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“Watering his plants,” I say. “Feeding the fish.”
“The invisible fish that doesn’t exist?” He rubs his palm over the top of his head and his shorn hair. “Dude, I know about the two of you, so…” He shrugs.
My heartbeat is sickeningly fast, beating somewhere in my throat.
“Oh,” I manage to say.
“Yeah.” He keeps rubbing the top of his head like he’s expecting a genie to pop out of his ears.
“Uh… not to be a dick, but what are you doing here?” I ask.
“Oh! Fuck. My mom—” He goes back to the door and appears a moment later with a large bag he hauls onto the kitchen counter and starts taking out containers. “My mom sent supplies for when Ryker comes home. You know, so he won’t have to think about cooking right away. I figured I’d drop them off before I head to the gym, because if I leave these lying around at my place they’ll be gone by the time I get back.” He explains while he opens the freezer and starts putting the containers in the drawers.
I get up and go to him.
“That was nice of her.”
“Food is Mom’s go-to for any situation. Births, deaths, weddings, funerals—a casserole is the best gift. It helps that she’s a great cook.”
I pull one of the containers toward me. Lasagna is written on top in a neat cursive, followed by instructions for re-heating. My stomach lets out a loud growl since I haven’t eaten anything in more than twelve hours.
Hayes snorts. “You can have it,” he says. “I doubt I can fit all of it in the freezer anyway.”
I don’t need any more words of encouragement. I just grab a fork from the drawer, open the lid and dig in.
It’s strangely peaceful, sitting at the counter. Almost mundane. I could really use some mundane right about now.
And so I make my way through a sizeable portion of lasagna.
And watch Hayes organize Ryker’s fridge.
LAKE
Ryker is finally released from the hospital, and if I thought it was going to improve his mood and somehow get him into a fighting spirit I’m… sort of right?
He does seem happier once he gets the news that he can go home.
“Fucking finally!” He pushes himself off the side of the bed where he’s been hovering for the last twenty minutes, waiting to hear whether they’ll sign him out or not.
“Language,” Genevive says, and I snort because it’s such a parent thing to say.
Ryker ignores the chastising while he wrestles a loose hoodie over his T-shirt and hobbles around the room, gathering up his stuff. Most of his things are already packed. They have been for two days because he’s been so eager to get out of here, so all he really has to do is find the little odds and ends like his phone and earphones and charger.
“I’m ready,” he announces eagerly. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
It takes another hour for the paperwork and instructions and everything to be settled. Ryker spends that time fidgeting and being passive-aggressively obvious about his disdain for the delay.
Eventually, when Genevive starts to look like she’s contemplating strangling Ryker, I go and sit next to him on the bed, covertly sliding my hand around him and sneaking my fingers underneath his shirt, just above the waistband. I rest them there, against his bare skin, and he stays still after that. Still, but stiff like a marble statue.
Almost like he can’t decide whether he wants my hand on his skin or not. It’s pretty much what he’s been like this whole week.
I keep my hand on him, nevertheless.
Finally, the nurse is finished with the papers and the instructions. She leafs through the pages she’s still holding and glances up at Ryker.
“I think that’s it. One more thing. I need to know you’ll have somebody who’ll stay with you and take care of you, at least for the first week.”
Ryker looks outright disgusted by the prospect.
