Dax looks to the side of the bed. “Thanks, I guess, for bringing my jacket in.”
“That’s okay.”
Mrs. Gibson pipes up. “Umm, dear. Weren’t you reading to me?”
I tuck my hair behind my ears and blow out a shaky breath. “Oh, right. I’ll go get my book.”
Mrs. Gibson lifts a book from her side table. “I have one here, if you don’t mind.”
I compose myself and walk over to her bed.
“Trisha was looking through some boxes and found some old books,” Mrs. Gibson says. I take a seat by her bed, and she lifts a banged-up version of ‘Heidi.’ “I loved this book when I was a little girl. Will you read it to me?”
“Of course.” I take the book. “My grandmother gave me a copy of this book. I’m Swiss on my mother’s side, and it’s a tradition for every generation to read ‘Heidi.’”
“Oh, that’s lovely, dear. Have you ever been to Switzerland?”
I blush. “Yes, recently. I spent a few months over there, living in a chalet with my mother.”
“How wonderful.” Mrs. Gibson claps with joy. “I’m officially jealous.”
I give her a small smile. It’s better for her to imagine skiing and sledding, family nights cuddled by a roaring fire, and gazing out the tall windows withsinfully delicious hot cocoa. She doesn’t need to know the reality of how heartbreakingly lonely I was over there.
I open the book and wonder if I’ll be able to concentrate on the words when there’s a gorgeously brooding guy in the next bed.
Mrs. Gibson is four pages in. One of her symptoms is fatigue, and getting this far was probably an effort for her. As I read aloud, my ears prick at the fidgeting and rustling in the adjacent bed. From the corner of my eye, I watch him getting agitated, listening to my voice. My mouth runs dry, and I try to quieten so he can’t hear me.
“Oh, dear. What was that?” Mrs. Gibson asks, curving a hand around her ear.
I sigh and repeat the line at a louder volume.
As I reach the next chapter, the shifting from the next bed stops.
Maybe he’s asleep?
Before I can turn my head to check, Nurse Cindy marches into the room.
“Your blood work will be back soon,” Cindy tells the shirtless hunk. “And Dr. Harris wants to organize X-rays.”
Dax groans and sits up on the bed. “Nope. No way. I’m outta here.”
Cindy leans forward, pushing him back down. “You’re not going anywhere. You need to build up your strength.”
“I’m fine. I don’t need this.”
“You fell off a moving motorcycle and hurt your ribs,” Cindy says. “We need to identify the extent of the damage.”
Dax smirks. “And if I do have broken ribs, what then? Do you wrap a bandage around it?”
“What’s the problem here?” Dr. Harris asks, making me jolt as he enters the room.
“He doesn’t want the x-rays,” Cindy tells the doctor.
Dax gives Dr. Harris a skeptical look. “Can you do anything for broken ribs?”
“Well, no, they mostly heal on their own,” Dr. Harris replies. “But if you know the extent of the injuries, you can take preventative measures so they heal better and faster.”
Dax places a palm on his side and exhales slowly. “I think I’ll be fine on my own.”
