Pieces of Me - N.R. Walker Page 0,2

what lay beneath it.

“Oh, and I called the hospital,” Dallas said between bites. “Eight o’clock tomorrow you can get your cast off. Arranged it so it’s before your appointment to see your PT doctor and Doctor Chang.”

Ugh, more appointments, but at least I was finally getting rid of the cast. “Thank you. I can’t wait to have it off.” I looked down at my arm. “I want my body back. I hate not being able to . . .” What was the word? I couldn’t quite find it. “. . . move and stuff.”

“Tomorrow you’ll be new and shiny.” Dallas’ smile became a frown. “Though tomorrow’s gonna be a pretty full-on day. Lots of appointments and walking about. Will you be okay with that?”

Probably not, but if Dallas was with me . . . “You’ll be there, right?”

“Of course.” He stood up and rubbed my shoulder before taking his plate to the sink. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

He sat back down at the table but looked through the puzzle pieces while I ate my sandwich. Everything I did was so damn slow. And it never fazed him one bit. He never made an issue that I took so long to eat or talk. He was just so great about everything.

“A-ha!” he said, slotting a piece into place. “I got one.”

I smiled as I chewed, and without really meaning to or without thinking about it, at least, I reached for his hand. I just wanted to hold it, apparently. And he laced our fingers with a grin and proceeded to look for another puzzle piece.

He stayed for a bit longer, and I really loved having him here. His warmth and his scent and his hand in mine, it settled something in me. The confusion in my head was calmer when Dallas was there, and I knew he’d look after me and he’d make sure everything was okay. I knew he couldn’t stay with me all day, but it was good to see him, to be with him.

“Well, I better get back downstairs. I told the boys I’ll be out all day tomorrow,” he said. “So I better get as much done today as I can.” He leaned down and kissed the top of my head and headed toward the door.

“Dallas?” I called out. Damn my stupid brain . . . In the three seconds it took for me to stop him, he was almost gone.

He turned. “Yeah?”

I pushed my scooter out from the table and stood up. “Can I . . . ugh, can I have a hug?”

He crossed the floor in a few long strides and collected me in a crushing hug that was everything I needed. God, it felt so good. He was a good six inches taller than me and much stronger, so he could just wrap me up and, my God, he just made everything so much better. It was like he transferred some of his strength to me, which was ridiculous, but I felt stronger after he hugged me. Some of his calmness settled over me.

That shit was like a drug.

I breathed him in and would have stayed right there forever if he didn’t pull back. There was concern in his eyes. “You okay?”

I nodded, smiling now. “You give the best hugs.”

He chuckled. “You can have one any time.”

“Good.”

He was warmth and strength, and I fit against him just right. His hands were big, his skin rough and calloused and divine. When he cradled my face, I couldn’t help but lean into his touch.

He studied my eyes for a long moment before he pressed his lips to mine. Just quick, but soft and warm, and his beard tickled my chin. “I better go back downstairs,” he said quietly. “Call me or text me if you need me, okay?”

“’Kay.”

I took my plate to the sink and washed up the few things we’d used. It wasn’t much, but I wanted to help as much as I was able, and it probably wasn’t the best job. Washing up with one hand, and my left hand at that, wasn’t easy. But I got it done and felt better for it.

Then I parked my arse back on the couch and picked up my journal. Writing with a full-arm cast was bad enough, and even I could tell my writing was bad, but I managed to write down what I remembered about the wing dream and about Dallas’ tattoos. I wrote down that I knew about the fridge and the radio downstairs,