“No. I can get it,” I say quickly, willing my cheeks not to turn red. “I’ll let you know when I’m done.”
“Okay, I’ll wait in the hall, then?” It’s more question than statement, and he thumbs over his shoulder.
“If you want to grab my phone, I can text you when I’m done. Better than you standing out there listening to me pee, right?” Based on how we both look away, my attempt at a joke falls flat.
“I’ll be right back.” Declan rushes out of the bathroom and returns a moment later, phone in hand. He leaves it on the counter and closes the door behind him. While I was in the hospital, they had me in one of those horrible open-back gowns. I couldn’t get a pair of underwear over my cast, so Harley, being the ingenious and smart sister that she is, grabbed a few pairs of my bikini bottoms that tie up at the sides.
It meant needing someone to retie it for me once I was done, but that was a lot easier to manage when it was my sister, less so now that I have to depend on Declan.
It takes quite a bit of effort to get my modified sweats down over my butt—we cut the left leg off at the upper thigh so the hole was wide enough to pull over my cast—along with my bikini bottoms. It might make sense for me to wear long nightshirts and forgo the panties until I don’t need help in this department.
On the upside, I’m happy to be in the privacy of my own home, in a familiar bathroom that doesn’t smell like cleaning supplies and the awful soap hospitals have. And I don’t have to wipe with the crappy, single-ply, rough toilet paper anymore. Once I’m done with my business, I consider trying to get into the wheelchair on my own.
My usable arm and leg are weak, though, and I’m so freaking exhausted. I give up on that idea three seconds after I have it and text Declan instead. He’s in the bathroom almost as soon as I hit send. Once I’m back in the chair, he wheels me over to the sink, pumps soap into my hand, and then realizes I can’t even wash it without assistance.
As he takes my hand between his, working the soap into a lather, I consider how much of a challenge it’s going to be on bath days. I figure I can go a few days without one, just until I have a little more control over my body. And I can wipe myself down daily with a washcloth.
“Ave? Is everything all right?”
“Huh?” I’ve been staring at my hand, which is already dry. “Sorry, spaced out there for a second.”
“You want me to make you something to eat? You must be pretty sick of that hospital food.” He wheels me back to the living room, where my new bed is set up.
“Uh, yeah, sure. That might be nice. Can you help me into the bed first, though? I think I’m about done with sitting up for now.”
“Of course. Yeah. You feeling worn out?”
“It’s a lot to take in, you know?”
Declan lowers the bedrail and hoists me out of the chair. I’m in ragdoll territory, exhaustion sweeping over me. It takes what’s left of my energy to keep my good arm wrapped around his neck while he lifts me up and helps get me situated on the mattress. I stretch out, happy to be lying down again, at least for now.
Declan fusses with the pillows, arranging them so my casted leg is elevated and so is my arm.
He turns on the TV and hands me the remote. “Anything in particular that you’d like to eat?”
“Um…” I consider all of my favorites and what isn’t going to take long to make because I’m feeling like I might need a nap soon. “Oh! How about grilled peanut butter and honey?”
“I can definitely do that. I DVR’d a bunch of your favorite shows. Why don’t you find something you want to watch, and I’ll make you that sandwich?”
I flip through the recorded shows and settle on The Bachelor. Mostly we watch sports, and more specifically soccer, but I also like romantic comedies, and I have a thing for this particular reality show. I’ve missed a couple of episodes while I’ve been in the hospital, so now is a good time to catch up.
I settle back in my bed and let my eyes fall closed as the opening credits roll.
The whole drive home and bathroom experience must have worn me right out because the next time I open my eyes, the sun has gone down. The TV is still on, but the sound is low and it’s an infomercial. I’ve obviously been out for hours.
Declan is stretched out on the couch, but his eyes are closed. I wonder how he’s been sleeping this past week. I imagine not well, considering he basically refused to leave my hospital room apart from the two times they sent him home to change and shower.