The clock on my bedside table read 6:29 a.m., and the sky outside my bedroom window was just starting to lighten.
“I was just about to wake you up,” Abby said. “For your concussion check-in thing. Are you okay? How are you feeling?”
I gave up on trying to get out of bed and just slumped against my pillows. “You’re supposed to ask me my name or something I can answer. Those are too open-ended.”
Abby glared at me.
Squinting up at him, I grinned. “I’m okay, man. I’m sore like I got hit by a truck.” I waited, but there was no laugh. Tough crowd. “And my head is killing me. Would you mind?—?”
But he was already out of the room.
Fourteen seconds later, he was back with two oblong white pills and a glass of water. “Mac saidonly Tylenol.”
I was wondering when he’d bring her up. Obviously, she was the reason he was here. I was honestly a little surprised that I hadn’t woken up to my mother or sisters beating down the door. Maybe Mac had to get to work or something.
There was a tiny flicker of disappointment that she hadn’t stayed, but I quashed it. She’d done enough. More than enough.
“Yep,” I replied noncommittally, but it would only be a matter of time before Abby wanted the full story on Mac. I snagged the pills and downed them, drinking deeply from the glass.
I managed to sit on the side of the bed without feeling dizzy. So I took it a step further and shuffled across the hall toward the bathroom. Abby hovered anxiously, like he might need to catch me.
“I swear, I’m okay,” I assured him.
“Okay.” He nodded. “Just leave it unlocked in case you fall or something.”
I did as he asked, but everything was fine. I used the bathroom and washed my hands, wincing a little as I took in the bandage and bruising on my face. There was some faint discoloration from
where my head and cheekbone smacked into the driver’s-side window. But, all in all, I was in pretty good shape.
A brief memory of Mac crying over me in the ER surfaced, and I realized it must have been pretty fucking scary to watch something like that unfold before your eyes. If our places had been reversed and I’d seen her get T-boned by another vehicle—no matter how minimal the damage—I would have panicked.
Abby was waiting in the hallway like a creeper, but I forgave him because he said, “You feel like eating? I brought stuff to make breakfast burritos.”
I groaned. “That is the best thing I’ve ever heard.”
We slowly made our way to the kitchen, Abby walking behind me like he was a new mother and I was a baby taking my first steps. I had half a mind to see if he’d carry me bridal-style just so I could give him shit over it for the rest of our lives.
Instead, I settled at the island on a high-backed padded stool as he went to workprepping our breakfast. A few moments later, he pushed a mug of green tea in front of me.
I eyed it warily.
“No coffee,” he said sternly. “Caffeine is bad for people recovering from head injuries.”
“Can you not call it that?”
He frowned. “What the hell else would I call it? You injured your head. It’s a head injury.”
“Just say concussion,” I argued.
He rolled his eyes and turned his back to pull out a carton of eggs.
“Have you heard anything about my truck?” I asked as I sipped the green tea. It tasted good. He’d put honey in it.
“Jackie towed it over to her shop,” he replied as he whisked.
“Totaled?”
Abby stiffened and looked at me over one shoulder. “Yeah, probably. I can take you over there later if you feel up to it.”
