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Chapter Thirty-Five

Jordan

It’s rare I get the house to myself anymore, not since Princess Alex moved in, but he’s out doing some errands.

I told him he needs to take it easy and stop walking around so much, but he shops more than anyone I’ve ever seen.

He does what he wants, despite saying he’ll listen to me. He’s like a damn toddler.

I was hoping to work on my truck today, but it’s been raining since last night, and I don’t have a garage.

Maggie is away on some girls’ weekend thing with her sister and mother.

They do it every few months, like a cute little family.

She has one of those, and it’s just another reason we shouldn’t be together.

My family is non-existent, and I haven’t the faintest clue how to have a functional family because of it .

Her sister is happily married, and so are her parents. It’s what she’s looking for, too, but I can’t contribute to her family like that. I’ve met her parents a few times and her sister even less. Which is shitty considering they’re best friends.

I try to find things to do around the house, like I normally would on a weekend that I’m alone and it’s raining, but it seems Alex got to everything already. He cooks, cleans, and fixes things. I should appreciate it, but what the fuck am I supposed to do with myself now?

The front door opens, and I turn, ready to lay into him about doing so much. Not only for him, but for me, too. How the fuck am I supposed to stay sane with nothing to do? But when I see the look on his face, my words get lodged in my throat.

“What’s wrong?” I manage to say.

“Knee,” he grits out, limping toward the couch. I put my arm around his waist and take most of his weight, then get him to the couch. “I… fell.”

“You fucking fell?” I bark. “What the fuck, Alex? This is why I’ve been telling you to take it easy.”

“I know, Jordan!” he yells back. “I don’t need you throwing that in my face right now.”

“Right, okay. Sorry. When’s the last time you took ibuprofen?” I ask.

“When I woke up.” He toes off his shoes before running his hand over his knee .

He doesn’t have his brace on, and that’s another thing I’d normally bitch at him for, but it won’t do any good right now.

I head into the bedroom and grab the bottle of meds by the bed, some water from the kitchen, and bring it to him. After he takes it, he leans back against the couch.

“Here, let me help you,” I say, putting the pillows against the arm and helping him get his legs up on the couch. He hisses the entire time, moving as carefully as he can, but I can tell he’s in a lot of pain. This very well could have set him back. Maybe permanently.

I head to the kitchen to pull out an ice pack, wrap it in a dish cloth, and bring it to him.

“Thanks,” he mutters when he sees me putting it on his knee.

“Where did you fall?” I ask.

“Grocery store.”

“How?”

He huffs out a laugh. “I tripped on my own damn feet.”

Of fucking course he did.

I bite my tongue and don’t say a word.

“Could you grab the groceries from the car? The ice cream will melt.”

“Yeah, sure.” He hands me the keys from his jacket pocket and I head out to grab the tons of bags from his trunk. I bring them all in and start putting them away .

I know he’s in a lot of pain, because normally he’d be over here doing this. He wouldn’t want me putting things away in the wrong spot, even though it’s my damn house.

When everything is away, I spot the ground beef in the fridge and figure the only way we’re eating is if I cook.

Normally, I’d order out, but Alex has been bitching about that since he can’t go to the gym to work it off.

He’s worried about gaining weight for when he goes back on the ice.

So I guess I’m going to have to make dinner.

“What are you doing?” he calls out from the couch after I’ve been banging around in here for a while.

“Mind your own business,” I call back.

He mutters something, but I don’t hear what it is. He doesn’t bother me again, and I’m able to get meatballs made, pasta cooked, and even some garlic bread put in the oven.

When everything is done, I glance at the dining table he recently purchased after calling me a heathen for not having one.

It’s where we’ve been eating dinner. It’s not far from the couch, but even a few steps will be difficult for him now, so I head to the table, pull the chairs out, and drag it to him.

“What?” I ask when I find him watching me with wide eyes.

“I’m not incapable of walking,” he says .

“Pretty sure you are,” I say.

“I’m buying you tray tables, because this is ridiculous.” He gestures to the table taking up most of the space in my living room.

I hold my hand out. “Ice.” He frowns. “Give it to me, Alex.” That causes him to smirk. He doesn’t move, and so I swipe the ice from his knee. “It’s been much longer than fifteen minutes.”

“But it feels good!” he calls after me in a whine.

“You’ll get it back later.”

I toss it into the freezer, leaving the towel on the counter.

I make us each a plate, piling the garlic bread onto a separate one.

I get everything to the table without dropping it, but have to go back for drinks and the parmesan cheese.

By the time I get back to the table, Alex is already digging into his food like a wild animal.

“I haven’t eaten anything today,” he says with a mouthful.

I shake my head. “You know, maybe you should put your energy into taking care of yourself.”

He smiles as I take a seat on the couch.

“But I like it so much more when you do it.”

I don’t answer that because I don’t need him getting ideas.

Alex puts the hockey game on, and we watch it while we eat. The Penguins get crushed, which isn’t all that surprising .

We each devour two plates of food, and when we’re done, I clean everything up, move the table back, and put the leftovers away. I take the ice pack from the freezer, wrap it in the towel, and hand it off to Alex.

“Told you I’d give it back.”

He smiles as he takes it, putting it on his knee. I sit on the edge of the couch and look down at his leg.

“Can I look at it?”

“You just want to get me out of my pants,” he mutters with a smile.

“If I wanted to get you out of your pants, I’d say it and you’d do it.” He sucks in a breath, clearly affected by my words. “Now show me.”

Alex unbuttons his jeans, shoving them down and lifting his ass to get them off. I pull the bottoms to help, because he looks like he’s about to cry from the amount of pain he’s in.

I ignore the way his boxer briefs hug every inch they’re touching, and keep my gaze on his knee.

“It’s swollen,” I say. “Doesn’t look like anything is broken or worse than it was. Other than the pain.”

“I landed on my other knee. Just twisted this one.”

I nod, running my fingers along his skin, causing goosebumps to break out.

“Why didn’t you become a doctor?” he asks.

“Takes too long,” I say, still looking at his knee.

“What’s the rush? ”

I look up at him, keeping my fingers on his skin.

I hate how much I like touching him. How each time I do it, it feels better than the last. How each time I do it, I think I won’t be able to stop.

My family life isn’t something I talk about with people. The person who knows the most is Austen and even he hardly knows anything. He was always cool with me not talking about it, but I think that’s because he caught enough here and there over the years to know to let it be.

But something about Alex… I just feel like I can tell him things and I don’t have to worry about what he’ll think or say.

“Needed to get away from my mom,” I say simply.

His eyes widen slightly, but he nods as if he isn’t surprised to hear it.

“I get not wanting to be around your parents,” he adds. “Mine suck too.”

“In a whole different way.” I grab the ice pack, rewrap it in the towel since it fell out, then lie it on his knee.

“Does that really matter?” he asks.

I frown. “Does what matter?”

“If it’s in a different way. If we both have shitty parents, we get each other, right? Does it matter why they suck?”

I give a small shrug. “It’s just nice when people understand you. ”

“I understand what it’s like to have shitty parents,” he says firmly. “Isn’t that enough?”

Finally, I nod, though I’m not sure why he’s getting so upset about this. “Yeah, I think it is.”

His gaze holds mine, and somehow my fingers are back on his knee even though I swear I stopped touching him. His lips part and before I do something really fucking stupid, I hop to my feet and say, “So, how about that ice cream?”