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“Canaan?” he called, back muscles tightening as he sat up. He wouldn’t leave, would he?
“Right here.” Canaan emerged from the bathroom in jeans, no shirt, with his phone in hand. “Morning, Rip Van Winkle.”
“How much did I sleep?”
“All told? About fourteen hours, I think. I didn’t have the heart to wake you up for an early start this morning, not with you snoring away.”
“I don’t snore.” Renzo stretched, body all creaky after that many hours in bed. “Did you sleep? You needed it too.”
“I slept. Not comatose like you, but I got enough.” Canaan gave him a tight smile. “How are you feeling now? Feel up to breakfast?”
What Renzo really felt up to was making out with Canaan, but that didn’t seem to be on the agenda. “I could eat.”
“Good. I ordered food for me and some extra for you for when you woke up. Should be here soon.” Canaan still seemed distracted, so Renzo sat up straighter.
“What’s wrong?”
“Damian and Eric are still in the hospital. Jules says they’re pretty banged up.” Canaan spoke too fast, the way he always seemed to when he got anxious. “Did you mean it yesterday when you said we could stop by on our way out of town? Jules seems to think it would be a nice gesture. And Kelly texted too. They’re going to have to postpone some shows, and everyone’s down in the dumps. I thought maybe we could drop by the hospital with some donuts or something, but not if you don’t want to.”
Truth be told, Renzo really didn’t want to deal with Canaan’s former band this morning. He wanted to get back to San Diego, back to real life, back to duty, back to a future where apparently he’d promised Canaan they could keep hanging out. But he wasn’t a total heel. “Let’s do this. I’ll drop you at the hospital, then use GPS to find a donut place, get some and then drop them off when I pick you up. That way we use time effectively.”
And that way he minimized his time around the band people, but he didn’t add that.
“Sure,” Canaan said, right as their breakfast arrived. Canaan proved he’d been paying attention to what Renzo liked in the mornings, getting him oatmeal and yogurt along with some bacon and sausage. He wasn’t used to someone doing things like that for him at all, didn’t know how to feel about it. He was supposed to be the one watching out for Canaan, not the other way around.
After they ate, Renzo had a quick shower and attacked his too-fluffy hair with product, then they headed to the truck. Truly surreal to think it had only been four days since he’d driven it, when it felt like a lifetime had passed. And at the same time, it felt like little had changed. Same clean interior. Same playlist on the stereo. Same Canaan next to him. Well maybe that last wasn’t precisely true—something had changed in Canaan out there too. Made him seem older and more serious. More solid.
The hospital wasn’t far from downtown, and Renzo dropped Canaan off right in front, near the main visitor entrance. His phone was freshly charged thanks to Canaan, and he found a couple of donut choices, none of which were particularly convenient to the hospital, so it took him a good half hour before he was pulling back into the hospital. Donuts in tow, he headed to the floor Canaan had indicated. As expected, he found a near party in the visitor’s waiting room for that floor, most of the band and associated hangers-on sprawled out in chairs.
There was a carafe of coffee on one of the side tables, as well as bagels and donuts. His offering seemed unnecessary in light of the spread they had going. His neck itched as he wasn’t sure what to do next and hated that uncertainty.
“Hey, Renzo!” Kelly’s wife, whose name Renzo forgot, came over to him. “Damian’s parents brought breakfast for everyone, but we can always use more. Let me take these?”
“Sure.” Renzo handed over the box and looked around for Canaan.
“Canaan’s in with Damian—they’re limiting the number of visitors at any one time because Damian’s got a concussion, but Canaan should be back soon,” she said brightly. Renzo had little choice but to find a chair, try to make small talk with the band people, who all wanted to hear about their ordeal. They seemed particularly interested in how Renzo’s SEAL skills had saved them. He wished he had a better answer for that. But he was still grappling with how little of a difference his training had made—they’d still needed the luck of being spotted by the rescuers. Sure, he’d been able to climb to safety, but he was still coming to terms with how helpless he’d felt out there on that ledge with Canaan.
