Page 75 of Get Me to the Starting Line
She’s not wrong. I’ve never felt the need to add anything to my place. It’s just me and I don’t care. I try to picture her face as sheroots around in my drawers, finding everything neatly folded and meticulously arranged.
I don’t mind messes, I simply never make them.
Maybe I should respond, but I’m enjoying the stream of texts she’s sending. She’d already be done if she wasn’t, but I don’t mind.
you’re a serial killer, it’s the only explanation
omg you have a plant
was it a gift? Did you buy it?
where are all your ratty clothes, ones you wear around the house?
it doesn’t look like you have any
you know what, I’m going to pack your most uncomfortable clothes, this conversation is so one sided
fine, walk around naked for all I care
I’m sure I can borrow some of Adam’s stuff
The texts stop for what feels like an eternity. But twenty minutes later, the doorway to the stairwell slams open and Leahstumbles out, my giant duffle bag stuffed with god knows what slung over her shoulder, my small plant held safely in one hand.
“Alright, Mr. Chatty, out to my car,” she says, already headed out the building.
“Leah, I can—”
“Don’t you dare, you can barely hold yourself up. I can haul a duffle bag around, I’m not weak.” She turns and glares, challenging me. There’s no way in hell I’d ever call her weak.
When she’s satisfied I’m not going to argue, she turns, marches out to her car, and pops the trunk, throwing my stuff in the back. Hopefully she didn’t pack anything breakable because she threw my duffle bag like she had some kind of vendetta. I’m sure she was pretending it was me.
I try to open the front door, but I’m so fucking useless right now. She doesn’t seem bothered by my lack of ability to do anything for myself, opening the door and bending down. I get a perfect view of her shapely ass as she moves the seat back as far as it will go.
“Do you think that will be okay?”
The seat went back farther than I expected. “Yeah, I think so.”
She takes my crutches and I use the top of the car for balance as I climb in. I barely fit. Leah puts the crutches in the back seat and then before I’m even settled, she’s buckled up, car started.
“I’m not taking you to Adam’s. You’re coming home with me.”
Julienissprawledouton the guest bed in Levi’s room. I moved his toddler bed into my room for the time being. After convincing Julien going to Adam’s was not practical—and who else could he ask, considering he’s such a loner?—he acquiesced.
Paige and Adam’s house, while beautiful, is difficult to get in and out of, and since he can’t drive, he wouldn’t be able to get around. Logic and common sense were on my side.
Though it’s only been five days, we’ve settled into a routine quicker than I thought we would. It’s oddly comfortable having him here. As though he’s been a part of our little family for much longer.
In the morning, I get up and argue with Julien about him helping get breakfast for the three of us—he never wins. Then I argue with Julien about letting me help him get dressed, and I never win.
He argues with me about helping clean up, getting Levi ready, and pretty much everything else. He never wins. And really, I let him win in the dressing department because I have a heart, and this heart needs to be protected at all costs.
It’s hanging on by a thread with him here, and if I see him naked, shirtless, pantless—anything less than fully clothed—I’ll be a goner.
To keep myself distracted from the sexy, injured goalie in my guest room, I’ve been focused on his brace. It’s a pretty standard brace, one I’ve seen countless times. A thick stabilizing belt wraps around his lower torso while a cuff secures around his upper thigh. The two bands are connected by rods and a limited hinge to help stabilize the hip’s movements.
It’s a brace that hasn’t improved in decades, and with the way Julien is struggling, wincing in pain every time he moves, it clearly doesn’t fit him properly. I know he’s still hurting from the dislocation, but from the way he moves, the brace is barely supporting him.
All week I’ve been fiddling around with different hinge braces, my stretching device project on hold. Inspiration struck, and I know I can make a better brace specifically for people of Julien’s size and occupation.
