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suit than I’d last seen him. His hands were wrapped around
     my good one, tracing light circles on my skin.
    He’d gone back to work that week on a reduced hours capacity. Caroline and Andrew
     filled me in on the meeting Jack had on Friday describing how Owen, the intern Kelly
     accosted with a coat rack while leaving our office one day, was filling in for me.
    They also mentioned how Jack made up an interesting story as to why Nathan was out
     and working less over the next few weeks.
    It fell very much in line with real life, including telling people he’d been in an
     accident where he almost died, and hearing I was in a bad accident sparked the memory
     and induced a panic attack.
    Once again, I wondered how much Jack knew.
    Jack had come to visit once, when Nathan wasn’t there, to check up on me. He let me
     know that while things weren’t quite up to my standards, they were chugging along
     and I needed to concentrate on getting better and not worry about the office. I also
     was informed I would not be returning to work for at least two weeks, and even when
     I did it would be part-time for a few more. I had plenty of sick time built up over
     the last few years, but he said he already had the FMLA paperwork in the works if
     needed.
    “Morning?” I asked in a scratchy voice. Ah, yes, the sun coming from the left side
     of the window.
    Nathan smirked. “Morning.”
    He handed me my water, and I took multiple large, greedy gulps. “Thank you,” I said,
     handing him back the half empty cup.
    “You’re welcome.”
    “I probably stink.” The thought popped directly from my head to my mouth.
    He chuckled. “Why do you say that?”
    “I’ve been here for over a week and haven’t had a shower. I’m peeing through a tube.
     My hair has been washed with dry shampoo, and I’ve had a couple of sponge baths, but
     I just feel gross and can’t wait to get home,” I said while trying to be sly and sniff
     my hair, which he caught. I wanted a shower in the worst way.
    “About that,” he began, his hand reaching up to rub his neck. “We’re working on getting
     everything ready for your release. We’ve mapped out a loose schedule so you’re never
     without anyone.”
    “What?” I questioned, blinking up at him. Schedule? “We’re? Contraction for ‘we are.’
     As in more than one. We as in a group of people?”
    “That way someone will always be around if you need anything,” he replied.
    I stared at him in disbelief. I was being babysat? “I don’t need anyone’s help. I
     can take care of myself.”
    “Really?” His voice was laced with sarcasm and anger. His jaw tensed. “You can’t even
     walk! How are you going to get to the bathroom? How are you going to get your meds
     on time? How are you going to eat?”
    “I can do it alone. I’ve taken care of myself my whole life, and I can do it now.
     I don’t need your help!” My lungs protested, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been.
     At least some part of me was getting a little bit better.
    “Like fucking hell you don’t! The doctor says you won’t be able to walk on the crutches
     for about three weeks, which means you’re confined to a wheel chair to get around.
     How the hell are you going to get yourself in and out of the chair? You’ll end up
     ripping out your stitches, and you’ll be in pain from the exertion. Trust me on that.”
    “I can do it on my own.”
    It was stupid, I knew that. He was right, but I hated he’d decided everything without
     consulting me. I was still trying to sort out my feelings, and he was pushing himself
     into my life.
    “Why the hell are you being so damn stubborn about this?” he asked in exasperation.
     Tears welled in my eyes, and his hand cupped my face to wipe them away. “Please, Lila.
     Let us take care of you. Let me take care of you. Pick another battle, but stop fighting me on this one.”
    “Why? Why do you care?”
    “You know why,” he replied, his forehead resting on