Page 137 of Traces Of You

“Shower first,” he said. “I know I stink. Or I feel it.”

“You’re going up the stairs now? Can’t you wait until we go to bed so you only go up once?”

“Nope. I won’t sit around with hospital germs on me. Sorry.”

Reenie sighed. There was no arguing with him. She didn’t remember him being this stubborn before.

“Let’s maneuver this together. Or I’ll carry your crutches while you hop.”

“I can do it without help,” he said. “I’m pretty coordinated.”

She stood back and let him go and he got up the stairs pretty fast without even wobbling. She worried over nothing.

When she got to his room, she gathered all his dirty laundry in the hamper and set it aside to wash with their clothes from the hospital.

Ford went into the bathroom and turned the shower on while she got a towel for him.

“You can’t even wait for me to get in here,” she said, rushing in.

He was already naked and sitting on the chair, his leg off to the side, the wand in his hand as he bent forward away from his injury and got his head wet.

“I can do it myself,” he said.

“I’m going to stand here to make sure.”

“You just like looking at me naked,” he said. “Give me a few days and I’ll be ready for you.”

She rolled her eyes, but he couldn’t see it. “We’ll let you think that.”

Once he was washed up and rinsed, he moved his leg in and let water lightly run over the surgical tape covering it. She ground her teeth, but she’d read on the sheet for him to clean it a few times a day and that was all he was doing.

He was probably gentler than she would have been with the soap around it.

He shut the water off and stood up. She moved his crutches over, but he only took one and stepped out to dry off.

“I’m going to watch you shower now like you did me. I think it’s only fair.”

“If you insist,” she said.

Reenie didn’t need the chair and moved it back so she could wash her hair one handed while she kept as much water off her arm as possible. Guess this was easier than a garbage bag.

Ford was dressed in shorts by the time she was done. It was all she’d brought in for him and would get his shirt in a minute.

He handed her a towel so she could dry off and get dressed too.

“You shouldn’t carry the laundry basket down. It will pull your stitches.”

“Well, you sure the hell aren’t doing it,” she said. “I’ve got an idea.”

She moved it with her feet to the stairs, then gave it a final push and watched it slide down. It tipped and made a mess at the bottom, but got the job done.

“That works,” he said.

He went down the stairs just as nimbly as he got up them.

Maybe she wouldn’t be so worried if it weren’t a major artery and he could have bled out.

The thought of that still made her queasy.