Page 44 of Fear of Love (Falling #3)

When he pulled up to my apartment, I planned on going up alone to quickly change but Landon had other plans.

He parked his truck and came around to help me out.

I opened the door before he got around, which earned me a glare.

Another thing I learned in the last few weeks with Landon was that he hated when I opened doors for myself.

While it was a little annoying having him open my door every time, I found it cute.

“I can meet you back here in a few minutes,” I said as I hopped out, only for him to shake his head and grab my stuff from the backseat.

“You only have one hand.” He gave me a look before he ushered me toward my apartment building. I cradled my hand to my chest as we rode the elevator. From the corner of my eye, I watched him glance at it and clench his jaw, but he didn’t say a word.

A part of me was worried he was pissed at having to take me to the hospital, but I wasn’t about to tell him I could go by myself. I didn’t want to.

When we got to my apartment door, Landon was quick to fish out my keys from my purse. I glanced at my neighbors’ doors, praying they didn’t suddenly open them. They’d be whispering for days if they saw me coming home dressed in oversized men’s clothes with a bruised hand.

With a hold on the sweatpants so they wouldn’t fall, I shuffled to my room to change. I pulled out a pair of black leggings and a sweater to change into but putting on clothes one-handed proved to be difficult.

Every time Landon offered to help, I waved him off, hell-bent on doing it myself. Which was why I stood in the middle of my room topless with my sweater in hand, annoyed that I couldn’t even put it on. Putting a bra on was already out of the question.

“God, you are so stubborn.” Landon finally had enough and pulled the sweater from my hand.

“Not stubborn. Independent,” I said as he threaded my arms through the sleeves and gently pulled the sweater over my head. I broke out in goosebumps when his fingertips grazed the side of my breasts.

“Nope, it’s stubbornness.”

“Calling the kettle black,” I retorted as he reached around me to grab the leggings I put on the bed. “You’re the most stubborn person I know.”

“It’s called being independent,” he shot my words back at me as he looked over with a smirk. I shook my head but felt a smile itching to break free.

When Landon dropped back down to his knees, the second time today, my mouth dried up. It was one thing seeing him on his knees about to eat me out and another because he was helping me get dressed.

Obviously, the first was my favorite, but the way he inched one side of my legging up my leg, fingers grazing the back of my thighs, had me panting. It really wasn’t the time to be turned on, but that was next to impossible with Landon being where he was.

Those big hands of his tugged the leggings up my legs. I kept one hand on his shoulder to keep my balance. I stood there, unable to help but not all disappointed that I couldn’t. I’d take a hurt hand to keep Landon where he was.

“How do you women wear this?” he muttered as the fabric bunched at my knees.

“You have to do the wiggle.”

“The, what?” Landon looked up at me, hands on my thighs.

“The wiggle. You grab the waistband, and while you tug up, you jump around and wiggle until they’re all the way up. Simple.” The look on his face made me laugh. His eyebrows were pinched, an adorable confused expression on his face. “It’s a whole thing. Same with really tight jeans.”

“Women—I’ll never understand you.”

“That’s the whole point.” I smirked. Landon shook his head before he yanked the leggings the rest of the way to my hips. He messed with them for a minute before he was satisfied.

His hands cradled the back of my thighs as he looked up at me. I braced myself for the usual heat in his eyes but instead found something gentler, softer. The warmth in my chest bloomed, and I lifted my hand to gently play with the strands peeking out from beneath his hat.

We held each other’s gaze for a moment before he let his hands fall away and stood up slowly. I almost said something but kept quiet.

As if snapping out of a trance, Landon grabbed my boots and gently slid them on for me. He held his hand out, a faint smile on his lips.

“Let’s get that hand checked out.”

“Well, good news is your hand isn’t broken,” the doctor said, looking up from the papers in his hands. “But the bad news is you fractured your metacarpal bone. In other words, the bones that connect to your knuckles.”

As the doctor showed and explained it, I grasped Landon’s hand tightly with my left. Ever since we stepped foot in the hospital five hours ago, I haven’t let go of it. The poor guy was going to have bruises from how tight I held onto it.

It’s taken us ages to get back to see the doctor. We waited over two hours in the ER waiting room before being brought back to a private room where it took an hour for the x-ray tech to come scan my hand. After that, it took another two hours to get the results.

The entire time, Landon was nothing but amazing. I tried to hide how much hospitals freaked me out, but as soon as I sat down, my leg kept bouncing and my eyes darted around the room.

Landon being too damn perspective spent the next few hours telling me story after story about his brothers, about uni, and hockey. He stayed right by my side the entire time and only let go of my hand when I had to get the x-ray.

“So all she needs is a cast?” Landon asked.

“Yes. You’ll have to wear a cast for three to six weeks before coming back to see how the bones are healing. I’m about 95 percent certain they’ll heal up good as new,” the doctor said.

I hated the thought of being in a cast, but with no other option, I sighed.

“Okay,” I said. The doctor offered me a smile at the resigned tone in my voice.

“I’ll have someone come down and get you fitted for the cast. Shouldn’t be much longer.” With that, the doctor left, closing the curtain behind him.

“Well, great, I’m going to be one-handed for awhile.” I groaned, lying back against the bed. I was ready to go home. We’d been here for ages, and I wanted nothing more than to climb into my comfy bed. My hand barely ached, thanks to the medicine they gave me a bit ago.

“Oh god, and it’s my right hand. How am I going to get anything done?” It was just my luck for it to be my dominant hand. My frustration grew as I thought about everything I had going on.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I muttered.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Landon leaned closer, squeezing my good hand.

“No, it’s not!” The pressure behind my eyes built.

“I have less than two weeks to get two issues of the magazine ready for next month. We have Hockey for Kids coming up. Josie’s wedding is in two weeks, and I’m a bridesmaid.

How am I supposed to look good in a dress with a damn cast on?

There’s still so much to do and get ready for.

” I was rambling, but I couldn’t stop. “Why the hell did I punch that guy?!”

The damn broke as tears ran down my face. Tears from frustration and exhaustion.

“Lyd.”

“And then what if they don’t heal right? Do I have to have surgery? Oh god, am I going to lose a hand?” Full blown panic started setting in.

“Blondie.” A big hand came up to cup the underside of my jaw, a thumb tilting it up. “Breath for me, baby.”

At his command, I took a deep breath, breathing out through my nose. My heart rate slowed as I continued letting air flow in and out of my lungs. Tears ran down my cheeks, and my nose burned.

“That’s it,” Landon coached. “Everything will be fine.” His voice was calm, steady, sure.

“We’re going to get you home and get you all comfortable in your pj’s. Get something good to eat and watch some TV.” Landon’s fingers wiped at the tears on my cheek. “Then tomorrow morning, we’ll figure everything out, okay? One thing at a time.”

I knew he was right. There wasn’t anything I could do right now. I was tired and hungry and sick of being in the hospital.

“One thing at a time,” he repeated softly.

“Can we get Rick’s on the way home?” I asked, my voice thick from crying. He let out a loud laugh, clearly not expecting that to come out of my mouth.

“Yeah, we can get Rick’s.”