Page 23 of Dear Future Husband (The Dearly Written #1)

She waved me down. “Of course. It all turned out perfectly fine. It was more bizarre than anything.”

“They need to get better security there. Random people shouldn’t be able to just walk in, demanding to see patients.”

Snorting, Mom quirked a knowing look at me. “Oh yeah, Mister IDemandToSeeMyGirl?”

“That’s not the same,” I returned, unamused.

She only smiled down at the meal she prepared. A beat of quiet and chopping against a cutting board passed between us before I cleared my throat. “How is she?”

“She didn’t have physical therapy today, so she’s only left her room for a sandwich I made at around noon. Other than that, I haven’t seen her.” Without looking at my mom I could hear the sadness in her tone.

“Should I go check on her?”

She shrugged. “Might as well. Maybe she’ll be hungry.”

I immediately wiped my hands on a towel and headed down the hall, straight to Maybelle’s room. I halted in front of her door, only allowing an instant of hesitation before I lightly knocked.

No response . She must be asleep.

I knocked again. No answer. I reached for the doorknob and opened the door. The bedroom door flung out at me, making me jump back as a blonde, hollering female rolled out into the hallway at my feet.

On the floor, on her back, was my Maybelle staring up at me wide-eyed with mirthful surprise.

“What the hell happened?” I demanded, crouching over her.

I swooped a hand under her neck and helped her sit up. She didn’t seem injured, but she was hot to the touch, her cheeks red and her skin damp with sweat, like she just got done with a long jog .

Maybelle’s astonishment turned beaming as she cackled. “Well, whatever happened to knocking? I was leaning up against the door when you opened it and sent me tumbling.”

I wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her up to her feet.

“I did knock,” I defended.

She sniffed. “Not loud enough.”

Pulling from my arms, she stood herself up against the wall behind her.

She was standing by herself. I gave her a once over, noticing the white crew socks, black leggings that were painted to her legs, stopped at her ankles and the tight V-neck, long sleeve, blue-gray top that darkened in areas from perspiration.

Her face was pink, and her long curls were pulled back into a high ponytail.

She looked so alive—and good… Really good.

I peered over her shoulder. Her room looked like a tornado had gone through it. Her cabinet of books had fallen to the ground, spilling out novels, and her bed was a disaster of sheets and pillows.

“What are you doing in there?”

Maybelle followed my gaze to see the destruction. She grimaced, then twisted back to face me. “Don’t worry, I’ll clean it all up.”

I turned my attention back on her, my eyes catching onto a nasty bruise on her hip, peeking out under her shirt. I didn’t think. I stepped forward, grabbing the hem of her top. Maybelle tried to retreat but was already sandwiched between me and the wall.

“Trey, wha—?” she gasped out, but I was already lifting her shirt so I could clearly inspect the angry purpling mark on her hip.

God, she would’ve had to hit her side stupid hard to get a bruise that dark.

My focus fell back on her face as I stood to my full height, the anxiety and fear in me mingling into something ugly. “That doesn’t answer my question, Maybelle. What the hell are you doing in there?”

She was watching me quietly; her breathing heavy as she stared up at me.

Her blue-green eyes moved down to look at the hand still holding her shirt up and my thumb that now subconsciously swiped back and forth across the dark mark.

When her eyes returned, they narrowed. Her hand slipped up between us, pressing against my chest until I was backing away, dropping her shirt.

She shrugged, while a sarcastic grin tightened across her pale face. “I’m practicing.”

“Practicing what, gymnastics?” My hands trembled, wanting to grab for her again. I forgot to check her head and make sure she didn’t hit it in her fall.

She quirked a brow at my irritated tone, her smile falling. “It’s good to see you too, Trey.”

Shit …

She sighed, turning in past the doorway. “Tell Chelsea I’ll be out for dinner in a few minutes.” And she shut the door in my face.

It was about ten minutes later when Maybelle emerged from her room.

She had changed out of her sweat-drenched clothing into black sweats and a forest green, crop top, tank that made her eyes appear more viridescent.

Her hair had been taken out of the tight ponytail and braided to the side, falling over the front of her shoulder with stray curls springing out to frame her face.

She was practically walking on her own, given the wall was doing a lot of the work to hold her slight frame up. I rushed to my feet when she limped out of the hallway, moving to her side and extending my arm to her.

She kept her eyes trained forward and reluctantly accepted my outstretched hand for the last few steps between the wall and the table.

