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“Cody?” I started.
“Yeah?”
“Do you want me to go?” I offered, the blood roaring through my veins.
While I waited for his answer, I forgot to breathe.
Just when I thought I was going to pass out, Cody’s hands found mine. “No, Tillie, I don’t want you to go.”
“Are you sure? We can talk tomorrow,” I suggested, still unconvinced that my being here was what he actually wanted.
Cody wrapped his fingers around my wrist and dragged me across the hot tub before settling me in his lap. When he wound his arms around my waist, I let out the breath I’d been holding. I hated how much being in his arms felt like home. I barely knew him, and he didn’t know me. There were still big chunks of our lives we hadn’t shared, at least I knew there were for me.
He nuzzled his face in the crook of my neck, and I dragged my fingertips through his short hair.
“What’s going on?” I asked again, this time more gently.
I felt him take a few deep breaths before he rocked me back so he could meet my gaze. When his calloused palm cupped my cheek, I realized how completely fucked I was. Even if I hadn’t wanted to, even if it hadn’t been part of the plan, I was falling for this quiet mountain man with a tender heart and kind eyes.
“You really want to know?” he asked, not bothering to hide the surprise in his voice.
“I want to know anything you want to tell me,” I threw his words back at him.
“Okay,” he agreed before adjusting me on his lap but not letting go. “You know how I said I had surgery on my shoulder?”
“Yeah. You have these little scars,” I replied, trailing my fingertips across the puckered flesh.
“Today I went to Fort Marshall and saw a specialist.”
“And?” It was like getting blood from a stone.
“He’s sending me to Dallas for scans and to see the surgeon,” Cody admitted.
I didn’t need him to expand. The way his grip tightened around me told me everything.
“So you’re flying out tomorrow to go see them?”
“Yep. Appointment for nine the next morning.” He chuckled, but there was no humor in his words.
“Sounds like you’re getting the best medical care you can,” I offered, trying to find the positive.
“Yeah.”
“But you’re worried?”
“How did you …”
“Come on, Cody. It’s written all over your face.”
“Sorry,” he apologized quickly.
“Don’t be. There’s nothing to be sorry for. You’re allowed to be worried.”
“It’s just …” he started, then caught himself.
“It’s just what?” I pushed.
“What if it’s not okay? What if this is as good as it’s ever going to get?” he dared.
