Southern Heart by Madison, Natasha (best fiction novels .txt) 📕

getting up. "I have been craving biscuits and gravy." I walk back toward my bedroom, ignoring the pull to check on him.

Chapter 11

Mayson

I listen to the conversation taking place in the kitchen as I try to forget about what a dick I was to her last night. She rushed in here to save me, and all I could do was get my pride hurt and yell at her. It wasn’t my finest moment, especially since she was standing there bleeding. Instead of burying the anger, I just came at her.

"I have been craving biscuits and gravy," I hear her say and then hear her bedroom door slam again. She seems to be doing that a lot since I got here.

I hear his footsteps coming back toward my bedroom, and when Ethan walks in with his head shaking, I am rolling my lips, trying not to laugh. "Well, looks like you sure took care of that," I tell him, and he just glares at me.

"What got her panties in a twist? Who pissed her off?" Ethan says, looking at me, sitting down in the same chair he did this morning when he walked in. He stood there in the middle of the room and watched me walk back to the bed, never once asking me if I needed help.

When I woke up this morning, my eyes flew around the room, making sure everything was where it should be. I took my time sitting up and trying to breathe through the pain. It was shooting right up my side. I slung my legs out of bed and tried standing up. It took me over an hour to get to the bathroom. My body shook once I got there. I sat on the toilet with my eyes focused on the tub, seeing the spots of dried blood on the side. Anger filled me for so many different reasons. Reasons I don’t want to think about.

"You pissed her off," Ethan says, and I just laugh now. His foot goes up and down.

"I might have pissed her off,” I agree to that. "But from the sounds of it, you pissed her off by not asking her nicely." I point at him, and I don’t say anything else because she comes into the room.

Today, she’s wearing black tights with a white shirt that shows off a little of her toned stomach. "Good morning," she says, tying her blond hair on top of her head. I look down and see she has a white bandage around her foot.

"Morning." I smile at her, and she comes in. "How is the foot?" I ask her, and she looks down at it.

"I’ve had worse injuries," she says, looking at Ethan. "How are the wounds?” She looks at the bandages now. “Any bleeding?"

"No," I say, moving the covers down so she can see the clean bandage.

"Perfect." She looks around. "So today would be a good day to get out of bed." She smiles, and it lights up her whole face. It’s carefree and fucking perfect. "Ethan." She looks over at him. "Why don’t you help him to the couch, and I might share breakfast with you?" Then she turns to me. “Sorry, no biscuits and gravy for you. It’s a liquid diet for the next couple of days.”

"It’s lunchtime," he tells her, not even getting up to help. "And he can get himself to the couch. He doesn’t need anyone to baby him."

"I forgot you guys are big strong men. Shall I go outside and bring in some dirt so you can rub yourself with it?" She points with her thumb over her shoulder.

She walks out of the room, and I look over at Ethan. "How good of a shot is she?"

He gets up from the chair. "Better than me," he tells me, and my eyes open wide. He’s one of the best shots I’ve ever seen in my life. "We did a one-on-one when I got back. Brought out the cans from the barn. Lined them up. Two cans, different areas. First one to turn and shoot wins. She got it in point four seconds." I raise an eye. "Took me point two seconds more." I clap my hands together, laughing at him. "Now get your lazy ass out of bed. Because my sister is making biscuits and gravy and apart from my grandmother's, hers are second best. I will not let you fuck this up for me."

"Roger that," I tell him, and I swing my legs off the bed and put on the shorts he brought me this morning. I put my hands on the bed, getting up slowly, pulling the stitches tight now. I put my hand to my side when I stand straight and hope I didn’t pull anything. "I walk as slow as a ninety-five-year-old man."

"We can get you a cane," Ethan jokes with me. "Or you know, those walker things with wheels." He walks beside me just in case I go down.

"Fuck you," I say, lifting my hand and giving him the bird, but everything in my body hurts now.

I hear the soft music playing when I get to the opening of the family room attached to the kitchen. "Is there a blanket somewhere?" I look over at Ethan. "The whole couch is white, and I’m afraid I’ll bleed on it.”

"In the hallway," Chelsea says, pointing toward a white door. "There are some in there, but it’s not necessary. I live here. It’s not a museum, so things are bound to get dirty."

I look over at the L-shaped white couch with gray throw pillows with a black coffee table in the middle. Two big single white couches face the L-shaped couch with a little gray table between them, and she has a vase of tulips on there. I walk over, sitting down, and I’m not going to lie. I let a big sigh out. "Do you want water or juice?" she asks, and I look at her as she kneads the dough with