We lock eyes. His narrow. My smile stretches wider.
I get my high five.
“Thank you for telling me,” I say after letting my hand drop. “I feel special knowing something most people don’t know about you.”
CJ’s eyes shine with meaning. He gives me a warm smile, replying, “Same, darlin’,” in that smooth, charming voice, the kind of charm that’s hard to unhear and even harder to wash off.
My cheeks grow hot. I clear my throat and get through the rest of the bath at lightning speed, forcing CJ to do some of the washing because . . . well, penis, and asking him to towel himself off. Then I retire to my room, declining his offers of open door policies and free morning cuddles.
I find myself smiling until I fall asleep.
“Mr. Tully, hi, I’m Andrea. I’m one of the therapists here who will be working with you.”
CJ gives the woman a friendly smile, gets to his feet with help from his crutches, and takes the hand she’s offering, shaking it. “Nice to meet you,” he says. He releases her hand and tips his head to where I’m sitting. “I brought my lady with me. Do you mind if she comes back and sees what all I’ll be doing? She’ll be making sure I keep up with it at home.”
My eyes go round. I press my lips together and trap a giggle inside my mouth.
His lady? He did not just say that.
CJ looks over at me, mischievous smirk in place.
He totally said that.
I scrunch my nose up and make a face at him.
It’s been two weeks of sponge baths, sharing meals I’ve prepared, and late night conversations that leave me with sore sides and cheeks from laughing so much. I know CJ pretty well at this point. I know he likes to joke around, it’s part of his charm, and calling me his lady is just another example of that.
I think . . .
“Sure. She can come back. We have chairs back there,” the therapist says, offering me her smile.
I stand and gently nudge CJ’s ribs after the woman turns away to lead us. He feigns injury and I laugh.
“Are you coming?” he asks me, gesturing with his head toward the therapy room.
I nod and slip out my phone. “Yeah. I just want to make a call first,” I tell him. “You go ahead. I’ll be there in a minute.”
CJ lifts his chin at me, accepting that. Then he follows behind the therapist and leaves me in the waiting room.
I sit back down and scroll through my contacts until I land on Beth.
I haven’t seen or spoken to her since I moved in with CJ. She was out of town for some wedding in Chicago the one weekend and sick this past one, keeping her from making it to Holy Cross—the soup kitchen we both volunteer at. And lately, I’ve been slammed with school and busy doing other things. I just haven’t found the time to return any of her calls.
And I need to speak to her. I need to tell someone what I’m doing—just one person so I don’t feel like I’m lying to everyone—and she’s a good someone to tell. A great person.
She’s my sister. She’ll understand. She always does.
“Hey you,” Beth answers with a smile in her voice. “I was beginning to worry. I told Reed we might have to hunt you down on campus if we didn’t hear from you soon.”
“I’m living with CJ,” I blurt out, skipping pleasantries for hand-to-heart honesty, and when Beth doesn’t say anything for what feels like a solid minute, I look down at the fraying on my shorts and twist pieces of string around my finger. “So, how are you feeling?” I softly add.
Maybe my confession is enough. Maybe we don’t even need to talk about this . . .
“You’re living with CJ?” Her voice is a whisper now.
I flinch, hearing footsteps, then the creak of a door. I picture Beth hiding behind it.
“Um, yep. Mmhmm,” I reply.
“Why?” she asks, sounding stunned. “And how? How did this even happen?”
“He needed someone to help him around the house since he’s laid up, and I needed a place to live,” I explain. “I couldn’t stay at Richard’s anymore. I needed to move out, and I didn’t want to cramp your newlywed style. CJ offered, so I took it. I’m helping him out.”
And I’m having the best time doing it, I think.
“You wouldn’t have cramped our style, Riley. You’re always welcome here,” Beth informs me.
My mouth twitches.
Seriously the best sister ever. Reed did so good.
“Thank you,” I tell her. “But, you know, this is better. I’m able to give CJ a hand.”
“Is that all you’re doing?”
My brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
“Riley . . .” Her voice trails off.
“What?” I ask. “I’m helping him.”
“Are you sure nothing else is going on? You’re just helping him? That’s it?”
He makes me laugh. We can talk for hours. I’m smiling constantly.
I close my eyes and take in a deep breath, then I resume looking down at my shorts. “That’s it,” I answer, because nothing else is going on. We’re talking and laughing. That’s not stuff going on. That’s just talking and laughing. And besides, nothing else should be going on. I’m CJ’s nurse. He needs me—that’s why he offered me a place to stay. The entire reason for us living together, and I want to do this right. I want to help him heal.
Speaking of which, I need to get in there and see what all exercises they have him doing. It’s my job to make sure he continues with his PT at home.
“Riley,” Beth speaks soothingly as I stand and take hold of the sketchpad I brought along to take notes in.
“Seriously. Nothing else is going on. I promise,” I assure her. “But, still, can you do me a favor and not say anything to Reed? I’ll deal with him when I’m ready.”
Which might be never.
Beth exhales tensely in my ear, but gives me a promising, “I won’t say anything.”
“Thank you,” I reply, feeling relieved and breathe-easy-good about this phone call. “Oh, and you never answered me. How are you feeling? Better, I hope.” I hold the notepad against my chest and start moving toward the therapy room.
“Thanks. I will in eight months or so.”
“Eight months?” I make a face. “What? Why eight months?”
