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1
BOONE
Sitting in a goddamn hospital bed—leg full of metallic thread—is not my idea of a good time.
The news that my boss is giving me is even worse.
“Two weeks. You’re off until those stitches come out.”
Hipshot and leaning a shoulder against the wall, he levels me with a stony stare, the hunter-green of his uniform more comfortable than the ass-peekaboo gown the docs and nurses have me in here.
But my bruised pride and a sore thigh are the least of my problems.
What the fuck am I going to do with myself for a whole two weeks?
I eat, I sleep, and I work. That pretty much sums up my life since moving to Felt, Idaho five years ago.
“Come on, Jackson,” I plead.
But my boss is having none of it. He’s not even considering throwing me a pity bone by offering me up some desk work until I can get back outdoors.
He slashes a hand through the air. “Nope. You have more than enough vacation time built up. You tussled with a bear, Boone. That means time off.” His no-nonsense tone tells me it’s useless to argue.
“What the hell am I going to do for two weeks?” I voice the plaguing thought aloud.
He wags a finger at me. “Relax. Rest. Recuperate. Don’t pull your stitches. Stop and smell the pine needles.” He grins before pulling his phone out of his pocket and firing off a text, probably to his wife, Liv. Those two text more than any other couple I know, and they’ve been married for three years now, so that’s saying something.
“I don’t need to rest or recuperate,” I bite out through gritted teeth.
“I say you do. Plus there’s a blizzard forecasted to hit early this evening, so we’re battening down the hatches at the station anyway.”
And he’s my boss. If I showed up at the ranger station, he’d just boot me back out again.
The weather forecasted a late winter, early spring blizzard. If I had a nickel every time they were right, I might be able to retire early.
I swipe up my own phone and ignore the multiple unread text messages and missed calls, no doubt from my family.
Opening a text message, I shoot one off to Connor, another one of the rangers that works in our station.
Come get your work husband, he’s being unreasonable.
No can do buddy. I agree with him. Time off will do you good. Send me a picture of the stitches for the dumbass wall at work.
Goddammit. I should have known that Jackson would have gotten to Connor before I could. Jackson’s little sister is married to Connor, and the two of them might as well be an old married couple with how well they communicate.
The dumbass wall is something that Jackson came up with when we got ourselves a couple of really green rangers. Every month, the one who does the dumbest thing has to buy the first round at O’Malley’s when we grab dinner. I haven’t bought my own beer in almost six months.
Pretty sure the newest scar on my body is gonna set me back a round of drinks.
Snapping a picture, I send it off before dropping the device back onto the table next to me.
I don’t want to take time off work.
I don’t want time to think.
Nothing good ever comes from me having time in my own head.
“Come on now, don’t pout. You haven’t taken a single day off since you started at the station. You work on your days off on your side gigs. There’s such a thing as work and life balance. Go fishing, couch veg, watch a movie for God’s sake,” Jackson lectures me.
