Dear Rosie, (Love Letters #2)

“Miss Edwards.” The doctor’s voice pulls my attention back to the men.

I lift my hand. “I’m up.”

Nathan crosses to me in four strides, standing in the same spot he was kneeling when I fell asleep.

He sets the box on the chair behind him, then wraps his fingers around mine. “How’re you feeling?”

“That’s my line.” The doctor chuckles as he comes around to the other side of my bed.

“Sore,” I tell them both. “But I’d like to go home.”

My experiences with hospitals haven’t been great. And no matter how nice this doctor is, I don’t want to stay here longer than I have to.

The doctor nods. “I was just discussing that with Mr. Waller. He assumed you’d want to leave when you woke. We’re completing the discharge papers now, then you’re free to leave under his care.”

Under his care.

I open my mouth to ask what that means but then assume I’m getting released because now I have a ride home.

“Thanks, Doc.” Nathan rubs his thumb across my wrist.

“Would you like a nurse to help you get dressed?” the doctor asks me.

I start to shake my head, then stop when I remember my horrible headache. “No, thank you.” I flit my gaze to Nathan, silently asking…

“I’ll help her.”

The doctor nods. “I’ll have pharmacy deliver the medications in about ten, then you should be good to go.”

I wait until the door closes behind the doctor. “Nathan…”

He shakes his head. “We’ll talk at home.” Nathan lets go of my hand and turns away to grab the duffel. “We’re getting you dressed first.”

“Thanks for driving me,” I tell him.

I want to tell him he doesn’t have to, but that’d be a lie. I need someone to help me.

I thought maybe Presley was coming back to drive me home, but she had to take an Uber from here to go home—where her car is—and she must’ve fallen asleep.

Thankfully there aren’t any parking restrictions where the van is still parked, so my battered baby will be okay for a day or two until I can figure out how to get it back to my place.

In the meantime, I’ll accept the ride.

Nathan sets the open duffel on the edge of my bed. “Do you want pajamas since it’s late?”

I stare at the bag.

It’s full.

Like completely full of my clothes.

“Why… Why is there so much?” I ask, hardly believing my eyes.

“So you don’t have to do laundry every other day.” He pulls out a thin pair of navy sleep pants. “How about these?”

“They’re fine. But what do you mean about laundry?”

Nathan pulls out one of my sleep tank tops. “I have a sweater in here too if you’re cold. But I think the tank top would be best to avoid the scrapes on your arms.”