Chapter 21: The Recovery

He lay there with my hand against his face, and for a long time he did not speak.

Then he said, "Will you stay with me?"

"Not good enough."

"Leah." His voice shook. "Will you stay because you want to? No threat, no paper, no one at the door."

"Yes."

"Say it plainly."

"I've wanted to since you looked at my wrist and told me to ice it," I said. "Yes, Judd. I'm staying."

He closed his eyes, and the tears ran sideways into his hair.

I sat by that bed until the sun came up.

Three weeks later, they sent him home on medical leave with a scar the length of my hand and a list of rules.

No lifting. No stairs. No driving. No alcohol and no pushing his ribs.

Clover wrote them on a whiteboard and hung it on the refrigerator at the guest quarters.

Under the last one, she added in red marker: AND YES, LEAH, THAT MEANS THE OTHER THING TOO.

"I'm going to my sister's tonight," Clover said, picking up her bag. "The sister with the cat. I'll be gone until noon."

"Clover."

"I am a professional." She kissed my cheek and left.

The house was quiet.

Judd sat in the kitchen chair with his shirt open and a mug of coffee in his hand, and he watched me wash the pan.

"You're staring," I said.

"I'm recovering."

"You're staring at my back."

"That is also part of recovering."

I dried my hands and walked over and stood between his knees.

He looked up at me, gray-eyed and pale from three weeks indoors, and he put his hand on my hip.

"The whiteboard," I said, "says no lifting."

"It does."

"So you'll sit there, and I'll do the work."

Keep reading free with an account. Start Shielded by the Ruthless Military Boss from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.