Page 156
He’s home, and I can finally breathe.
CHAPTER 39
GOLDIE
Sumner lets the bag drop and tries to roll his shoulders, but his jaw clenches, and he stops about halfway through the movement.
I point a finger down the hallway. “Shower. You smell like a sweaty airplane.”
His mouth tips up at the corner. “You seemed pretty into it a couple of minutes ago.”
I wrinkle my nose. “That was the trauma. I’ve moved past it.”
He laughs. It sounds rough and exhausted, and it cuts off abruptly as he winces and leans against the wall, taking in a couple of shallow breaths.
My eyes zero in on the movement, narrowing. Yeah, he’s definitely downplaying this shit.
“Go. Shower,” I repeat, softening my voice.
He doesn't even try to argue, which just proves exactly how much pain he's actually in. “Yes, ma’am.”
He shuffles down the hall, and I detour into the kitchen to grab a cold bottle of water and some ibuprofen before following him.
When I make it into the bedroom, Sumner is sitting on the edge of the mattress, leaning forward as he tries to work off one boot.
The position lasts maybe two seconds before he grunts and his body goes rigid.
I set the water and ibuprofen on the nightstand. “Move.”
He looks up, blinking like his brain is a few seconds behind. “What?”
“Your hands. Move 'em out of the way.”
His forehead creases as I awkwardly lower myself onto my knees on the floor beside him. Not a chance in hell am I going to be able to get myself up without help, but that’s a later problem.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking your boots off, because watching you try to fold yourself in half is giving me sympathy pains. And I’m already uncomfortable enough.”
His jaw sets stubbornly. “I can take off my own boots.”
“I know.” I give him a flat look. “And I can carry a heavy duffel bag. But here we are.”
He just stares at me.
And I stare right back, holding out my hand and wiggling my fingers. “Foot.”
Something about that finally gets through his thick skull. Maybe it’s the sheer exhaustion, or maybe he just remembers that I’m every bit as stubborn as he is and he doesn't have the energy to fight a losing battle tonight.
Either way, he lets out a heavy sigh and stretches one long leg toward me.
I grab the heel, maneuvering around my belly the best I can, and tug the heavy work boot free, letting it drop to the rug with a thud.
Then I hold out my hand for the other one.
By the time I push the heavy boots out of the way, Sumner has already swallowed the ibuprofen and drained almost half the water bottle.
I shuffle forward, moving between his knees as much as my belly allows, and reach down to grab the hem of his black T-shirt.
