Page 25 of The Last Love Story (Baker Girls #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

JADE

Surgery can suck it.

Why yes, I have lost all ability to form a better sentence than that.

It’s been six days since I last wrote. Cue the It’s been eighty-four years meme, because that’s how I’m feeling.

My pain is down significantly since the first couple of days, and I don’t need the narcotics anymore. All my memories from the day of my surgery and the following day are a bit hazy. Other than Justin being the absolute sweetest human in existence.

It’s killing me a little bit because I don’t know if he’s a caretaker by nature or if he wants to take care of me . Nothing else sexual has happened, and I’m not expecting it to. For once, my horniness has chilled out because everything else about healing has taken precedence.

On the flip side of that, Justin has been sleeping next to me on the couch every night. I’m hoping to move back to my bedroom tonight, and I want him there with me. I sleep better. I’m calmer. I’m happier.

I’m screwed .

I want him, and it’s so hard to know where we stand with each other or what he wants from me while I’m still healing and need so much help. The last thing I want to do is get into some big conversation about it right now and make things weird. Because I like how he takes care of me.

A few weeks ago, I never would’ve imagined wanting anyone but my dad to take care of me, but I’m glad it’s been Justin by my side.

Especially for the sponge bath a couple days in.

I was able to do most of it myself, but I still needed his help with a few things.

Now I can comfortably sit in the bathtub and wash myself with my left hand.

It takes forever, but it’s one thing I can do.

I can’t wash my hair yet, though. Thankfully, my hairdresser was nice enough to let me come in a couple of days ago, and she washed my hair and styled it. I can get by with dry shampoo for about a week, even if it leaves me feeling a little gross.

I know Justin would wash my hair if I asked, but contorting in the bathtub while he tries to do that sounds uncomfortable at best and dangerous at worst. And I want my hand to heal.

I left myself a long voice note this morning because I had a brilliant idea, but I was still trying to type left-handed or scribble notes along the way, so I didn’t forget things I wanted to say later while I was talking.

Being a creator without tools to create is inhumane.

It’s cruel and unusual punishment.

So is being stuck on the couch day after day after day.

I don’t even know what day it is anymore.

Wednesday? Thursday?

I might be a touch dramatic right now, but I feel good. I want to do things. But my hand is unusable, and it’s been pouring rain for two days.

I’ve got cabin fever bad .

I’m losing my mind. My skin is crawling .

And there’s a smudge on my glasses that’s making my eye twitch, but I haven’t been able to coordinate cleaning them effectively one-handed with my non-dominant hand.

Gah!

“What are they doing?” Beside me, Justin throws his hand out at the TV. Then he turns his glare on me. “Why did you do this to me?”

Okay, that gets a smile out of me. Seeing Justin’s love-hate obsession with Virgin River play out has been fun.

“Glad you’re loving it.”

He grumbles, but doesn’t disagree.

I’m glad he’s having fun with it, even if nothing can hold my attention. And I’m tired of the couch. Normally I love my couch, but I’ve spent all my time there lately. We went for a walk a few days ago, but I swear it hasn’t stopped raining since. And I can’t get my bandage wet, so here I am.

Cranky.

Meh.

I need… something.

Pushing myself off the couch, I aim for the kitchen, but I’m not really hungry, and nothing sounds good. So, I end up back in the living room. But I don’t want to sit down, so I walk through the kitchen again. I do my little roundabout three more times before Justin pauses the TV and stands up.

“Do you need something?”

“Fresh air, the wind on my face.”

“Jade…”

“I need to write. I need to do something, anything. But yes, if I could pick one thing, I need to write. I’m going insane.

All I want to do is get the words that won’t leave me alone out of my head.

I want to let them live and breathe and find their story.

” I start pacing, the anxious energy inside me all spilling out.

“And all I keep thinking is, what if, for some reason, this didn’t work?

Or it gets worse? What if I have to go through this over and over and it never gets better? What if I had to stop writing?— ”

“You will never have to stop writing. I will find you the best dictation software on the planet. I don’t care how expensive it is. Or if you want me to and can trust me with it, I’ll help you write. It’s different from dictation, and I can learn to type faster. We can figure it out.”

“You only care because you want to know what happens in the Marianos series.”

