Change of Hart (Wells Ranch, #3)(106)
“It’s said with love.” Denver rubs his thumb over my cheek, looking down at me with a softness in his eyes.
Mom flips on her daily Wheel of Fortune binge, and Denver sinks deeper into the couch, stroking my hair.
“How old are these reruns?” he quietly asks. “There’s no way this was filmed more recently than the nineties.”
“Eighties, for sure. Look at that Madonna hair.” I pretend like I’m reaching for my drink, and tap the info button on the remote, much to my mother’s chagrin. A box pops up in the corner with the original air date, and I smile up at Denver. “April 24, 1986.”
With a deviant smile, he pulls his phone from the front pocket of his blue jeans and taps away on the screen during a commercial break.
“I know the answers,” he mouths. “All of them.”
When the commercial ends, there’s a T and an N on the board. And Denver sits there pondering alongside Mom. She leans in to study the board, and Denver clears his throat before innocently asking, “Could it be demolition derby?”
Mom glances over at him, shaking her head. “No, I don’t think so. It’s too soon to guess, anyway.”
“Hrm.” He grins at me. “My vote is demolition derby.”
A few minutes, and a lot more letters later, his answer is right. Because of course it is. And Mom is in a state of shock, gawking between the television and Denver, asking him how on Earth he knew the answer.
“I don’t know. It just seemed right…with the T and the N.” He shrugs impishly.
“You’re evil,” I whisper up to him, shifting my head on his lap to get comfortable. “Tricking her like that.”
“Not evil. Smart.”
And when he gets the second puzzle correct with only a P and an S, Mom nearly loses her shit entirely.
Smacking the armrest of her recliner, she practically shrieks my name. “Did you know how smart this boy of yours is? Gosh, I can’t believe it. The two of you—ugh—you’re going to have perfect children. Smart, beautiful, funny.”
“I mean, if our kids are anything like Blair, I’d say I’m pretty damn lucky.” He smiles softly at my mom, and suddenly I’m considering asking him to impregnate me right this second. Broken ankle and all—just prop the entire lower half of my body up with pillows, and kill two birds with one stone.
In the middle of a lady with the poofiest hair I’ve ever seen buying a U, an obnoxious beeping starts playing on Denver’s phone. I thought the only alarm he had set was in the morning for my Lexapro, but it’s midday.
Silencing his phone in the nick of time—just before my mom snaps at him—he taps my shoulder. “Hey, time to take your meds.”
“Oh, okay.” Honestly, thank God he’s keeping track, because I already forget when I last took anything. “I have to go pee, so I got it. You can stay here.”
“Knock it off.” He glares at me as I sit up. “You can go pee on your own, but for God’s sake, let me help with something.”
I’m not trying to be difficult. Although I’ve been slowly letting Denver in, my gut instinct is always to turn down his offers to do anything for me.
“Okay. Thank you.”
He hands me the crutches, then follows closely as I hobble my way down the hall, struggling to get accustomed to my new mode of transport. I can sense his hand hovering behind me, ready to catch me the entire time.
“I’ll go grab your drugs while you’re in the bathroom, and I’ll be right back, if you need me.” He opens the door to let me in. “Please keep it unlocked, just in case.”
“You’re naughty. My parents are right down the hall.” I waggle my eyebrows at him.
“Under any other circumstance, I wouldn’t give a shit that they’re right there. That would even add to the thrill. But right now, you need drugs, a snack, and a nap.”
“Boring,” I tease, even though drugs and a snack sound wonderful. Not a nap, though. During my depressive episodes, I’d pray for sleep because staying forever with my dreams meant forever without pain. With him now, being awake is better.
After the most complicated pee of my life, I swing the bathroom door open to find Denver leaning against the frame. Once again, he hovers over me on the short journey back to the couch. And when I’m settled with my leg propped up, he thrusts a fistful of pills toward me.
“I grabbed your antidepressant, since you didn’t have one this morning.” He squeezes my thigh. “And your painkillers…which you should take with food. So let me grab you a snack.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, picking up the pills one by one and popping them in my mouth as I lean back on the plush pillow.
My heart billows at the sight of Denver in my parents’ kitchen. On the outside, it looks like he’s dumping a bag of tortilla chips in a bowl and grabbing guacamole from the fridge. But it’s so much more. He’s making up for lost time. Picking up where we left off. And he’s loving me the way he should’ve all those years ago.
Blair
(nineteen years old)
Cassidy, Shelby, and I interlocked our arms, shuffling strategically along the icy sidewalk with an unspoken rule that one woman down meant all of us were going down. No way would one person embarrass themselves alone in this crowd.