool going for everything.

Even though he literally never fucking won a bet.

"Start?" he asked, lips twitching. "Already got all the bets placed. Heard the set-up, and that AJ is gorgeous. It was a natural progression from there."

"I'll put my money on It's not gonna happen."

"Oh, come on, man. Even I'm not that stupid," he said, grabbing his shit, and making his way down the hallway.

The rest of the day was eaten up by Kingston coming back over and taking me to the orthopedic doctor, who mostly agreed with the Swiss ones, but gave me some hope that my ribs would feel a decent bit better in another week and a half.

My fingers, he thought, would take three or more months to get their strength fully back.

Four to six weeks in the sling for my rotator cuff, since it was minor.

The pinched nerve was subjective with some people getting mostly better in weeks, while others had flares for years.

And the leg, yeah, the leg was going to keep me down for a while. Then take a while in rehab too.

It seemed like we were looking at three to six months recovery.

"You could at least try to act like it won't be a complete nightmare to be stuck in Navesink Bank with us," Kingston said as I stared out the window on the way home.

"That's not it," I said. Though, yeah, to some extent, I guess it was. Being stuck. That had never been a good feeling for me. It wasn't about my family. It was just the entire concept of putting down roots.

"You could get to really know your nieces and nephews," he said. "Sit at Charlie and Helen's table again. Talk to your siblings for more than five snatched minutes before you catch a flight."

"Yeah," I agreed. While, inwardly, I knew that all of those things would make it harder to leave when it was time.

But that was shit I didn't want to think about.

So I focused on what AJ might be making for dinner instead.

And if I might see her walking around pants-less and braless again.

Fuck.

Maybe I was going to lose money on that bet with Mark…