Sinner's Creed (Sinner's Creed #1)(48)
“Now get that damn blood pressure cuff off of me so I can get the hell outta here.” The medic begins releasing the cuff immediately. I help Saylor up and surprisingly she is steady on her feet, despite the huge goose-egg knot that has formed on her head. I want to carry her, but she glares at me, so I settle for my hand around her waist—not that she needs it. Determination alone could let her walk out of here unassisted.
The store manager appears, wearing a shirt that’s too small and a badge that states his title. He is holding a clipboard in his hand and looks almost pissed when he sticks it out to Saylor. “You need to sign this. If you are refusing medical attention, then we ain’t liable for anything that happens down the road.” I’m two seconds from grabbing the clipboard and smashing his nose with it when Saylor gladly signs it and thrusts it back in his hands. She walks out and I have to practically jog to keep up with her.
When we get outside, Shady is there with two other patch holders and I tell him to take my bike back to the house. He nods without any questions, giving Saylor and me a once-over before leaving. I help Saylor in the truck before getting in and pulling out of the lot. When we are almost home, I chance a look at her, and her anger has faded. She just looks tired.
“You okay?” I ask, wondering why I’m treading so lightly. I feel like I’m walking on eggshells. I haven’t felt like that in years.
“I’m fine. I don’t like hospitals,” she mumbles, and I don’t push further. She has her reasons and I’m sure they’re good ones. I pull up at the house, jumping out to help her, but she is already out and moving to the bed of the truck. I see bags of groceries and things from the hardware store and give her a quizzical look. “I told the bag boy to go ahead and check me out. No need in all that shopping going to waste because my stupid head don’t wanna act right.” She doesn’t notice her slipup, but I do.
“You do that a lot?” I ask, referring to her head that is anything but stupid.
“What? Pass out? No. It’s happened before but not often. It’s part of the reason I have migraines too.” She doesn’t elaborate and I don’t ask any more questions. I don’t want to admit it, but the truth is I’m afraid of the answer.
She grabs a bag and I take it from her, then take her hand and lead her inside. The house still smells good and I’m thankful that she got a notion to clean today, although I’m sure that cleaning is as far as it’s gonna go for now.
“You wanna lay down?” I ask, while she fishes receipts and my card from her pocket.
“No, I wanna stay up for the furniture.” That gets my attention, and, as if she summoned them, a truck pulls up the driveway with the town furniture store’s logo on the side. “I was mad at you when I left. I might have spent too much money trying to get back at you. We can take it back if you want.” I shake my head at her words.
“Money means nothing to me. If you try to piss me off by spending it, never gonna happen. Even if you managed to clean me out, I can always make more.” She smiles knowingly, as if she figured as much even before she spent it. I meet the two men at the door, noticing another truck pulling up. The man gets out, asking where I want everything, and I point to the clean side of the carport. “Just put it out here. I’ll move it in later.” I look at a frowning Saylor in the doorway and raise my eyebrows in question at her.
“I paid them to move the old out too,” she says, and even though I told her she could redo everything, a piece of me isn’t quite ready to let the past go. She knows this and fixes the problem, like she always seems to do.
“Just push the couch into the dining room and put everything in the living room. We’ll set it up when we’re ready.” The man nods his head, avoiding even looking at Saylor. I’m sure it’s ’cause he won’t be able to focus on anything but her chest. Although she changed her shirt, this one is just as tight as the other. At least she put a bra on. Looking at her legs, perhaps I should have told her she needed to put some pants on too. Her cutoff shorts are so short, the pockets hang out the bottom of them. I like the way she looks, but I don’t want anyone else liking it.
While the furniture is being unloaded, I unload the truck—taking everything to the kitchen while Saylor puts it away. I would rather she just sit down, but I’d be fighting a losing battle. When the movers are gone and everything is inside, I survey the damage.
Saylor has more stuff than I thought she was capable of buying in such a short time. Paint, groceries, decorative shit, bedding, dishes, two sets of mattresses, two bedroom suites, a couch, a love seat, a table with chairs, two end tables, a bookshelf, and six lamps. My house looks like a f*cking furniture store threw up in it.
“You like it?” she asks, standing beside me. I want to answer, but I need to sort my words so I sound appreciative. Because I am. It’s just a little overwhelming. “I got rugs and stuff too. I even bought some pictures and stuff to do the bathroom. It’ll be perfect when I’m finished.”
These material items mean nothing. The fact that she is standing here next to me makes this godforsaken place perfect. Something I never thought possible.
“I like it. Thank you.” My words aren’t much, but she smiles.
“I’ll cook for you tomorrow. Tonight, I’ll make us a sandwich, but I want to set up a real bed first.” She grabs a bag of stuff and heads down the hall. She is acting as if she didn’t just collapse in a grocery store and has a big bump on her head. I’m not sure what to think of it, but if she wants to act like nothing’s wrong, then I guess I should too.