That was a bitchy thing to say, and I know it. I shouldn’t be taking my crankiness out on him, but… maybe a part of me needs to know that’s not why he’s doing it. I need to know the truth behind his words. If he cares the way he seems to.

He walks over and rests a hand on my cheek, unfazed.

“No, I care because I hate seeing you unhappy. And if I can fix it, I will. If I can’t, hopefully I can pay someone who can.”

My face crinkles, relief flooding me, and also guilt.

“I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to deal with me like this.”

“Like what?”

“Cranky, angry, and incapable of doing basic things by myself.”

Now his other hand is on my cheek as he cups my face. “Darlin’, I signed up for this. It’s what a marriage is. Good, bad, I don’t care. I’m here. Let me take care of you.”

Stupid tears fill my eyes. Whenever he says stuff like that, it feels real. It makes me long for this to be real. And then I feel guilty again because I’m not giving him nearly as much as he’s giving me.

“Stop stressing,” he whispers. “Relax. I know there are a lot of things you want to do, but let’s find something you can do.”

“Any suggestions?” I ask.

“Actually, yes. I don’t know how you’ll feel about it, but I think it could be a good use of your time if you’re willing to try.”

Now I’m just confused.

“Okay…”

“Come with me.”

He takes my good hand and leads me down the hall to the extra room. He’s been working on it while I’ve been recovering, so I haven’t seen the setup yet.

When we get inside, he takes me into the large booth he built, and I’m confused when I find two microphones there.

“Why are there two?”

He swallows hard, looking a little uncertain.

“I was hoping you’d be willing to try recording with me.

I thought we could work on your first interconnected standalone series together.

You have a beautiful voice, and while there will still be a learning curve, I think you can do this, and it will give you something to focus on while you can’t write. ”

I stare at him with big eyes. My throat feels tight, and it’s hard to swallow.

“You did this for me?”

“For us. Selfishly, I think we could have a lot of fun recording together. I’d love to give it a try. And I can give you some tips and instruction as we go. Worst case, we hate it, but I don’t have another narrating job booked until late August, so we have time to play.”

“Okay.”

His face lights up. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

He jumps into action. “Okay. I have your first interconnected standalone ready to go.”

“Wait, how?”

“I got it off your laptop while you were high on the good drugs.”

“Sneaky.”

He shrugs. “I was excited by the idea.”

“Well, keep it together until we see how I do. This could be legitimately terrible.”

“Then at least we’ll have a good laugh. Come on, darlin’. I’ll get you all set up.”

This is really fun. I mean, I have no idea what I’m doing, and I’m constantly getting instruction from Justin and rerecording things, but it’s a lot of fun. Bringing my words to life gives me a rush of excitement I haven’t had in a long time.

We’re recording them duet style, so me speaking the female parts and him speaking the male parts no matter whose POV we’re in.

When we played the first chapter back, I found plenty of places where I can improve, but I loved it.

It also awakens a part of me I haven’t used in a long time.

My junior and senior years of college, I started doing improv.

I’m fairly extroverted, but I tended to struggle with extemporaneous speaking, and it gave me some social anxiety.

My dad suggested improv, and I thought he was crazy.

Getting on stage and feeling uncomfortable in front of people?

But it helped me a lot, and I credit it with my comfort at events and signings, and even my ability to talk with readers and other authors.

Recording with Justin, I’m remembering some of the lessons I learned there.

“What do you think?” Justin asks, removing his headphones.

“This was a brilliant idea. And I’d love to keep going. It might be a labor of love while I learn, but?—”

“I don’t care. I’m in.”

“Thank you for doing this. It’s an outlet I didn’t know I needed, but it instantly calmed some of the restlessness I’ve been feeling.”

“Good. That’s what I was hoping for.”

He leans in and kisses my forehead, sending butterflies dancing through my stomach.

“More tomorrow?” I ask.

Justin smiles. “As much as you want. ”

I wrap my good arm around him in a hug, closing my eyes and breathing deep, inhaling his scent as I revel in the feeling of his body so close to mine. In the peace I feel with his arms around me.

The only words that dance though my brain are please, let this be real . Because all I want is more of this. More little moments. More of whatever it is that’s blossoming between us. More of us.