I get my high five.
“Thank you for telling me,” I say after letting my hand drop. “I feel special knowing something most people don’t know about you.”
CJ’s eyes shine with meaning. He gives me a warm smile, replying, “Same, darlin’,” in that smooth, charming voice, the kind of charm that’s hard to unhear and even harder to wash off.
My cheeks grow hot. I clear my throat and get through the rest of the bath at lightning speed, forcing CJ to do some of the washing because . . . well, penis, and asking him to towel himself off. Then I retire to my room, declining his offers of open door policies and free morning cuddles.
I find myself smiling until I fall asleep.
“Mr. Tully, hi, I’m Andrea. I’m one of the therapists here who will be working with you.”
CJ gives the woman a friendly smile, gets to his feet with help from his crutches, and takes the hand she’s offering, shaking it. “Nice to meet you,” he says. He releases her hand and tips his head to where I’m sitting. “I brought my lady with me. Do you mind if she comes back and sees what all I’ll be doing? She’ll be making sure I keep up with it at home.”
My eyes go round. I press my lips together and trap a giggle inside my mouth.
His lady? He did not just say that.
CJ looks over at me, mischievous smirk in place.
He totally said that.
I scrunch my nose up and make a face at him.
It’s been two weeks of sponge baths, sharing meals I’ve prepared, and late night conversations that leave me with sore sides and cheeks from laughing so much. I know CJ pretty well at this point. I know he likes to joke around, it’s part of his charm, and calling me his lady is just another example of that.
I think . . .
“Sure. She can come back. We have chairs back there,” the therapist says, offering me her smile.
I stand and gently nudge CJ’s ribs after the woman turns away to lead us. He feigns injury and I laugh.
“Are you coming?” he asks me, gesturing with his head toward the therapy room.
I nod and slip out my phone. “Yeah. I just want to make a call first,” I tell him. “You go ahead. I’ll be there in a minute.”
CJ lifts his chin at me, accepting that. Then he follows behind the therapist and leaves me in the waiting room.
I sit back down and scroll through my contacts until I land on Beth.
I haven’t seen or spoken to her since I moved in with CJ. She was out of town for some wedding in Chicago the one weekend and sick this past one, keeping her from making it to Holy Cross—the soup kitchen we both volunteer at. And lately, I’ve been slammed with school and busy doing other things. I just haven’t found the time to return any of her calls.
And I need to speak to her. I need to tell someone what I’m doing—just one person so I don’t feel like I’m lying to everyone—and she’s a good someone to tell. A great person.
She’s my sister. She’ll understand. She always does.
“Hey you,” Beth answers with a smile in her voice. “I was beginning to worry. I told Reed we might have to hunt you down on campus if we didn’t hear from you soon.”
“I’m living with CJ,” I blurt out, skipping pleasantries for hand-to-heart honesty, and when Beth doesn’t say anything for what feels like a solid minute, I look down at the fraying on my shorts and twist pieces of string around my finger. “So, how are you feeling?” I softly add.
Maybe my confession is enough. Maybe we don’t even need to talk about this . . .
“You’re living with CJ?” Her voice is a whisper now.
I flinch, hearing footsteps, then the creak of a door. I picture Beth hiding behind it.
“Um, yep. Mmhmm,” I reply.
“Why?” she asks, sounding stunned. “And how? How did this even happen?”
“He needed someone to help him around the house since he’s laid up, and I needed a place to live,” I explain. “I couldn’t stay at Richard’s anymore. I needed to move out, and I didn’t want to cramp your newlywed style. CJ offered, so I took it. I’m helping him out.”
And I’m having the best time doing it, I think.
“You wouldn’t have cramped our style, Riley. You’re always welcome here,” Beth informs me.
My mouth twitches.
Seriously the best sister ever. Reed did so good.
“Thank you,” I tell her. “But, you know, this is better. I’m able to give CJ a hand.”
“Is that all you’re doing?”
My brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
“Riley . . .” Her voice trails off.
“What?” I ask. “I’m helping him.”
“Are you sure nothing else is going on? You’re just helping him? That’s it?”
He makes me laugh. We can talk for hours. I’m smiling constantly.
I close my eyes and take in a deep breath, then I resume looking down at my shorts. “That’s it,” I answer, because nothing else is going on. We’re talking and laughing. That’s not stuff going on. That’s just talking and laughing. And besides, nothing else should be going on. I’m CJ’s nurse. He needs me—that’s why he offered me a place to stay. The entire reason for us living together, and I want to do this right. I want to help him heal.
Speaking of which, I need to get in there and see what all exercises they have him doing. It’s my job to make sure he continues with his PT at home.
“Riley,” Beth speaks soothingly as I stand and take hold of the sketchpad I brought along to take notes in.
“Seriously. Nothing else is going on. I promise,” I assure her. “But, still, can you do me a favor and not say anything to Reed? I’ll deal with him when I’m ready.”
Which might be never.
Beth exhales tensely in my ear, but gives me a promising, “I won’t say anything.”
“Thank you,” I reply, feeling relieved and breathe-easy-good about this phone call. “Oh, and you never answered me. How are you feeling? Better, I hope.” I hold the notepad against my chest and start moving toward the therapy room.
“Thanks. I will in eight months or so.”
“Eight months?” I make a face. “What? Why eight months?”
