Every December [Soon to be Self Published]

Chapter 8

Lydia

A second storm hit last night, blasting us with five inches of snow. If I had been on the fence about going back to Annapolis, the weather had the final say. Between my ankle, Garrett, and my family, I'm blissfully, physically away from most of my problems. What's actually waiting for me at home?

A.J. moved me to the guest room on the first floor where I'm stretched out on the bed with my ankle propped and breathlessly raw pain takes hold. The medication is on my nightstand and I swallow something to make it stop and wait. Catching up the barrage of texts helps distract me while the medicine dissolves and works. Wishing there was something to take the edge off Garrett's latest text. The sight of it strikes a match to a flame.  

Part of me wants to call him back and get this over with. The other half? I don't trust myself to be adult about whatever he wants to discuss. The weight of facing him yanks at my heartstrings.

One minute I had wanted to rush back home and work things out. Now? My head is clearer fresh off sleeping meds. I am in some guy's house. This is not how things were supposed to go. Then again, if I were back home Garrett and I would be working together at the same hospital. Did he not think that part through? Because now I am. And it's not pretty.

His texts add a layer of frustration to my heart. Re-reading his message only amps my heartrate.

Can we talk? I'm off tonight.

No, Garrett, we can't. Not yet. I type the words, but I don't send the message. What's left to talk about?

Does he want me back?

Is he sorry?

Should I cancel the wedding?

The cake?

The everything?

The next forty years?

Anxiety thumps in my veins, hopping from my head to my heart, pulling my thoughts in opposite directions. A.J.'s voice carries from out there, though I can't make out what he's saying. My gaze darts to the bedroom door. His words from last night crash around me. I notice you. When was the last time Garrett 'noticed' me? Sigh.

This is not the time to compare A.J. to Garrett.

Still, I let my heart mess with my head. Why not, right? My thoughts drift to the warmth of A.J.'s smooth, direct voice. What those strong hands of his could do...What would it be like to have his full attention on me while he...Innocent thoughts quickly turn dangerous as heat rises through my core, touching my cheeks, flushing my heart with thoughts of his hard hands on my soft skin. I blame the meds, adjust my leg, and hope that A.J. has breakfast options because my stomach is about to cave in on itself.

Before A.J. steals more from my thoughts, like my sanity, I check on the status of the boot I ordered last night. It should be arriving by 8 p.m. tonight.

The balancing act of getting out of bed requires focus. My shaky hands do a grab-the-crutches routine. Shit. This is going to be a disaster trying to function. Trying to do anything...use the bathroom, sit down, exist without sounding like a horse walking through A.J.'s house. Leaving the bedroom I'm immediately hit with A.J.'s voice carrying from another room.

What to do. Faced with the awkward moment of either interrupting his call or hearing a private conversation. "You're the one who arranged all that." His intense tone and purposeful footsteps stirs unease in me. "No. Fine. We'll find another way."

So...I'll just find a room to hang out in and pretend I don't hear. Thanks to the crutches, I'm an obnoxious body of thumps and noises with every step. Maybe that's a good thing though? He'll know I'm awake. Sound the alarm. Lydia's walking around.