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“Uh huh,” Sami trills as she leaves the room.
Dip pushes away from the doorjamb and saunters toward the bed. “So, what’d you guys talk about?”
“Nothing really.”
The mattress dips when he sets his knee on it, and when he starts to crawl toward me, my stomach flutters.
“Don’t lie to me.”
I brace my hands on either side of me and try to scoot back, but my wrists are sprained, and I wince in pain.
“Woman, stop doing shit to hurt yourself,” Dip snaps.
“I didn’t mean to,” I insist. “I forgot.”
He arches a brow. “You forgot?”
“Well, the pain meds are working. Isn’t that a good thing?” I sass.
“It’s a very good thing. And I’m glad to see you can form words on the pills because it wasn’t working out so well for you with the IV meds.”
I wrinkle my forehead to try and recall my time at the hospital, but it’s a blur. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”
“Now, what were you two talking about?”
Rolling my eyes, I sigh. “We were talking about you.”
“Oh yeah? What about me?”
I pretend to yawn. “I’m getting tired, Dip. I think I’d like to take a nap.”
“And I think you’re dodging the que—”
My phone rings, and Dip climbs off the bed to get my purse from the dresser. I hadn’t even known it was there. Rather than bring me the entire bag, he digs through it to find my cell, and then he answers it.
“Hello.”
I can’t hear who is on the other line, but judging by the way he pulls the cell away from his ear to glare at the screen, I can guess.
Shit.
Dip walks back toward the bed but doesn’t hand me the phone. “It’s your dad,” he informs me. “Do you want to talk to him, or should I handle it?”
What I wouldn’t give to let him handle it… but the damage is done now, so I reach out my hand and he gives me the cell.
“Hello, Father,” I say.
“Kennedy Marie Hollings Stodge, who was that man?” my father demands.
“He’s a friend.” And because I’m feeling a wee bit salty, I add, “I just got out of the hospital, and Dip is taking care of me.”
Dip grins as he sits next to me on the bed. He wraps an arm around my shoulder and tucks me into his side, silently offering his support.
“Dip?!” my dad practically screeches. “What kind of name is Dip?”
“If he’s gonna yell at you, put him on speaker and save your fucking eardrums,” Dip says with his mouth against my head.
“Do not put me on speakerphone, Kennedy Marie,” Father demands.
