That’s sweet. I make a mental note to come back to that when I’m not in a drugged haze. I suck in a deep breath, expecting the stabbing to start over in my belly, but it doesn’t. Are we sure she gave me morphine and not some magic potion? She did kind of look a bit like Ginny Weasley.
Justin smiles again like he can read my thoughts, but my mouth is moving so maybe I’m mumbling them all out loud and making it easy for him. I’m still not sure I care.
I dunno how long I lie there dozing, but when I wake up to the doctor making his way into the room Justin is typing frantically on his phone. What the hell is he doing? Writing a damn novel? I’m not sure I’d want to be on the receiving end of the text making him frown so hard.
He tucks away his phone and stands when the doctor approaches. That’s weird, right? Is he just being polite? I tap the tip of my tongue against my lip, just to make sure it’s still there. The doctor’s talking to me, and I should probably listen to what he’s saying but now that I know my tongue is still there, I just want Justin to kiss me.
From the redness splotching his cheeks I’d guess I said that out loud again. I’m probably going to care about that when this truth serum wears off.
A different doctor comes in and tells me I have gallstones, and an inflamed gallbladder and need surgery to remove it. Not right this second, but within the next week or so. He also says I don’t fit the typical four-F profile for someone to get gallstones, I’m not fat, over forty, or fertile—as in having recently given birth to a child, though I am the fourth, female. So he’s going to run some more tests to make sure there’s nothing sinister or underlying.
Sounds good to me. I mean, right now he could tell me he’s taking a chainsaw to my stomach and I’d nod and smile. Those were some damn good drugs.
He gives me a business card to call and schedule my surgery, but Justin reaches out and intercepts.
“I’m not sure we should let you operate heavy machinery just yet, pretty girl.”
I do love it when he calls me that.
The doctor also gives me a script for Vicodin, because even if the pain goes away for a while, he says it’ll come back. He also said not to wait too long to schedule surgery because sometimes the gallstones shift and can block my bile duct and make more of a mess.
That’s not at all scary, nope.
Justin asks if I’d like him to call to schedule the surgery for me, and by the time he gets me back to my building, I have an appointment for Friday, four days from now, and he has picked up my prescription from the drive through pharmacy on campus.
Except I’m not back at my building. The car is idling outside the hockey house. Why are we at the hockey house?
“You’re staying with me tonight, Vannah. And I really need you to not fight me on that. I want to take care of you and make sure you have everything you need overnight. I can bring you to Athena’s if you’d rather, but you’re staying with someone.”
Hen’s penthouse apartment is really high up, and while there’s an elevator to save me from the five million stairs, Justin’s bed is way closer right now and that’s a lot more appealing than driving across town.
Hen. Oh, fuck. She’s going to kill me for not telling her I’m sick.
“What’s it going to be, pretty girl?”
I can’t stay with him for four days and nights. I’m going to be in pain, and grumpy, and I’m going to be not so fun to live with. At this point I’m not even sure I can squat to use the restroom.
But his bed isrighttherejust a short walk inside the building.
“Can I stay today with you and maybe I can move to Hen’s tomorrow?” I sag against the seat. “I’m just so damn tired, Justin.”
A single nod is the only reply I get. He taps the screen of his phone, and a few seconds later one of his teammates comes outside pushing a wheelchair with a pig tottering along behind him.
I’m not sure if I’m hallucinating the pig, or the chair, maybe both, but I can’t help giggling at the bizarre sight. Justin doesn’t even let me try to get out of the vehicle by myself—he sweeps me up in his arms and sets me down with care and precision.
As he walks, he’s saying something about how there’s almost always someone injured and they have a whole hoard of medical equipment on hand if I ever find myself needing a wheelchair again.
I really should just go back to my dorm room, but that’s future Vannah’s problem. Right now I just need to lie down and sleep until things aren’t quite so fuzzy.
The hockey house is eerily quiet as Justin pushes me through the foyer. He carries me upstairs, ignoring my protests, and I’m kind of glad about that because that was way too many stairs for me to amble up. I’d probably have broken something else.
The drapes in his room have been pulled closed, there’s a lamp switched on next to the bed, and there’s a bottle of cold water sitting next to a menu.
“I didn’t have time to track down some soup yet, but if you want to pick something from the menu I can head out to The Sandwich Squad and grab it.”
Is Ares de la Peña offering to get me soup? I have to be making this up in my head. It has to be a dream, because Ares de la Peña doesn’t even get himself soup. He has minions to do that for him. Many, many, usually very naked minions if the reports are accurate.
Justin tucks me into bed, tugs his quilt right up to my chin, and drops a kiss on my forehead. I don’t know if he plans to leave or not, but I grab his hand and try to ask him to stay before I pass back out.
