“I’m not too heavy?”
“Not for me,” he replies.
I snort at the self-assured statement. Though I believe his confidence is well placed because Mark has no issues keeping pace with the others with me on his back. I’m sure if he wanted, he could run without any difficulties as well. I rest my chin on his shoulder, breathing in his spicy cologne. I remember what Tommy told me the other day.
“You always smell good,” I say. “Even after practice and you’re all sweaty.” I’m stable enough that I can free a hand to mess with the curls sticking to the back of his neck.
Mark’s hands tighten on my thighs. “Kyle,” he warns. “Don’t get me excited when I’m focusing on my footing,” he warns.
I debate doing it anyway, but falling would not be fun. I replace my hand around his broad chest. “Are you coming over after?” I ask.
“Is that an invitation?”
“As long as you don’t fight with Chris.”
Mark hums. “No promises.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“I’m too tired to shower,” I grumble, burying my face into Mark’s lap. We’re on the couch, and Chris looks at the pair of us from the end in disapproval. Even with Mark carrying me for part of the trail, I’m absolutely wiped and also ravenous. It’s a strange mix.
“Shower and swap out the inner lining for a clean one,” Chris instructs, paying no attention to my complaints. “I’ll have food ready when you’re done.”
I don’t answer. Mark rubs my shoulder, and I’m certain that if Chris stops talking for two minutes, I’ll be able to fall asleep.
“I will carry you into the shower and wash you myself if I have to,” Chris warns.
I open my eyes to glare at him. “I’m tired,” I repeat.
There issympathy in Chris’s expression, but not enough to earn me a victory. “Terry said that you’ll—”
“I know what he said,” I interrupt. I stare at him another few seconds before sighing in defeat. “Fine.” I sit up and wobble as I get to my feet.
Mark grabs me, and Chris reaches for me. I have my balance by the time Chris catches my elbow.
“I’m good,” I tell them both, shooing away their hands.
I bring everything I need into the bathroom and, aware that Chris and Mark are alone in the other room, I shower quickly. I feel better, afterwards; the hot water relaxes my stiff muscles. I dry off and manoeuvre my way into a pair of loose tracksuit bottoms, leaving my residual limb uncovered. I use one crutch and carry a clean liner and sleeve alongside my prosthetic into the living room with me.
Mark is in the kitchen with Chris, talking to him as he fries something in a pan.
Mark glances at me as I come out, and approaches immediately. He takes my prosthetic and sets it next to the couch, and I drop down to sit.
“Want me to put it on?” Mark asks, silently taking my crutch and propping it up on the end of the coach.
“I have to ice my leg first. According to my recovery specialist…”
“Better do that, then,” Mark says. “Do you have any ice packs?”
“In the freezer.”
Mark retrieves it and then kneels in front of me. “Want me to blindfold you?”
I twitch knowing Chris is in earshot. I shake my head, and Mark tilts his head, his gaze darting to Chris. “Maybe we should do this in the room?” he suggests.
“I’m working on not blinding myself whenever I have to deal with it,” I say.
Mark nods his understanding. “Okay. Let me know if it’s too much, and I’ll cover you up.”
