Only then could he direct his full attention to more-pressing matters.
His prior plan, to do it on his own, would have given him a semblance of control, but it had lacked clarity. He’d faced tough cases in court, creating case law that could reverberate nationally, and had always sought others’ thoughts, and research, and assistance at the table in the courtroom, too. More eyes, ears, thoughts and hands on deck made him better.
Same went for recovery.
Doing it alone was going to slow him down.
And the second prong in the plan—be the friend to Iris that she was being to him. By accepting her spin on the sudden flare of awareness between them, he allowed her to pretend that it wasn’t happening, while at the same time taking the onus fully on himself to ensure that nothing moredidhappen.
Once he was well, Sage and Gray and Leigh were home, and Iris and he were back in their normal routines, they’d be fine.
Feeling more like himself than he had since his sister’s wedding, Scott called out to Iris. Waiting for her to spot him as he slid from the bed to his chair, admitting when a hand from her would make the job safer. Just until he could put some weight on the ripped wound.
He glided through knee icing and antibiotics in good spirits, joking with Iris, rather than grousing or grunting as he sat propped up on the couch, accepting her ministrations. He did all the exercises Joel had given him, as often as he’d been told to repeat the relatively small, but very painful movements.
And managed not to tense up when Iris suggested that he was overdue for application of the compression bandage on his back. He’d been aware of the lateness. Almost an hour. Had been bothered by it.
But not as much as he was by the idea of her touching his bare skin. He’d been working up to it. Getting into a professional mindset. While trying to figure out if there was a way he could twist and wrap his own torso as effectively as someone else could do it for him.
Segueing into looking for excuses to call Dale over—and,Hey, while you’re here…getting the writer to wrap him.
His mind came up with various levels of inventiveness. Just nothing that wouldn’t make it look obvious to Iris that he didn’t want her fingers grazing his back, his sides, his stomach…
And the more he tried to find another option, the more his mind was locked on those fingers and his skin. Sending him in the direction of turned on before they’d even gotten to the deed.
No matter what, he had to let her float undisturbed in pretend mode. He’d taken on the responsibility to keep all hint of something more happening between them off the table. And he would not fail.
And there she was, fresh bandage in hand, approaching him from the hallway entrance to the living room. His mind spun. His body, hidden by his T-shirt, was already starting to grow.
She had to lift the shirt to complete her task.
She was two steps away.
With roaring in his ears, Scott tried to think of something gross.
It wasn’t working.
Work. It came first.
And…just as Iris told him to lean forward, and reached for the hem of his shirt, Scott’s gaze fell on his laptop.
Work.
Grabbing the opened electronic device from the table, he flipped it to tablet mode, opened his email and, just in time, dropped the thing on his lap.
A good attorney—which he most definitely was—did not cover up evidence. Ever. For any reason.
But a good man trying to be a friend did.
* * *
Iris was fixing dinner—spaghetti with her mother’s homemade sauce recipe—when she finally received her return call from Dr. Sandra Livingston. Her stomach tightened, filled with butterflies, as she saw the name on her screen.
Though the two hadn’t spoken in the three years Iris had lived on Ocean Breeze, she got a birthday card from the psychologist every year.With a reminder that she was always there for her. The doctor had never said so, but Iris knew that she was one of Sandra’s most memorable patients. One who, though their relationship had always been nothing but professional, had become personal to her.
The job she took home with her at night.
Putting her sauce on low, she was calm as she stepped outside and then down toward the beach as she took the call, assuring the psychologist that she was fine.
