Page 18 of Yours Truly, Fall

Chopping wood shirtless.

Running along the docks for exercise. Shirtless.

Getting that key to the city with her eyes latched onto me. With a shirt, but damn, I want to be shirtless with her. That’s how I want her to see me—strong, upright, and hopefully finding me as attractive as I find her.

While they chat quietly, I hear my name and see Autumn peek around my mom once to catch a glimpse of me before she’s blocked again and whispering to my mother like I’m not in the vicinity. I use my good arm to wedge myself more upright against the couch arm and readjust the blanket so it looks relaxed, not like a patient rotting on the leather cushions.

An attending hospital nurse making house calls is unexpected. The hot nurse coming to check on me? Welp, a little heads-up so I could make myself more presentable would have been nice. I knew I should have brushed my teeth when I got home, attempted a shower despite the warning at release not to, or at least sponged myself off. This is not how I wanted to meet again. “Hi. Hello?”

Angling toward me, my mom dotes on her, complimenting her hair and how sweet she is for stopping by. I can’t stop myself from studying the familiarity of their embrace, or how my mom’s tone is an octave higher in excitement, like this nurse is her favorite person. Have I been knocked off my pedestal?

And then my mom says, “Come in. Come in. Our little patient is resting on the couch.”

Our little patient?

Fucking hell.

When my mom shifts to close the door, Autumn’s eyes lock onto mine. I’m usually good at reading people, but like before, her expression is complex, with no single trait taking pole position. Annoyance radiates from her, her brows tugging together as if I’ve already pissed her off. But at the same time, the glint of curiosity I detect in the hue of her green eyes has me confused.

I shift, not knowing how to navigate her visiting me at my home, much less looking at me like she has a bone to pick. I say, “I would have put on a shirt if I knew company was coming.” I wanted her to see me shirtless, looking my best, not like her “little patient” she saw in the hospital bed.

She comes closer, her hair pulled back at the nape of her neck, in blue scrubs that curve in at her waist, and a pair of black Converse sneakers that have seen better days, anchoring her stance. She stops at the other end of the couch with her arms crossed over her chest and looks me over. “I’m here to help with that, but don’t cover up on my account. I’ve seen it all before.” Her eyes travel from my injured shoulder to the healthy one, where her gaze lingers. I tighten my hand into a fist in a desperate attempt to flex my muscles, but her gaze has already slid above my head. Her mouth drops open before she clamps it shut and walks along the back of the couch, her eyes staying focused through the picture window behind me. “Your view is . . .” She blinks as if she’ll see something different when she reopens them. “It’s incredible.” Glancing down at me, she adds, “You can see all the way to the ocean. I bet you never get tired of it.”

Staring at her and tracing the lines of her delicate features, I reply, “No. I never would.” The smallest of upturns at the corner of her mouth are detectable but not for long when she shifts her gaze away again. I take a breath and fuss with the blanket that’s determined to slip to the floor and pull it back into place over my legs. Even though showing a little knee isn’t going to cause a commotion, her visit might. “What brings you by, Nurse?”

“Autumn came by to check on you,” my mom responds, practically beaming in a spot of sunlight from Autumn’s presence. “Isn’t that so sweet, Brandon?”

Signaling to the empty chair at the end of the coffee table, I say, “Make yourself more comfortable.”

“Actually,” Autumn starts, her voice gentle as she returns to the other end of the couch. “I’m not here for my comfort. I’m here for yours.” The pause stretches as I work through what she’s saying, but then she adds, “I’m here in a professional capacity, Mr. Culv⁠—”

“Mr. Culver?” My mom’s balk startles Autumn, whose eyes widen. My mom snaps her mouth shut when the reaction receives silence instead of understanding, but then her eyes mimic Autumn’s. “As a nurse?”

“Yes,” Autumn replies, walking toward the front door, “but my bag is in the car. I’ll be right back.”

As soon as she exits, I whisper, “Why is she here, and who is she?”

She laughs. “It’s just a friendly visit, Son.”

“Why would it be a friendly visit?” Seems unwarranted and slightly concerning that she’s crossing professional lines, considering I barely know her, but okaaaay. I shift myself even more upright, getting in the best defensive position I can manage in this condition.

Mom passes by me with a beaming smile and sits in the chair beside me. She rests back. “Imagine if she was your personal nurse. Wouldn’t that just take the cake?”

“There will be no cake taking or personal nursing involved. The hospital put in a request for someone to help with some basics around here, but it hadn’t been approved when I was discharged. Anyway, I told them I don’t need help. I can function,” I say, flailing my hand around like that will prove my point. “It’s only a little bruising. That’s all.”

“It’s not just bru⁠—”

“I’m back,” Autumn announces, loud enough to alert half the mountain. Dragging a suitcase behind her, she stops shy of the living room and looks left and then right before she glances back at us. “Which way do I go?”

“Go?” I ask, bouncing my gaze from the suitcase to the hefty bag draped from her shoulder to the look of expectation in her expression, making me wonder what I missed and how we got here. Despite her being hot, the night-shift nurse showing up at my house out of the blue is befuddling. I scratch my head. “What do you mean, go?”

Adjusting the bag on her shoulder, she angles her head down with confusion, wrinkling her brow like I’m speaking another language. “Which way is the bedroom?”

“The bedroom?” My chin drops, and I stare at her out of the tops of my eyes, the same confusion volleying between us. “My bedroom?”

The sudden jerk of her head gives me a spark of relief like we might be getting closer to figuring out this strange misunderstanding. “Huh? Oh my God, no,” she sputters, grabbing at her throat as if she can coax the words out. “Not your room. The room where I’ll be staying.”

Apparently, I’m more concussed than I realize because I am totally lost regarding what this woman is doing here besides hugging my mom, checking out my view, and acting like she’s moving in. “Why would you be staying?” This has gotten awkward. “I think I should call the hospital.”