The Winner Takes It All. Alison Roberts

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      Maybe sleeping in his bed at home would give him a restful night of sleep. He hoped so.

      She studied him over the rim of her glass. “Who will be my nursemaid?”

      “I found the perfect babysitter.”

      Sarah stuck her tongue out at him.

      That was more like it. He grinned. “We could go with nanny if you prefer.”

      She waved her cast in the air. “I bet this thing could do some damage.”

      “To yourself most definitely.”

      “Very funny.” She feigned annoyance, but laughter danced in her eyes. “So who’s stuck here with me first?”

      “Leanne Thomas,” Cullen said. “I know her from OMSAR. She’s also a paramedic.”

      “Sounds capable.”

      “I’d trust her with my life. In fact, I have,” he admitted. “You’ll be in good hands.

      “I’m in good hands now.”

      He appreciated the words, but he’d fallen down on the job this afternoon. “I’m trying to do my best.”

      “You are,” she agreed. “I’m not sure how I’ll ever repay you.”

      “You don’t have to.” That was the truth. He didn’t want anything from her. Well, except to finalize their divorce. Soon…“I remember what it was like.”

      Wrinkles formed on her forehead. “Remember what what was like?”

      “To have a broken arm.”

      She leaned over the table. “When did you break your arm?”

      “I was eleven.” He took another enchilada from the pan. “Want more?”

      “No, thanks.” Sarah stared at him. “I had no idea about your arm. How did you break it?”

      “A soccer tournament. This big kid shoved me out of bounds after I scored a goal. I landed wrong and fractured my arm in two places.”

      “Ouch.”

      “That’s all I could say in between grimacing and crying.” She drew back, as if horror. “You cry?”

      “Past tense. I was eleven.”

      “I’m teasing,” she said. “Nothing wrong with crying, no matter what your age.”

      “Only if you’re an emotional, overwrought sissy man.”

      “Wouldn’t want someone to take away your man card.”

      “Damn straight.”

      She sipped her cider. “Tell me more about your broken arm.”

      He patted his mouth with a napkin. “Not much more to tell. It happened in early July, so I spent the rest of my summer in a cast. It sucked.”

      “You do know how I feel.”

      He nodded. “I couldn’t swim or go in the sprinklers. I wasn’t allowed to ride my bike or skateboard. No going on rides at the county fair, either. Casts weren’t allowed.”

      “That must have been the worst summer of your life.”

      Nope. That was a toss-up between last summer when he was trying to get over her and the summer after his brother died. But her rejection had hurt lots more than his arm fracture. He was relieved he’d moved past that. “It wasn’t fun, but I survived. So will you.”

      His tone came out harsh, without an ounce of sympathy or compassion. He needed to try harder. Apologize. Being with Sarah brought out strong feelings and emotions, ones he would rather forget existed. He’d seen what losing control had done to Blaine. Cullen wouldn’t allow the same thing to happen to him.

      Forks scraped against plates. Glasses were raised and returned to the table. The lack of conversation was awkward. But Cullen didn’t know what to do about it. He’d never known what to do with Sarah except kiss her and take her to bed.

      Not an option. Even if a part of him wished it were.

      As Cullen loaded the dishwasher, Sarah sat at the table with a plate of cookies within arm’s reach. Medication dulled the pain, but made her feel as if she’d drunk one beer too many. Maybe that was why dinner with Cullen had seemed so weird. Forget walking on eggshells—the floor was covered in shattered glass and she kept stepping on the shards.

      An uncomfortable silence had enveloped them during the meal. The same unsettling quiet had consumed their marriage. If Sarah could have made it to the guest bedroom on her own, she would have bolted after she’d finished eating. But, since she couldn’t, death by chocolate chips sounded like the best alternative.

      She bit into a cookie. The sweet flavor exploded in her mouth. “Great cookie.”

      Cullen glanced over his shoulder. “Carly is known for her baking skills.”

      “I can see why.” Sarah had been surprised about Cullen’s broken arm. She wondered what else she didn’t know about him. Sex had been the way they’d been able to communicate best. But even that hadn’t been enough after a while. Uh-oh. Thinking about sex and Cullen wasn’t going to help matters. “I think I’ll have another cookie.”

      “Save me one.”

      She held her left hand above the plate. “There are over a dozen.”

      Cullen glanced over his shoulder. Amusement—at least that was what she hoped it was—flashed in his eyes. “I know how much you love cookies.”

      “You gave me a cookie bouquet for my birthday.” That had been five months into their marriage. He’d also covered their bed with rose petals. A romantic gesture when romance had been nonexistent. “They were tasty.”

      “I never got one.”

      “That’s because you left for your shift at the hospital and I didn’t hear from you for two days.”

      Cullen gave her one of those you-have-to-be-kidding looks. “I had to work.”

      By the time he’d returned, the cookies had been eaten and the rose petals had wilted. “You never called or texted. Not even during breaks.”

      He tugged at his collar. “I need to concentrate when I’m at the hospital.”

      He had never owned up to his behavior in the past. Why had she expected anything different now? Best to forget everything that had happened between them. Good or bad. She pushed the plate of cookies away. “Help yourself. You’ll have to roll me back to my room if I eat any more.”

      “Roll you, carry you.” He bent to put something in the dishwasher. “Not much difference.”

      Maybe not for him.

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