SOPHIA’S POV
The hospital visit dragged on for two hours. I sat on the examination table while the doctor studied my X-rays against the light box. He pointed to the area where everything looked swollen and angry.
"No fracture," he said. "But it’s a bad sprain. You’ll need to stay off it completely for at least a week."
I was relieved. The doctor wrapped my ankle tightly in an elastic bandage. He showed how to use the crutches, demonstrating the proper technique. I tried them once in the examination room.
Lance stood against the wall the entire ti, watching . When the doctor finished, Lance collected my pain dication from the pharmacy downstairs.
After that, Lance drove ho.
Lance pulled up to my parents’ house just as the sun was setting.
"I’ll carry you inside," he said.
"No." I softened my tone. "I have crutches. I can manage."
He looked at the front of the house. "The steps to the front door are steep."
"I’ll be careful."
He got out anyway. I watched him walk around to my side.
He opened the door for then offered his hand. I took it. I tried to stand on my good foot, putting all my weight on my left leg. I wobbled imdiately. The world tilted.
"Easy," Lance said.
I grabbed the crutches from where he’d propped them against the seat. They were awkward in my hands. I hadn’t used crutches before. Lance steadied as I tried to position them under my arms.
"This is ridiculous," he said. "Let help you properly."
"I can do it."
I took one hop forward. Pain shot through my ankle. I gasped. The crutches slipped and I felt myself falling.
Lance caught again. "Enough. You need help. Pride isn’t worth injuring yourself worse."
I looked at the front steps. He was right. There were at least eight of them, maybe more. I sighed in defeat. My wolf whined inside , hating this weakness.
"Fine," I said. "But no carrying. You can support . Help walk."
"Deal."
He positioned himself beside . I wrapped my arm over his shoulders then leaned my weight against him. We moved slowly toward the house.
Before I could press the doorbell, the door flew open. Klara stood there with a smile and wide eyes.
"Aunt Sophia!" she squealed. Then she noticed Lance. Her mouth ford a perfect O. She stared up at him, her eyes going even wider. "Who’s the super handso gentleman?"
My face burned. Heat rushed to my cheeks so fast I felt dizzy. "Klara-"
Lance laughed.
"You look like a prince from my storybooks," she announced, tilting her head back to look at Lance. "Tall and handso and everything. Are you Aunt Sophia’s boyfriend?"
I wanted the ground to open up and swallow whole. "Klara, hush."
Lance smiled down at her. He crouched to her level.
"Handso gentleman is very nice," he said to Klara. "But you should call Mr. Lance. Can you do that?"
Klara nodded seriously. "Mr. Lance.”
"Very good. You’re very smart."
Klara bead at the praise. Then she grabbed his free hand with both of hers.
"Mr. Lance should co inside. I’ll show you my drawings. I drew a princess and a dragon and the princess has a sword-"
Lance looked at . I shrugged helplessly. Klara was impossible to refuse when she got like this.
We entered the house. My mother appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. Her face showed imdiate concern when she saw my wrapped ankle. She looked confused as she noticed Lance.
"Mom, this is Lance," I said quickly. "My forr colleague from the hospital. He helped today after I got hurt."
My mother’s expression softened. She ca forward. "Thank you so much for taking care of our Sophia. I’m Annette."
"It’s nice to et you, ma’am," Lance said.
My father appeared from the living room then. He took one look at the situation and frowned.
"What happened?" he asked.
Lance explained briefly. My mother fussed over imdiately.
"Lance, please help Sophia to the couch," she said. "Carefully now."
He did exactly that. He moved slowly across the living room, supporting with each step. My wolf was far too aware of every point of contact between us.
When we reached the couch, he settled carefully on the cushions. His hands were gentle as he lifted my injured foot and propped it on the throw pillows. My mother appeared with a bag of ice wrapped in a kitchen towel.
"You’re very kind," she said to Lance, pressing the ice against my ankle. I hissed at the cold. "Most people wouldn’t go to such trouble for a friend."
"It’s nothing," Lance said. "Sophia’s my friend. Friends help each other."
My father had been watching this entire exchange. I saw sothing shift in his expression. Dad was hard to read sotis, but I knew that look. It was the sa one he gave Marco when my brother did sothing that impressed him.
My mother straightened up. "You have to stay for dinner."
"Oh, I don’t want to impose," Lance said quickly. "You’ve been more than welcoming already."
"Nonsense. We have plenty. I’m making pot roast."
"Mom-" I started.
"We’d like you to stay," my father added. "We want to thank you properly for taking care of our daughter."
Lance looked at . I could see the question in his eyes. Part of wanted to tell him it was okay to leave. That he’d done enough. But another part of , a bigger part, wanted him to stay. I nodded.
"Alright," Lance agreed. "Thank you."
Klara cheered like she’d won sothing. She imdiately grabbed Lance’s hand with both of hers. "Co see my drawings, Mr. Lance! Co on!"
She dragged him toward the hallway. He went willingly, letting this tiny seven-year-old girl pull him along. My mother smiled as she watched them go.
"He seems nice," she said to . "Very nice."
"He is."
She gave a knowing look. The sa look she’d given when I was sixteen and had a crush on a boy in my class. "He cares about you."
"Mom, it’s not like that."
She humd in a teasing tone. The sound said she didn’t believe for a second. Then she returned to the kitchen, leaving alone with my father.
"How do you really feel?" he asked.
"My ankle hurts."
"That’s not what I ant."
I went quiet. I knew what he was asking. I just didn’t know how to answer. My father sighed and set his newspaper aside.
"This Lance seems like a good man," he said carefully. "Better than Damien, at least."
I flinched at the na. "I don’t want to talk about Damien."
"Fair enough." My father nodded slowly. "But you deserve soone who treats you well. Who looks at you the way that boy does."
"Dad-"
"I’m just saying what I see."
I didn’t know what to say to that.
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