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“We’ll use that as a last resort,” Wade suggested.
I didn’t agree or disagree.
In fact, I was fairly sure that I was way over my head in this situation.
A text message alerted from my phone, and I absently pulled it up to my face and read it.
Kourt: Found a new place. It’s in the Red-Light district.
I rolled my eyes at Kourt’s words.
The ‘Red-Light’ district was actually a part of the city that had a traffic light every sixty yards for about two miles straight. It was a nice area, but it was residential and there was absolutely no reason for eighteen red lights in that two-mile stretch.
The rich people of Bear Bottom had built it that way to keep normal people from taking that route as a shortcut—which they had before—to the interstate.
Now, everyone avoided it at all costs, otherwise, it would add ten minutes to your commute instead of taking away ten minutes if you went the other way.
I texted him back with a smile on my face.
Landry: You’re going to hate driving to work from there.
The last three days I’d used wisely.
After asking Kourt to leave, I’d then helped him pack as he’d searched for a place to stay.
Kourt: True, but it’s halfway through the lights, and I found a back way that nobody but the residents of the Red-Light district know about. No, I won’t tell you what it is. Also, the house is furnished and move-in ready. I took the boxes this morning while you were driving. You’re officially by yourself again.
“Who are you texting?” Wade asked.
I looked up to find him staring at me instead of the dog.
“Kourt,” I told him truthfully. “He moved out.”
Something weird happened to Wade’s face.
He looked almost…hopeful. Well, in reality, he looked too afraid to be hopeful. Cautiously hopeful maybe.
The dog whined then, and I perked up. “Whining’s a good sound.”
Wade looked back at the dog, who was staring at him with curiosity.
Inadvertently, Wade had moved away from the cage when he’d turned to ask me who was texting, and when he’d heard me say that Kourt had moved out, he’d completely turned his back on Capo.
And now Capo was staring at Wade as if he didn’t like not being his center of attention.
“Sorry, Capo,” Wade rumbled. “Where were we?”
Hoax turned the TV on at one point and I sat cross-legged on the couch, alternating my gaze from the TV—Hoax was literally watching So You Think You Can Dance—and watching Wade as he talked to the dog.
At one-point Wade had gotten comfortable on the floor next to the cage, his back leaning against the recliner, which was shoved up against the wall.
Wade spoke softly—too softly for me to hear over the television that Hoax had blaring—and Capo’s eyes never once strayed from Wade.
At least not until I stood up to go to the bathroom.
His eyes met mine, and he narrowed them.
“It’s okay,” I said to the dog. “I just have to go to the bathroom. I’m not going to come close to you.”
The dog dropped his head to his forepaws, but still didn’t take his eyes off me as I walked away.
After finding the bathroom and using it, I wandered back into the main room.
The duplex was small, and the kitchen was directly off the living room. There was a small kitchen island separating the two, and on the island was some paperwork that caught my eye.
Admission papers.
“Wade, what’s this?” I asked as I picked up the papers and started to read.
“Admission papers for the hospital tonight,” he said from across the room.
My heart started to pound. “You’re doing it tonight?”
Something in my voice must've alerted him to my state of mind, because he frowned. “Yeah. Why?”
I felt my heart start to palpitate.
“How are you so calm?” I wondered.
I wouldn’t be.
Hell, I was freaking out, and it wasn’t even my leg coming off!
“Because it’s what I have to do.” He paused. “And they’re only keeping me overnight. Once the antibiotics are done, I’m free to go home. They’re just ones they have to administer from the hospital and not something I can do at home.”
And then I understood why he wasn’t freaking out.
They weren’t amputating his leg today like I’d feared. They were giving him IV antibiotics.
Shit.
I pressed my hand over my heart and realized that in my worried state, I’d clenched the papers in a tight fist.
Putting them down on the counter, I smoothed them out and pushed them to the center of the island. That was when I saw a balled-up piece of pink paper with girly handwriting on it.
I frowned and picked that up, too.
Tiffy. 883-3039.
I threw it into the trash.
He wouldn’t be needing that.
Wade’s chuckle had me looking at him.
His eyes were on the trash can where I’d just thrown Tiffy’s number away.
“That was the nurse I have to talk to when I get to the hospital,” he explained, making me feel dumb.
