Chapter 16
Of course, one always thinks things are going to get better instead of worse, and I admit, I was relieved to learn that my shoulder blade was only majorly bruised instead of broken—I can’t imagine the kind of cast that would take. I was also happy about the pain killer samples they sent home with me, along with a prescription for more.
Officer Mitchell took the full report, admonished me to leave the detecting to the police and to add a security system—complete with floodlights—to the back of my building. I promised I’d make the call in the morning. He deserted me with a worried Bronson hovering over my shoulder. No matter how many times I told Bronson to sit in the waiting room, he was back again in minutes, checking to see if I needed a drink, a snack from the vending machine—as if we hadn’t eaten a huge dinner—Was I too hot or cold? He was driving me nuts.
When we reached my apartment, he followed me in, despite my best efforts to make it clear that he wasn’t invited. “Are you going to be okay? The doctor said you have a concussion,” he said.
“I’ll be fine,” I told him, as I had done a dozen times already.
“The doctor said you shouldn’t be alone tonight, that you should have someone waking you up every few hours. Maybe I ought to stay.” He rubbed his hands up and down my arms, studying my face.
“You are not staying over here.”
“You have another bedroom,” he pointed out. “You don’t need the second bed for yourself.”
I ground my teeth together. “It’s my grandmother’s room. No one else has stayed there since she died, and the sheets haven’t been changed since the funeral, if not before that.”
“I can make a bed. I’ve been known to do it before.” He touched my cheek, using a finger under my jaw to lift my face until I was looking him in the eye.
I pulled out of his grasp. “Forget it. You have a hotel room.”
“Someone needs to check on you.”
He was right. The doctor had said I needed someone to make sure I was okay every hour. I hate doctors. “You have my cell phone number. Call me. Now get out of here so I can collapse into bed.”
“Tess, sweetie—”
“No, Bronson. You’re not staying here. End of story. Call and wake me up if you must.”
“Fine. If you don’t answer, I’m getting the ambulance back here, though, so don’t even think about turning the ringer off.”
In my head, I grumbled about bossy men. “All right. Get lost. I need my sleep if you’re going to wake me up constantly.”
With a look that said he wasn’t pleased with my choice, he headed out the door, saying good night over his shoulder. I wasn’t even settled properly into sleep when the phone rang the first time. He called me dutifully every hour on the hour after that.
Though I wanted to throttle him half the time, part of me was grateful to see he cared. He’d never acted so sweet and considerate before—or, not recently. It was almost enough to have me thinking maybe there was a way to put things back together for us. Almost.