Page 50 of Beach Cottage Kisses

And as he settled back, asked one more time, “Pain pill?”

He closed his eyes. Turned his head away.

And Iris shook her head.

The man was as stubborn as they came.

Determined to walk the course he’d set for himself. Because he’d set it for good reason.

And, as much as she prayed he’d put a buffer on his suffering, she kind of admired him for his steadfastness to his convictions, too.

Chapter Twelve

Turned out, day two was not better than day one. It was worse. Scott hurt in places he’d never felt before. Inside his toes. What felt like under the skin, but on top of his left pectoral muscle. He’d discovered a bruise in the general vicinity and was guessing the board had hit him there, too. He had a headache, the nagging kind. His knee pain was off the charts, which made the back thing diminish a tad. More of a major distraction than a full-blown problem.

If he lay very still, totally relaxed, moved nothing, his pain went, on a scale of one to ten, from a twenty to a fifteen. He welcomed the proof that relief was possible. Held on to it, as he bore the icings. The heat.

Just as he clung to the sound of Iris’s voice through the seemingly bone-splitting stab after sharp stab up and down his left side during any process that required him to move.

He managed some scrambled eggs for breakfast.

Gritted his teeth and sweated through the blessedly very short physical therapy session. Just some basic movement. A bend that almost sent him through the roof. Couldn’t remember the name of the guy who’d been sent out. Nor any of the questions he’d previously thought so pertinent to ask during that first session.

He grunted. Gave almost imperceptible nods and shakes of his head.He barely spoke. Slept as much as he could. Gave a thumbs-up for music. Down for television. Couldn’t take on someone else’s story at the moment. Just had to get through his own.

To breathe through the pain.

He insisted on getting to the bathroom when absolutely necessary but allowed anyone present to help him. Iris. The PT guy. Dale. Then Iris again.

What he did not do was take a single pain pill.

He’d said no. Would not take a chance on needing them to the point of thinking he couldn’t make it without them.

He’d gotten himself into the mess. Was proving something to himself. And would not let himself down again.

He could succeed.

He would succeed.

He didn’t want dinner. Drank broth, but only because he needed something on his stomach before he took his antibiotics. Puking was not an option at the moment.

The way he was feeling, he figured even a small regurgitation would kill him.

He’d drifted off after the broth and pills. Came to with an awareness of electrifying pain in his knee, and a new scent in the room.

Scott focused on the lavender smell so he didn’t give in to the mind-killing pain. His nostrils weren’t complaining about whatever was touching them. Something Iris must have brought in with her. He took a second deep breath of it. Didn’t hate it.

Opened his eyes to tell her so, and Iris wasn’t there. Harper was. Sitting on the edge of the chair he was pretty sure had been Iris’s bed the entire previous night.

Alarm rent through him. So acutely that he felt it through the rest of his mammoth discomfort.He’d sucked as a patient. Iris had had enough of him. Had left him.

He had to apologize. “Where’s Iris?”

Harper stood. Smiled as she came toward him. And the not-horrible scent came with her. “She’s just outside the back door, on the beach with the dogs. Your sister called. She didn’t want to wake you with the conversation.”

He gave his almost-nothing nod. Feeling better enough that he wanted to drift back to sleep. Iris hadn’t left him.

“Can I get you anything?”