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Did we even…drinklast night?
Today?
When is it?
Panic threatens to take over my mind, yet the sweet caress from Slater swiftly brushes it away.
Reminds me I’m not alone.
That there’s nothing to fear.
That there’sneveranything to fear with him around.
“I…” my gaze returns to him revealing uncertainty. “I remember leaving the office. I think…late?” Pulling my brow tightly together is accompanied by another attempt to recall more information. “Pretty sure I was working late.” Fear propels itself up the back of my throat into my words. “Was Iworking late, Slater? Was I working at all? Why don’t I remember?” New waves of worry wash over me. “Why can’t I remember?!”
“Hey, now,” he sweetly coos, baby blue shades invading his speech, “how about you give me a big, deep breath?” The corners of his mouth try to turn upward. “One with all the fixin’s.” Additional soft brushes from his thumb make the request impossible to deny and given the grin that successfully appears on his face, he knows it. “One where I canseethose music notes two steppin’ along your collarbone.”
The reference to the tattoo I know he can see because of how loose the hospital gown is not only has me following his orders but giggling again as well.
Gah…
How does he do that?
How does he always know just how to defuse a situation before itbecomesa major situation?
Is that something they trained him for in the military?
“Alright then,” he warmly states and scoots his chair closer. “Let me start by saying trouble rememberin’ things isnormalwhen dealin’ with a head injury. Especially if you’re sufferin’ from a concussion.”
“A concussion?!”
It looks like it’s painful for him to nod in acknowledgement. “You’ve been in and out for the past few hours and while there doesn’t appear to be any damage, they’re gonna do a CT scan to make sure everything with that big, beautiful brain of yours is still in the best condition possible.”
Headshakes are attached to a whispered argument. “I don’t want a CT scan.”
“I wasn’t askin’.”
“But-”
“And I’m not arguin’.”
The firmness in his voice has me pressing my lips tightly together to suppress further objections.
Pretty sure I getsomesort of say in this situation as an adult.
Afterall, it’smewho has to suffer through that tube of judgment, not him. God knows I’ve had enough of those types of tests and evaluations for this lifetime and the next seven.
Woes of having a medical condition they couldn’t quite put their finger on prior to a million invasive procedures.
Before I have the opportunity to make a rebuttal, the door to my room swings open revealing a fair skinned face, I can honestly say was the last I expected to see. “Harv?”
“Harv?” My best friend’s blue words darken through the air at the same time he turns towards the opposite direction. “Who the fuck is Harv?”
Oh, this is about to get awkward.
“Number Seventeen?” Slater’s brow pulls tightly together when his gaze swings back to mine. “Since when are you on afirst namebases with Number Seventeen?”
Really. Awkward.