She must be tired, her attention and hold on me being so weak .

I was quickly corrected when Maybelle saw mom. She glowed brightly with an enthusiastic smile. “Chelsea, hey! Sorry I haven’t seen much of you today.”

I pulled out the chair for Maybelle, eyeing her as she sat, still not acknowledging me. Feeling a little uneasy and, honestly, like an idiot, I cautiously took my place at the table between her and my mom

Mom’s eyes danced between us; brows pulled together. “It’s okay. I know you’ve been tired. Your body is still recovering.”

She offered Maybelle a scoop of salad. Maybelle held her plate up to accept it as she shook her head back and forth. “Oh, I wasn’t sleeping.”

Mom and I both stopped dishing up our plates. I itched to ask her what she’d been doing if not sleeping, but that previously hadn’t gone so well. So I waited for my mom to ask, “What were you doing all day if not sleeping?”

Maybelle scooped herself up some lasagna.

“I’ve been practicing my exercises and stretches that Annalise taught me and making myself walk.

I did take one spill over my bookshelf, which gave me a pretty cool looking bruise on my hip, but other than that, I’m really getting the hang of this whole walking thing. ”

I wanted to burst. What was she doing pushing herself so hard to the point she was falling and hurting herself?

“That’s amazing, Maybelle.”

I whipped my head toward my mom, whose face split open with a proud smile. She turned that smile to me expectantly. “Don’t you think so, Trey?”

In what world could she think this was a good idea?

Maybelle turned to face me, a small, smug grin pulling at her lips, waiting for my response. I straightened in my seat, feeling like I just fell into a trap. Both women watched, waiting. Mom’s smile soon faltered while Maybelle’s grew more complacent in my silence .

“I honestly think you should have someone with you if you’re going to be pushing yourself like that,” I answered.

Maybelle propped her head on a hand. “Interesting. Well, if you’d been around to see me walk more, you’d know I have come a long way in such a short amount of time and do just fine on my own.”

I sniffed. “Yeah, tell that to your bookshelf.”

“That happened in the middle of the night when I first tried to walk on my own. I didn’t fall over the rest of the night or at all today.”

I sucked in a breath, putting together the details of her argument.

Mom stiffened next to me, obviously realizing my same concern when she asked, “May, honey, were you up all night and all day?”

Maybelle retreated a bit, folding her hands on her lap. “I’m not tired.”

But she was. I could see it in the dark smudges under her eyes and her drooping lids.

“You’re definitely tired,” I volleyed, finding myself trying to poke the bear.

She shot me a glare, placing a hand on the table. “I am not.”

Her nose scrunched, and her eyes turned to slits with defiance. It was really—really hot. I couldn’t hold back the taunting smile that now gripped my own features.

Mom leaned over the table, intervening by placing a hand over Maybelle’s now balled fist. “It’s okay to be tired, May. It’s normal. We all need rest.”

Maybelle’s face softened when she faced my mom.

“I lost an entire year of my life to sleeping—I need to stay awake. I can’t sleep for one more second.

At least, until I can walk better. I need to—live—but I can’t do that if I’m constantly sleeping and filled with the anxiety that I’ll stop waking up. ”

She stared at her lap, refusing to meet our eyes. I understood. She was just as scared to sleep as I was watching her sleep. Maybelle slowly stood from the table holding her dinner plate. “Thank you for dinner. If you don’t mind, I’m going to eat in my room. Have a good night.”

Standing tall on trembling legs, Maybelle successfully staggered to the wall and slid down the hall to her bedroom.

My attention wandered back to my mom, who studied me like a hard equation.

“What?”

Her face turned up as she put a hand to my forearm. “My sweet, overprotective son.” She shook her head. “I know it’s scary because you care about her, but she isn’t made of glass. She isn’t fragile, but her heart is right now. She needs you to believe in her more than you fear for her.”

I slumped because she was right, but she wasn’t done.

Mom squeezed my arm once more. “It’s no longer your job to fix and bandage up all the problems. I know you were put in that position growing up, but Maybelle Mason is leaps and bounds more independent than I ever was. She is not going to shatter, but she might burn out if you smother her.”

She said this so simply. Like the topic of my roles in being her protector and fixer at a young age after dad bailed was a common topic of discussion.

It wasn’t.

But again, my mom had a point. She and Maybelle were very different, but that didn’t mean Maybelle didn’t need someone looking out for her too. It just meant I needed to adjust my approach.