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I nod. “Of course, by all means. I’ve got this. You guys go.”
Dax showed up for me today. Spending the night in the ER is the least I can do.
It takes two gentle nudges and a hard shove to wake Dougie fully. It’s another fifteen minutes before I’m settled in one of their leather-vinyl-covered seats, still warm from their bodies. The monotony of the room starts to get to me, as do the scrolling CNN news stories on the volumeless television mounted on the wall and the rhythmic scraping of the automatic sliding doors. Even the monotone announcements through the loudspeaker lull me into a state where I find my own head dropping back.
But then the doors slide open, and it’s as if I can sense his presence before he even walks into the room.
His eyes scan the crowd for only a second before locking with mine. His dark hair is all mussed as if he’s been sleeping. He’s walking a little more gingerly compared with his usually confident stride, and his eyes have a glazy sheen. He’s tired, but he’s okay.
“Hey.” I open my arms and then realize that a rib-crushing hug is the last thing he needs right now.
“What are you doing here, Gems?” The tone of his voice is tired but affectionate as he reaches out a hand, cups my chin, and holds it there while I press my cheek into his palm.
“Brandon told me what happened. I’m the reinforcements. Let’s get you home.”
He takes my hand, and we walk toward the exit doors.
“Mr. McGuire,” a female voice calls from behind us. “Mr. McGuire!”
We turn simultaneously to see a middle-aged nurse inseafoam-green scrubs step through the sliding doors separating the ER and waiting room. “You left this on the counter.” She hands Dax a piece of white paper. A prescription.
We step out into the night air, which is still a little chilly despite it being August.
“We should call an Uber.” I pull out my phone, but Dax shakes his head. “It’s okay. I can walk.” He starts off in the direction of Barton Street.
“Daxon B. McGuire,” I say in a voice that is sterner than I ever thought I was capable of, “you are not walking home with a broken rib. Come back here right now. Or else.”
My empty threat is enough that he turns around, eyebrows raised.
“Or else what?”
“You and I know that even in your injured state, you could still take me, so I physically can’t do anything, and I refuse to use sex as a weapon both on principle and because I fully intend to ride that beautiful penis again when you’ve recovered, so I’m asking you, as your newly minted girlfriend, to come back here and get in a cab with me.”
He takes a single step closer. “I’m locked out of my Uber app.”
I throw my hands up. “So? Mine is working. I’m calling one right now.”
Dax mumbles something under his breath. It doesn’t sound overly happy, but he reverses his steps and waits with me until a bright-orange Mazda pulls up in front of us.
Neither of us says a word as we cruise down Wellington until we pull up in front of the pharmacy and stop.
“What are we doing here?” Dax’s eyes are rightfully skeptical.
I snatch the white sheet still clutched in his hand. “Getting you drugs. I have a plan to get you high and uncover all your secrets.” Dax tries to take the paper back from my hands, but the quickmotion causes him to gasp with pain to the point that I regret testing him.
“Shit. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
He nods, not looking okay at all. “It’s fine, Gemma. I don’t need anything.”
I have no idea where this is coming from. Dax normally would consider prescription pain drugs to be a blessing and welcome the deep, delicious sleep they bring.
“Stop being silly. I’ll go in. Just give me your insurance card.”
Dax’s face flares so red that I can see it even in the dim lighting. “Um…I had a small issue with my insurance provider. I’m between plans right now.”
Shit. Still, it’s Percocet. I can’t see it costing more than fifty bucks. “No worries, I’ll pay cash.”
I reach for the car door handle, but Dax stops me. “Honestly, Gemma, I’m fine. Let’s go.”
