Page 104 of Pretty Mess

“Yes, yes. It was all very embarrassing.”

My lip twitches at the disgruntlement in his voice. “I expect it was.”

“You’re not doing a very good job of hiding your amusement.”

“I never do.” I step closer. “Let’s get this jacket off you.” With a great deal of care, I start to manoeuvre the jacket off his shoulders. He twists and gives a soft grunt of pain that makes my heart squeeze in sympathy. “Stay still,” I scold.

“Wes, I’m not a baby.”

“Then don’t behave like one. There. Done.” I throw the jacket on a chair. “I’ll send that off to dry cleaning. Okay, let’s get your clothes off. Come along.”

“Come along where?”

“Bed.”

He rolls his eyes and must immediately regret it because he gives a startled groan and holds his head with his good hand.

“Mac?” I ask anxiously.

“It’s okay.” He waves off my concern as usual. “I hit my head.”

“You hit your head? Oh mygod.”

“Wes, please. You do know I’m standing right in front of you, don’t you? Your decibel level is more suited to Wembley Arena.”

“Have you been to the hospital?”

“No, I just splinted my arm myself. It was like the Battle of Trafalgar all over again.”

“Did that battle have a lot of sarcasm? I can’t remember my history teacher mentioning that. So, Monsieur Snarky, what did the hospital say?”

“They said that I do not have a concussion, but I should be monitored overnight. They added that only a highly sarcastic and deeply unsympathetic person could do the actual monitoring.”

“And I am ready. This is mymoment,” I say in a grand voice.

His lip twitches. “So, here I am throwing myself on your less than tender care.”

“And I shall rise to the occasion.” I notice him swaying slightly and hide my concern. Being with him for a few months has taught me that he wouldn’t appreciate the hugs and kisses I want to level him with. Instead, I tug at his good arm. “Well, I suppose you’re more interesting than watchingCasualty.”

“Goodness, I feel lightheaded with all the praise.”

“That’s just your head injury.”

I guide him into the bedroom, and by the time we get to the bed, his face is drawn with pain, and my heart is thumping hard.

“Come on,” I say gently. “Let’s get these clothes off.”

“Wes, the spirit is willing, but the flesh is rather weak tonight.”

“I’d say the spirit is a bit pissed off too.”

I put my hands on my hips and nod at his sling. “Can you take that off, or does it have to stay on?”

He shakes his head and immediately grunts in pain. “It’s only because I strained my shoulder when I fell. I clutched onto the stair rail and wrenched it.”

I wince in sympathy. “Poor baby,” I say, just to see him scowl. He immediately obliges. I touch the nylon sling and then reconsider. “Okay, the best thing to do is for you to take this off yourself. I don’t want to hurt you. I’d never want that.” I look up as his whole body suddenly becomes rigid. “You okay?” I ask, panicked. “Oh mygod, are you having a seizure?”

He sniffs, some of the strained tenseness leaking from his body. “If I did have one, could I escape this room?”